for her. She isn’t at breakfast or lunch like she sometimes is, and I never catch her playing in the yard. If she leaves her apartment at all, I don’t see it. Part of me is grateful that she isn’t around, that I don’t have to protect her from my brothers’ teasing and torment, but mainly, I just feel guilty.
And as pathetic as it sounds, I miss her.
I miss our quiet conversations and the silence we share.
It was Monday when we went to the water tower, and by Saturday, I’m starting to lose my mind. I just… I want to talk to her, to apologize, but I don’t know what to say. I know that whatever it is, it has to be thought out. It has to come from a part of me that I honestly don’t know exists. Mostly though, I have to find a way to do it in private.
As I lie in bed, listening to the birds chirping outside, welcoming a new day, I come up with a plan. I’ll fake a project to work on in the garage below the apartment. That way, if she leaves, I’ll be the first to notice. I’ll grab her attention, and I’ll say two words: I’m sorry. And then I’ll go from there. Even if I have to fumble through the rest of it, at least she’ll know how I feel.
The plan’s foolproof, and for the first time since the early hours of Monday morning, I find myself smiling.
I practically run down the stairs and then skid to a stop at the bottom. Dad’s in the living room. So is Mia. They’re sitting on the couch, and whatever they’re saying is interrupted by my presence. “Good, you’re up,” Dad says, getting to his feet.
I glance at Mia, fearful she’s said something to Dad about me standing her up, but she isn’t looking at me. Her eyes are downcast, void of emotion, something I’ve felt too often.
Dad moves toward me with a five-dollar bill in his hand. “Can you watch Lachie and the twins?” He motions to my youngest brother, who’s sitting in front of the television, transfixed. “Twins are in the yard,” Dad adds. “Mia and I are heading out for a bit.”
I try to catch Mia’s attention, but it doesn’t work. “Where?”
“Nowhere important. We’ll be back in an hour.”
Mia stands, using my dad as a shield between us.
“Leo?” Dad places the bill in my hand. “You can do that, right?”
I nod, regret pressing down on my chest. “Yeah. Sure.”
I only have to watch Lachie for five minutes before Virginia enters the house. She doesn’t usually work on weekends, but when she notices it’s me in charge, she takes over. “Where’s your dad?” she asks.
My eyes narrow at her. “Somewhere with your daughter.” It comes out harsher than intended, but after the previous summer—when I spent too many hours secretly watching Mia and realizing how her mother treated her—I can never look at Virginia the same. It doesn’t make sense that she can be so good with us, and yet—with her own daughter… She treats Mia as if she’s a nuisance. A burden.
Mia’s anything but, and it pisses me off that she can’t see that.
After grabbing a book from my room, I pretend to read while I sit on the porch, waiting for Dad and Mia to return. It doesn’t take long for the familiar sound of tires spinning on the loose gravel of our driveway to fill my ears. Virginia must hear it, too, because she comes out of the house, hand in hand with Lachlan. I watch with bated breath as Dad’s truck slows to a stop. He and Mia get out at the same time and move to the rear, where Dad pulls out a bike from the bed. It’s pink and purple with a white basket on the handlebars. It’s a pretty sweet bike.
For a girl.
I’m about to say as much when, next to me, Virginia sighs. “Why in the world do you need a bike, Mia? Where did you get the money for it?” Then she gasps, marches down the steps dragging my brother behind her. She stops only inches from her daughter, her finger pointed at Mia’s face. “Mia Mackenzie Kovács! You better not have asked Tom to buy you—”
Mia’s eyes are wide, filled with fear, and I find myself moving toward her. “I didn’t ask him,” Mia utters. “He offered and—”