The Endless Road to Sunshine - Nicky James Page 0,56
been dismissed, but he’d given us time to read over some material for a test the following week. When I peeked up, our eyes locked. Instead of darting his gaze away like I expected, he kept staring.
Dark pools with a history of their own watched me. Indecision marked new paths of worry across his face. His lips parted a few times, and I wondered if he was forming words or practicing a conversation with me in his head.
I smiled, doing all I could to communicate my support without words.
He dropped his focus to the podium, studying it intently, his frown deepening.
Five minutes later, he dismissed us. He collected his lecture notes, packed his briefcase, and vanished without sparing me another glance.
I worked all weekend, moving through my shifts with less enthusiasm than usual, always on the lookout for a lonely Dr. Palmer. He didn’t show. I wasn’t surprised.
On Sunday morning, the ringing of my phone woke me out of a dead sleep. I was upside down on my bed, diagonal and without covers, limbs akimbo. I’d been accused by more than one bed partner of being a miserable person to sleep beside.
I rolled, maneuvering myself the right way up and found my phone on the bedside table.
It was my mother.
A tiny nugget of disappointment was proof enough that I’d subconsciously hoped it was someone else. Like a surly professor who had decided they needed company or more mindless, messy blowjobs. A guy could hope.
I wedged underneath the covers, seeking warmth as I answered.
“It’s too early,” I mumbled, closing my eyes.
“It’s ten o’clock.”
“I didn’t get home until after three.”
“Oh, shoot. I never think of that. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to let you go?”
“It’s fine. I’m awake now. What’s up?”
“Are you still coming by today to look through those newspapers?”
I groaned and stretched, rolling to my back. “Oh, right. Yeah, I am. I forgot about that.”
“How about you come for brunch? Can you be here in an hour?”
I could imagine how thrilled Walter would be if he knew I’d be joining them.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re family, Skylar. You aren’t imposing. Come for a late breakfast. I always cook too much food.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to inform her Walter wouldn’t want me there, but I kept those thoughts to myself. She would just defend him and tell me I was wrong. Mom had been fighting for years to keep the peace between us, encouraging us to bond and find common ground. It wasn’t going to happen.
“All right. I’ll come.”
“Good.”
I hung up and dragged my ass out of bed. The apartment was quiet. Hunter had wound up hooking up last night after work and had gone home with some drunk girl who would likely regret all her decisions the moment she was sober. Maverick had bitched about it on the drive home, wondering out loud if Hunter would ever learn.
Maverick was still sleeping and would be until midafternoon. Sunday was our lazy day at home. We usually ordered takeout and worked through homework before watching movies or TV series marathons as dictated by Hunter since Maverick and I weren’t picky.
I showered and dressed, grabbing my keys and heading out.
The air was cool. A breeze carried hints of exhaust and the pungent odor of rotting leaves to my nose. There was also a trace of yeast and cinnamon in the air that came from the bakery a half block down the street. It made my stomach growl.
The clouds were heavy with more rain, darker on the horizon. The pavement was wet with deep puddles. I drove to my parents’ neighborhood, music cranked as I sang along at the top of my lungs, doing all I could to dispel the unsettled feelings that always arose when I had to be around Walter. Closer to my parents’ neighborhood, I battled traffic as I passed by a Roman Catholic church where mass had just ended, spilling parishioners into the street by the dozens.
Eventually, I turned down another street, entering a quiet, family-oriented neighborhood. I slowed as a group of young boys removed their hockey nets from the road where they’d been engaged in a game. They waved as I drove by, their jerseys hanging past their knees, clearly belonging to their fathers or older siblings.
Two girls were using jump ropes two houses down, their ponytails bouncing as they played.
My parents’ house was near the end of the road. I parked behind Walter’s car and sat. With the