not just five hours away. “I miss you already,” Aunt Jill says.
“I couldn’t have survived any of this without you,” Mom tells her. “I love you so much.”
I haven’t heard “I love you” come out of her mouth this many times in my entire life.
“Say goodbye, CeCe,” she says, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Goodbye, CeCe,” I mutter under my breath.
But since this really is goodbye, I give Aunt Jill one more hug and even give Abigail a quick one. Saving the best for last, I turn toward Beau, who is standing there suddenly looking shy, with his hands in his pockets.
I slip my arms through his and squeeze him tight. He doesn’t reciprocate and I know it’s because my mom is watching us in the rearview mirror.
In spite of that, or maybe because of it, I go up on my tippy toes, giving Beau one last kiss. And not a platonic one, either. I can feel his face getting hot, his cheeks flushing as he steps away.
“Don’t forget about me,” I whisper before walking around to the passenger side of the car.
Through the window, I see Mom lifting her purse off the passenger seat, putting it on the armrest. If she thinks I’m going to spend five hours sitting next to her, she’s crazier than I thought.
I open the door to the backseat and climb in.
She might be the parent, but she’s not the boss of me.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Alexis
Five hours have never felt so long in my entire life. If the government needs a new form of torture, I’d be happy to lend them CeCe. Because a road trip with a sulking teenager refusing to talk even if it’s just to answer a simple question like “Are you hungry?” or “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” is just about as bad as it gets.
At least we’re almost home. Depending on traffic, we’ll be there in somewhere between five and twenty-five minutes. Of all the things I missed about Atlanta, the traffic is not one of them.
I glance in the rearview mirror: CeCe is curled up, looking down at her phone. Texting Beau, I bet.
“Imagine me and you, I do.” The familiar song comes drifting through the speakers.
CeCe hears it, too.
She looks up and her eyes meet mine for a millisecond before she looks away and puts her headphones back on. I don’t blame her; I’m not ready for this song yet, either.
I turn the volume knob all the way to the left. We were happy together.
The silence is even louder than the music had been. I focus on the wind whirring outside the car and not the beating of my heart, echoing in my chest and in my ears. Better listening to that than the doubts that keep circling through my head. How am I going to do this? I don’t think I can.
Turning onto our street, my heart skips a beat when I see a bunch of red balloons tied to a mailbox outside the Murrays’ house. As much as I wish they were a sign from Tommy, I know they’re probably just a sign that Dylan or Alex is having a birthday party.
Still, I watch the red balloons wave in the wind until they disappear from my view as I turn into our driveway. Without Tommy, our house feels like it’s just a building where three people used to live. Now two.
The willow tree in our front yard seems sadder than normal, its branches bowing in reverence to the man of the house, who didn’t come home. We’re all in mourning.
I turn the car off but don’t move to get out. I’m not quite ready. Neither is CeCe, apparently, because she’s still sitting there, so quiet and still that if her eyes weren’t open, I’d think she was asleep. It’s like we both know that once we open the front door, it will feel like we’re moving on. And neither of us is ready for that.
But I have to pretend like I am because I’m the grown-up. I open the door and pop the trunk. I grab my suitcase but leave Tommy’s where it is. I’m not sure why I packed all his things to bring home. Maybe because I couldn’t bring him home.
I turn the key and push the front door open. The floors are shiny and there’s an essence of lemon in the air. Someone must have let Effie know we were coming back. I close my eyes and brace myself.