Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,2
my youngest isn’t a baby anymore. That I have to let him grow up.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. Sam’s behind me in the doorway. “We’ve got this. You know the plan?”
He nods. He does. Everybody in this house knows the plan.
I close his door, and I hear him get up and throw the interior deadbolt I installed for safety. Good. Step one: delay an intruder from getting into his room. Step two: if the all clear doesn’t come within a few minutes, hit the silent-alarm button that signals an alert straight to the Knoxville police. Step three: Get out through his bedroom window, run for help. Don’t stop for anyone or anything.
We all know the plan because there’s always a chance we’ll have to use it.
I go to the bathroom. It’s dark, but I check the window anyway. Firmly closed and locked and too small for most intruders to slip through. Then I continue to my daughter’s bedroom. It’s also dark, but when I open it up, I catch a whiff of fresh, damp outside air. Her window’s closed, but it hasn’t been for long.
Dammit.
I flip on the light, and Lanny—Atlanta, but no one except teachers uses her full name—groans and turns over to glare at me. She’s still wearing club makeup—dark glitter around her striking eyes, painted silver stars on her cheeks. She’s dyed her hair into a shimmering rainbow of colors. “What?” she snaps, and groans into her pillow. “Mom!”
I have to swallow a volcanic explosion of frustration and anger and fear. “Where were you?”
“Nowhere.”
“Lanny. You obviously just came in. You left your window out of the alarm circuit, again. Do you know what kind of danger you’re exposing your little brother to when you do that?” Sometimes, that appeal works.
Not tonight. She rolls up in her covers and throws the pillow over her head. “Would you just leave me alone? It was a good day, why do you have to ruin everything?”
My daughter is seventeen-going-on-thirty, and there’s not a lot I can do about it. She knows it’s not safe out there. She’s determined not to care, or to prove that she can handle whatever comes at her. It terrifies me. It also exhilarates me that my child is so strong, when fear of losing her isn’t tearing me apart. But she’s not an adult yet, and I know I have to find a way to keep her in line for another year until she can freely make her own choices. Her own ghastly mistakes that I can’t prevent, and consequences I can’t save her from. That’s the hell of being who we are: the normal stumbles of most girls her age are different for the child of Melvin Royal. Stakes are always, always higher.
I want to roll my children in Bubble Wrap and set them safely on a shelf and never, never let the world chip and crack them. But they’re not made of porcelain, and no matter how strong that protective desire might be, I have to fight it. I have to relax my grip, not tighten it.
I can yell at her, but I’ve tried that before. Lanny, like me, is stubborn. I’ll have to be smarter, not louder. I’m acutely afraid that my independent, brave, smart, sometimes reckless daughter might just . . . leave. Run away. And on her own, she’ll be unprotected.
I need to find a way to keep her with us just a little while longer. I know I have to face losing her to the world, whatever danger that brings.
But not yet.
“We’ll talk later,” I say. She groans again, this time in rejection of the whole idea. I shut the door and leave her without another word. When I turn, Sam’s watching me with level, calm intensity, and when I sigh, he just shakes his head. He understands. Better than I have any right to expect.
“Do you think she was out with Vee?” he asks me.
“Probably,” I tell him. Vee—Vera Crockett, late of the rotten little town of Wolfhunter, Tennessee—became our responsibility not long ago, but Vee has never let anyone rule her for long. After just a few weeks living with us here in Knoxville, she pushed for emancipated-minor status; thing is, she had it anyway because she’s never obeyed anyone’s rules, and if I hadn’t helped her get it legally, she’d have just taken off and lived rough. Again. So we helped, and at least it ensured that Legally Emancipated Vee stayed relatively close in case of trouble.