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to say hello.
 You ve been working late so much lately, Haley said. She
instantly felt a little guilty for complaining. After all, it wasn t unlike
Mac to need his space. He had always needed it, a lot of it. She was
the one who was changing, not him.
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But she was desperate for the company, so she decided to play
the neediness card. If there was anything Mac desired, it was being
needed. She needed more help through this. In the days since Tif-
fany had disappeared, they d barely even talked about it.
 Please? I need you.
Mac s face slowly eased into a smile.  You do need me, don t
you? he said, patting her knee. He parked the truck in front of her
house.  How about I come on over around ten? We ll drive by the
diner to get your car, and then we can come back here. Sound like
a plan?
Haley nodded, relieved.
 What do you think happened to Tiffany? she asked, the
words tumbling out before she d even decided to say them.
 Aw, don t worry yourself about her none. I m sure that wher-
ever she is, she s just fine. You have enough to worry about as it is,
Hale. Her mother s just paranoid. Got everyone in an uproar right
now, but it ll all die down once Tiffany calls home.
 How can you say that? There s no way she s just fine. If she d
gone somewhere willingly, she would have called me. You know
that.
Mac sighed.  Look, I really have to get goin . Let s talk about
this later, okay?
It was then that she reached to pick up her purse from the floor-
board and spotted something glossy peeking from beneath the seat.
She picked it up. It was a copy of Hustler magazine. Her adrenaline
spiked from the shock of seeing it in Mac s truck.
She studied the titillating cover for a long while, her heart rac-
ing. Although she wasn t sure where she stood on the issue of por-
nography, Mac had brought it up on a few occasions while they d
been together, insisting that it turned him off.
Why would he say that if he hadn t meant it?
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The fact that he had the magazine also frightened her. The only
thing familiar, constant, and dependable in her life these days was
Mac. It was too out of character.
She tossed the magazine on his lap.  How many times have you
told me that you don t like pornography? That you like women to
be wholesome?
The magazine teetered from where it had landed on his lap and
fell to the floorboard.
Mac, his cheeks flushed, refused to meet her eyes. Instead, he
looked ahead, at the house.
 Was it a lie?
He didn t answer.
Her heart pounding angrily in her chest, she jumped out of
the truck.  You can forget about coming over tonight. I d rather be
alone than with someone who lies to me.
She slammed the door and marched to her front door, wonder-
ing what else in her life would go wrong.
8
Becky smelled like raspberries, scented lotion she probably bought
during her and Seacrest s hitchhiking escapade. But Haley was hesi-
tant to lecture her. She didn t want Becky to start spending even
more time away from the house, like she had with Sadie for the
first few months after their father had passed. If she did that, then
Haley wouldn t have a clue what her sister was doing. Her being out
with Seacrest concerned her much more than when the girls were
at their home.
Becky now lay next to Haley in her twin-size bed. A floor fan
oscillated in front of them, blowing tepid air in their faces. Sasha
lay sleeping on top of a Teletubbies sleeping bag on the floor, his tiny
jaw relaxed, his mouth opened in a perfect half-moon.
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Haley felt sorry for the little boy. He spent much more time at
their house than his own. His mother was a stripper who seemed to
prefer being with her customers. Although Becky was irresponsible
at times, between her and Haley, he got much better care at their
house than with his mother in their trailer in Trespass Gardens.
Rubbing her temples, Haley tried to push the argument she d
just had with Mac to the back of her head. She wasn t ready to deal
with it.
 I saw Tyler Jeffries today, Haley said.
Becky s jaw dropped.  You did? Where?
 The diner.
Becky screwed up her face.  That  she started, then stopped,
seeming to be at a loss for the appropriate word.  Asshole mur-
derer, she said finally. The corners of her mouth drooped, but she
looked to be more deeply in thought than upset.
The two lay quietly, listening to the steady click of the fan.
 Will Mama ever get better? Becky asked, her face pressed into
a pillow, the brown freckles sprinkled across the ridge of her nose
contrasting against her fair skin.
 She ll be okay, Haley answered, relieved and more than a little
surprised that her sister had mentioned their mother at last. It was
one of the first times since the accident.
 When? When will she get better?
Haley propped herself up with her elbow.  I m not sure.
 It s been forever and a day, Becky complained.  And she acts
like she doesn t know us anymore. How can she do that to us?
She was angry, probably as angry as Haley was.
 She s not thinking clearly, Beck. She s really, really depressed.
Becky sighed, then lay on her stomach and crossed her ankles.
A brown tendril hung against her milky forehead.  Can we do any-
thing? Anything Dr. Broussard can t do?
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 You can go in and talk to her sometimes, you know, Haley
said.
Becky shook her head, staring off into space.  I don t like seeing
her like that. I don t like going into that smelly room and seeing
her look so sick in the head. Becky glanced at her.  Would she do
something stupid? Like hurt herself?
 Oh God, no, Haley said quickly, then shivered. She didn t
want to think of the possibility, not now. Her mind desperately
needed some peace and quiet. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]