Jack nodded, glancing at the back window of the facility. “Maybe I should break into your mother’s office alone. If you get caught, you’ll end up back in this place, no matter how well you’ve been doing. Or you’ll end up at that detention center with Belle.”
Lily’s breath fluttered at the thought. Her stomach tightened. “Who says we’re breaking in?” she whispered, pulling Jack to her feet. “I know where my mother keeps her key.”
After that, the two walked into the facility together, where Jack signed out. A boy named Cade was working the front desk. Lily knew him well. He smiled politely as Jack scribbled her check-out time in the visitors’ book, and watched in silence as Lily led her to the door. It wasn’t until Lily returned to him, resting her elbows on the counter, that he spoke.
“How’d it go?” he asked with a conspiratorial smile. Cade smiled easily. Laughed easily too. Lily had always liked him, and she was going to miss sharing these moments together. He’d been like a brother to her, a stand-in for the family she’d wanted for years.
“It went perfectly.” She leaned in, clasping his hands. “Thanks for not telling her I checked out last night.”
“She would’ve had all kinds of questions,” Cade said, his violet hair sweeping into his eyes. “And I know exactly where you were last night. But you can’t come back here again, pretending you’re still a patient.”
“I can’t visit you?” Lily teased, poking him in the cheek. Siblings did that, didn’t they? They tickled each other without feeling danger. They slept side by side without fear.
“You’ve earned your freedom,” Cade said after a minute, pinching her arm. “Don’t waste it on me.”
Lily nodded, then walked to the doors. She didn’t wait for her stepfather to come pick her up. As the doors whooshed open, bringing with them the scent of flowers, she turned back to the boy at the front desk. “I’m not going to waste a second.”
5
Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick
Jack entered her bedroom through the window. It was less likely to creak than the doors, and her brothers would come running if they heard someone entering the house after dark. Their ears were finely tuned to the near-silent comings and goings of their mother. Bobbi McClain had a tendency to sneak out at odd hours to meet some boyfriend or another, returning days or even weeks later. Once, Jack had come home from a double shift at the local convenience store only to find her youngest brothers lined up in front of the door, their eyes brimming with hope. Then, when they’d realized their sister was creeping into the house at two a.m., they’d tried to mask their disappointment.
After that, Jack had started entering through her window, determined to let them sleep through the night. This night, however, she had an ulterior motive. She hurried to her closet, flinging open the doors. The smell hit her, soft as a feather trailing across her skin, and her stomach clenched at the thought of destroying the only connection to him she had left. Then, after plucking two pillowcases from the floor, she began yanking clothes from their hangers, stuffing them inside.
It took about ten minutes. Ten minutes to eliminate all traces of him from her closet. Ten minutes to empty her dresser drawers. Even the floor had been strewn with Raven’s pajamas, and her room looked oddly clean without them. Emptied. Stripping the clothes from her back, Jack stuffed his T-shirt and jeans into the second pillowcase before knotting it closed.
She threw on her floor-length jacket. Wearing nothing but her underwear beneath it, she slipped out of her room, both pillowcases in hand. Next stop was her mother’s bedroom. As much as she hated to do it, she pulled on some ridiculously low-waisted jeans and a billowy top, which her mother had no doubt worn to some concert or another. Bobbi McClain loved loud music and loud men and nights that came back to her in flashes the following morning. Right about now, she’d be stumbling into a seedy motel room with a beautiful bass player or a photographer with a wicked smile, and she’d be having the time of her life.
Riding high.
Then, in a couple of weeks, she’d return home with track marks on her arms and no light in her eyes. She’d sit in the kitchen and stare at the wall for hours. Or she’d lock herself in her bedroom and sob. Even now, the room reeked of stale cigarettes and tears. Jack left as quickly as she’d entered, creeping quietly toward the living room. The squat green house was a ramshackle affair, with creaking doors and peeling paint and two tiny bedrooms that weren’t big enough for her family. On her eleventh birthday, her brothers had surprised her by moving into the attic, so she could have one of the bedrooms to herself. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, before Raven offered her more.
Jack swallowed, her throat as scratchy as sandpaper. She would not cry. These clothes were only a memento of dark eyelashes and soft hands, and soon she’d be staring into those eyes. Maybe even holding those hands, if she hadn’t ruined everything the last time they’d seen each other.
She entered the living room and knelt in front of the fireplace. Checked the flue. Struck a match. She was just holding the tiny flame up to the logs when she heard a sound at her back. There was a soft gasp, followed by the rustling of clothing.
Jack’s heart sank.
Her mother was home. She must’ve brought some stranger into their house, which she was never supposed to do again. Jack had made sure of that. She’d thought she had, but as the fire sprang to life, she wondered if she’d have to take things further this time.
Her heart hammered as the flames grew, casting pools of light in an otherwise dark room. Two people sprang away from each other on the couch, and Jack’s breath caught in her throat, her hands instinctively pushing the bags of clothing behind her. The figure on the left was familiar. He had auburn curls, just like she did, and his green eyes were filled with shock. Fear. Shame.
As Jack’s gaze trailed to the right, she understood why. He’d thought their mother had come home. He’d thought she’d caught him with this person, and he was preparing himself for the attack. For all their mother’s recklessness, there were certain things she wouldn’t allow. She’d never liked Raven, though she wouldn’t admit it was because of his pale brown skin. Belle’s mysterious parentage had made her nervous. And if she’d walked in to find her eldest son tangled on the couch with a bright-eyed, brown-skinned boy, she would’ve started screaming.
At the very least.
Jack waited for her brother to relax. She waited for reality to sink in, as he realized she wasn’t their mother and wasn’t going to humiliate him. She kept waiting. But Flynn’s eyes were trained on the ground, his hands shaking so badly, she thought he might cry. He never cried. Not when their mother taunted him, reminding him that his daddy hadn’t stuck around to witness his birth. Not when she disappeared for weeks on end.
When his eyelids started to flutter, Jack strode toward the kitchen, asking, “Anyone hungry? I was going to make a sandwich.”
The boys were silent a minute, and then Flynn stammered, “No, thanks,” just as the other boy said, “I could eat.”
Jack chuckled, tossing him a glance. The kid was stick-thin. In fact, everyone in the room looked like they’d skipped their last three meals, and her own belly grumbled at the thought of a nighttime snack. She needed to get the boys out of the living room so she could burn the bags of clothing. But first she needed to take care of her family. “Turkey, ham, or chicken?” she asked, the bags swinging behind her back. “Or, let me guess, all three? That’s how Flynn likes his.”