If These Wings Could Fly - Kyrie McCauley Page 0,64
too. I’m not coming to Nana’s. I’ll stay with Sofia this weekend. I’ll see you Sunday.”
“We could use the time as a family this weekend.”
Family.
“My art show is this weekend. We are required to attend. For credit.”
Checkmate.
There is a long moment of silence strung between us. We’ve run out of any semi-decent words to say to each other. All that’s left is yelling, and it’s like we both know it.
“I’ll see you at home Sunday night, Leighton.”
She goes upstairs, and I hear her moving around, waking the girls. Getting them packed. Like it’s for fun. Like we aren’t running in fear. I slip into my room to pack a weekend bag, too.
Campbell sneaks in as I’m finishing up.
“What happened?”
“We argued.”
“She’s not leaving him.” It’s not a question. Campbell seems to have already known what the outcome of last night would be: nothing.
“I need a break from her. Will you two be all right?”
“Sure,” Cam says. “We like it at Nana’s, and we get to miss school.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “I’m gonna figure this out.”
Campbell turns and looks up at me.
“I know, Leighton,” she says. I know the tone of her voice when she tells half-truths.
She doesn’t believe me.
I’m not sure I do, either.
Mom and the girls leave for Nana’s place, but Liam still hasn’t arrived to drive me to school. I take my bags and leave the house. I don’t want to be here whenever he decides to come back. I walk in the general direction of Liam’s house. There are snow-covered fields on either side of the road, stretching for acres. Dotted with crows. Hundreds and hundreds of crows. Within five minutes, I spy a car coming down the road, and the thing in my chest stirs at the sight. Not a muscle car. An old Ford. Liam. He pulls off to the side and leans over, pushing open the passenger door.
“What the hell, Leighton?”
“Bad night,” I say.
“Are you guys—” His hands are tight on the steering wheel.
“Fine. It’s fine. I’ll tell you all about it later, promise. You’re late today.”
“Yeah, I told you I would be—airport, remember? I had to drive my parents and Fiona over. It’s her dance competition.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, I completely spaced.”
“It’s fine.”
We drive to school, and I let the old car warm me up. After a few minutes, Liam reaches over and takes my hand. He doesn’t say anything else on the ride, just keeps it there, my hand tucked into his. When we park, he looks up. “Wanna tell me now?”
“I want to, but I have to find Sofia. My mom took the girls to my grandmother’s place and I didn’t want to go, so I need to crash at her house this weekend.”
“Or not.”
“What?”
“My parents and Fiona are gone until Sunday for her dance competition. There’s plenty of space—guest room is all yours, so don’t worry about that, and . . .”
“What?”
“It’d be really nice to just know for sure that you are safe for a few nights.”
“Oh. Um.”
“Or not. It’s totally up to you. We can go find Sofia instead.”
“No, I’d like that, Liam. I’ll stay with you.”
We skip half of first period right there in the school parking lot while I tell Liam an abbreviated version of last night’s events. He swears softly a few times, but doesn’t interject otherwise. Until I tell him she isn’t getting a protection order.
“She isn’t even gonna try?”
“Nope. She said she has a lot to think about.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“That we are going back there. Sunday.”
“I don’t understand how you are so calm about this, Leighton.”
This song and dance might be age-old to me now, but he hasn’t dealt with this. The terror, the relief, and the realization that nothing has changed. Again. It’s a turning record for me, but Liam has never even heard the song before.
“I’m sorry, I suck.”
“You don’t, Leighton. Just don’t shut me out now, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll stop. I’m sorry. Defense mechanism.”
He leans over. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s just get through the school day.”
“Okay,” he says, and releases my hand. I want to reach for his again, but stop myself. We won’t figure something out. This isn’t his mess. I will figure something out.
Later I skip lunch and slip into the newsroom. I need a few minutes of quiet—and privacy—to do some research. I type “protection orders Pennsylvania” into the search bar and hit enter. For thirty minutes, I scroll. I read sample protection orders. Words like hospitalized and lacerations filter across