Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,34

“When you first came back, everyone said that you needed some space. They told us to let you ease in on your own, so Caro and Drew gave you space. That’s all it is, I swear. No one’s mad at you. Why would they be? What’d you do?”

Oliver swung a little more, his feet making an empty pit in the sand. “I don’t know. Nothing. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

I dropped my head into my hands. “Ugh, this is the last time I listen to my parents,” I muttered, then sat back up. “Look, no one’s mad. We were just trying to give you space to adjust to a new school, a new neighborhood”—I thought of his earlier confession—“a new life. That’s all. But we totally want to hang out with you.”

“You do?” Oliver looked at me and even in the darkness, I could tell that the question wasn’t casual.

“I do,” I said, then corrected myself. “We do. We’re still friends. That hasn’t changed. It never did.”

Oliver laughed through his nose. “Weirdest friendship ever,” he said.

“Definitely,” I agreed. “But it’s ours.” I retwined our grasp so that my hand was on top of his. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the exclusive.”

He just nodded, resting his forehead against my knuckles, and we hung there together, not moving, suspended in midair, as if we were waiting to fall.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We finally got up when it was too cold to stay still anymore and the shirt and sweater Oliver and I were wearing, respectively, did nothing to block out the coastal fog that always rolled down the street after dark. “See you tomorrow?” he said, just before opening the sliding-glass door. I could see the TV on in the den, one of the twins’ Barbies lying sprawled on the floor, hair hacked off and her pink party dress gathered around her waist.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, and then Rick was standing in the doorway. “Oh, there you are,” he said. “Emmy, your parents are worried about you.”

They were?

“I’m right here?” I said, looking at Oliver as if to say, Isn’t that right? “We were just sitting back here.”

“Your mom sounded a little frazzled on the phone,” Rick said. It was always so odd to hear him speak; his voice was so different from Maureen’s. She had always been fond of the verbal italics, especially during a crisis. I guess living in a nonstop nightmare for ten years could do that to a person. Rick, though, was always cool under pressure. Maybe that’s why Maureen had married him, an anchor for her lost ship. “She said she tried calling your phone,” Rick said, “but it just kept going to voice mail.”

I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. Dead.

Wonderful.

“Better go,” I said. It was so quiet out that I could hear the wet grass crunching under my shoes, the kind of quiet that made your head hurt because you knew it was about to shatter into the loudest sounds.

I was right.

“Where have you been?!” My mom was standing in the kitchen and I saw her standing there, phone in hand, her eyes frantic. “We’ve been calling and calling you! We even called Caro!”

“I was next door!” I cried, gesturing to Oliver’s house. “I just came home and I heard him in the yard and we started talking! I’m sorry, I just forgot.”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone?” my dad asked, but he didn’t seem that worried. I wondered if he was keeping up the pretense for my mom, if it was easier to keep up with her than let her lead the charge alone.

“It died,” I said, holding it up to prove my point. “I’m sorry, Oliver and I just started talking. My car was in the driveway the whole time,” I added.

My mom rested her hands on the countertop and took a deep breath. It was one I had come to know well, the “give me strength to not throttle my child” deep breath. Every mom had one. “Next time,” she said slowly as she exhaled, “when you text us that you’re coming home, come home.”

“Okay,” I said, then debated whether or not I should ask my next question. “Am I grounded?” If they took my car away, I was screwed.

“Yes,” my mom said.

“No,” my dad said.

I looked between them as they looked at each other.

“She’s late!” my mom said.

“She was next door with Oliver,” my dad pointed out. “And her phone died.”

“Standing right here,” I muttered, waving a little. My dad’s