He leans forward, squinting at the windshield and muttering under his breath as he eases out of the parking space. And for a split second, his mannerisms are so familiar. With a chill down my spine, I realize he reminds me of me, trying to drive when I had a vision clogging my windows and mirrors. I watch him in horror. Could it be?

And then he starts in on me. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he says. “You lie to us about everything. I told you that you weren’t allowed to talk to that one.”

“Will you stop calling him that? Sheesh, Dad.” “Don’t talk when I’m talking!” he roars, his booming voice taking over. “You need to go back to respecting me!”

“You mean being scared of you?”

“Dammit, Julia!” He slams his hand into the steering wheel and for a second I’m scared he’s going to drive us off the road. He comes to a hard stop at a light and I’m tempted to just jump out, but that would only prolong this and make it all worse.

I sit there, silent, so he can talk more. Yell more. Like a big hypocrite, he hollers about trust, trust, trust, until I want to throw up, because he has never trusted me, and I no longer trust him. I close my eyes and rest my pounding head on the window. And he goes on and on about what a bad child I am.

And the truth is he’s right about the things I did. I lied to him and Mom. I saw Sawyer when I wasn’t supposed to. I faked some school projects so we could find time to work on saving some lives. But as long as my parents are being overprotective nutcases, I will have to continue disobeying them, I guess. Because I’m not able to let people die when I can stop it from happening.

Now, shall I try and explain that to Dad?

We pull into the parking lot behind the restaurant. I get out without a word and close the door. It seems like he’s done yelling. I stopped paying attention. But before we walk into our apartment door, he says, “I’ll talk to your mother about what your punishment will be. Be back down for work in five minutes.”

And I look at him. “You’re not even going to let me say anything?”

His jaw is set. “What do you want to say that I don’t already know? That you’re pregnant, too?”

I almost laugh, because he just can’t let that idea go, but it also makes me furious because he thinks he knows me, and he thinks I’m out there banging people left and right, and he’s just so wrong and that’s so not me in any way, and it hurts. “Three things, Dad,” I say, winding up. “I want to say three things.”

He folds his arms and waits like he’s doing me a big favor.

I plunge into the rage headfirst. “One,” I say, “I’m not pregnant. I’m not sure why you think constantly think I am, but I am not sexually active, so you can just knock it off with that.” I can’t look at him. “Two, I know about your affair, so it’s kind of hard to take you seriously on this whole trust thing. And three?” I forgot what three was. And then I remember. “Three. Find yourself another slave. I quit.” And before I can allow the shock on his face to poke into my conscience and make me feel bad, I turn on the wet cement step, open the door, and run up the stairs and into my room.

Twenty-Six

Trey knocks on my bedroom door ten minutes later. “It’s me,” he says.

“Come on in.”

He stands there. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m in deep shit. You’re home early.” “Sawyer was worried Dad was going to hit you or

something. I told him Dad has never done that, but Sawyer was pretty jittery. I think he feels bad we told you to go with Dad.”

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” “Sorry. I suggested it because I figured it might save you a little grief in the end.”

“Well, it didn’t.”

“We’re not at the end yet.”

“Let me know when we get there, will ya?”

He laughs softly. “I will once I take my metaphorical beating. He’s pretty pissed at me.”

I don’t say anything. All I can think about is Dad and his stupid affair, and how Trey and Rowan don’t know, and I don’t know if I should tell them. And I wonder if Dad will kill himself now that he knows I know.

It’s the constant question. And then I worry that Dad’s going to think Mom told me and be mad at her. I flop down on my bed, finally beginning to realize the scope of what I’ve done. “I quit,” I say.

Trey looks at me like he didn’t hear me.

I answer his look. “I quit. My job, I mean. I told Dad I quit.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t really give him time to answer. He yelled the whole way home.” I sigh deeply. “At least now I can work with Sawyer more. If Dad doesn’t chain me to the house.”

Just then we hear pounding up the stairs. It’s not our parents. Three seconds later the bedroom door flies open and Rowan is standing there in her work clothes, bugeyed. She looks from me to Trey to me again. “What the heck?” she asks. “Dad’s on a rampage. Sorry I couldn’t warn you in time. I didn’t know he’d left until later.”

LISA M c MANN Trey explains. “Rowan texted me that Dad was on his way, but by the time I got it he was already coming up the library loft steps.” He looks at Rowan. “Who’s working?”

“Dad’s in the kitchen. Mom and I are in the dining room. Aunt Mary’s up front.” She looks at me, her face showing hurt for the first time. “How could you quit? I’m leaving Sunday. Now who’s going to cover for me?”