The Truth of Letting Go Page 7

  “Have some faith in your cousin. She’ll be fine.” He twists out of my grip easily, his expression turning judgmental. “I know you think you’re too perfect to break the rules, but Cece has faith. The kind of faith not many people have, and I personally think it’s encouraging.”

  “This is more than rules,” I say.

  He nods. “Yeah, it’s about family. And if you don’t give a shit about finding out the truth, you can have fun staying home.” His eyes wander across my face for a second and then he turns, hopping off the porch in one long stride.

  “I don’t think I’m perfect!” I call out toward his retreating frame. His shoulders bob like he’s laughing.

  I hate him so much. Maybe I will let her go on this stupid mission. I’ll just lie to my parents and say Cece snuck off on her own and it’s not my fault. My nails dig into my palms as I realize I have no way to stop Cece now, not without causing a lot of trouble. And screw Ezra. I can’t believe I thought he was hot. He’s nothing but an asshole.

  Just before he climbs into his coworker’s truck, he turns back. “You’re welcome to come with us,” he says. “I hope you do.”

  I don’t say anything back. I just watch as they drive away.

  Although I barely slept all night, it doesn’t really hit me how much I’ve screwed up until I hear Cece’s Hello Kitty alarm burst to life at three forty-five in the morning. I can’t just let Cece go on a nine hour drive without my parents knowing. A million terrible things could happen to her without the watchful eye of someone who understands her mental illness. Ezra just doesn’t get it.

  Maybe that’s why he asked me to go with them. But that’s not happening. I can’t allow this trip to happen.

  Though I hadn’t admitted it to myself, my subconscious was anxiously hoping for a natural disaster to strike between yesterday morning with Ezra and today at 3:45 a.m. A crazy mid-summer tornado, the unexpected arrival of my parents coming home early—something. Aliens could have fallen from the sky and ensured that this stupid trip with Cece was called off. But of course, they didn’t. Telico, Texas is never interesting and fate is most definitely not on my side.

  I sit up in bed, knowing I can’t let her go. I have to make her stay, no matter what it takes. Strangely, I’m not even tired, even though nothing should ever start this early. Not work, or school, and certainly not forbidden trips across the state with a hot guy who has a girlfriend, all for the sake of appeasing the whims of your bipolar cousin.

  Wait, am I actually thinking of going?

  This is not good.

  I flip on my light and get dressed into comfortable jeans, a pair of white Converse, and a black school spirit shirt from Fawn Lakes High School. I won this delightful prize for having perfect attendance last year. It’s not the most glamourous outfit, but Ezra will be here any minute and I can’t hope to win an argument in my pajamas.

  “Oh, Lilah,” Cece says from my doorway. I spin around, startled by the unexpected voice. She’s staring just past me, her eyes soft. “I’m so happy.”

  She’s chosen a different method of dressing today. She wears a dark green maxi skirt and a white lacy top, a green scarf around her neck. Her clothes actually match for once, and it looks nice on her. Her red hair is swept over to the side in its classic loose braid. I think she’s even done her makeup for the occasion.

  “Why?” I say, grabbing my phone off the charger.

  She rushes forward and throws her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re coming. I didn’t want to go without you.”

  “I—” Exhaling, I look down at my phone. “It’s just a nine hour trip.”

  “Yes!” She says. “We’ll be home by three or four at the latest, depending on how long Thomas needs to pack up his things. Back in time for dinner, and your parents won’t have to know a thing.”

  The inside of my lip starts to bleed so I let up on the nervous chewing. I know Thomas won’t be coming home with us tonight because he’s dead. Ezra most definitely won’t know how to handle her when she discovers that this trip leads to nothing.

  Either I have to become a human shield to keep Cece and Ezra inside the house, or I can just relent and go with them. Nine hours. Back by dinner.

  Cece makes the decision for me. She dumps my backpack on the bed and shakes out the contents. Then she tosses my phone charger inside and heads to my closet, where she grabs a pair of jeans I haven’t worn in months because they make my butt look big, and a T-shirt. “It’s good to have an extra outfit for emergencies,” she explains as she shoves them into my bag.

  “Emergencies?” I say.

  She zips up the backpack and holds it out to me. “You know, like if a bird poops on you. Spilled Slushee on your lap, tripping into a mud puddle. Emergencies.”

  “Okay, but this is still a day trip.”

  “See you in the living room?” she says just before she skips out of my room. I breathe in deeply, hoping it’ll quell the nervous energy bubbling through my veins.

  One day on the road. We’ll be back before it’s dark.

  I let out a sharp breath and stand a little straighter. This will be okay. It’s just one day, not even a whole day. We’ll be there in a few hours, Cece will discover that there’s nothing to discover and then we’ll come home.

  Easy. Mom and Dad never need to know.

  Fifteen minutes later, Cece’s backpack is so full it looks like it could have swallowed about three other backpacks as she hefts it off her shoulder and lets it fall to the tile floor by the front door. “You got everything?” she says, nodding toward my sagging backpack with only one change of clothes, a cell phone charger, and another thing that she doesn’t need to know about.

  I cast an annoyed look at her over-packed bag and nod. “What happened to one change of clothes for bird poop emergencies?” There’s a pain in the back of my throat as I say, “You remember this is one quick trip?”

  With her foot, she nudges her backpack closer to the door. “I remember. If we don’t find Thomas in El Campo, I drop the subject for good. And your parents never find out, no matter what.”

  I nod. “Cool.”

  Every cell in my body is filed with nausea and a little guilt because I know she’ll be disappointed by the end of the day. But maybe this is the kind of exposure therapy she needs to put the Thomas conspiracy to rest. My mom would never go for this plan, but maybe I can help Cece come back to reality. I grab onto that hopeful thought and tuck it between all of these nervous worries that won’t stop telling me this is a horrible idea.

  I check the time on my phone. Ezra will be here in a few minutes. “You got your pills?”

  She kneels and unzips the outside pocket of her backpack, showing me the weeks’ worth of medication in her pill box. “I’m all set. See, Tuesday’s is empty so you know I took it.” She waves the box in the air and then rolls her eyes while she puts it back. “I know how to take my meds when Aunt Carol’s not here. Stop worrying.”

  That might be true. But that didn’t stop me from sneaking into the kitchen a few minutes ago to grab the entire bottle of her pills to bring with me, just in case.

  “I’m going to check the doors again,” I say. It earns me groan from Cece, but who cares. Last night I’d made sure the back door and garage door were closed and locked, and then I’d gone around and checked every window. I triple checked the oven and unplugged the toaster and all of our hair dryers or anything that could catch on fire. After one more round, I turn on the porch light to confuse would-be robbers and try to put on a smile.

  “I’m scared.” I don’t even realize I’ve said it aloud until Cece cocks her head.

  “What do you have to be scared about?”

  She sounds genuinely concerned, and once again I wonder what it must be like inside her head. Sometimes she is so spot on with reality and other times we aren’t even in the same universe.

  I run my hands through my hair and realize they’re shaking. Exhaling, I say, “I could get in so much trouble for this.”


  “Maybe stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong and think of what could go right,” she says. Outside, a soft rumble approaches and then white headlights pierce through the narrow windows on either side of our front door.

  “You’re right,” I say, hefting my backpack onto my shoulders. “We’ll get there safely and get right back, no one will know, and it’ll be okay.”

  Cece laughs while she pushes back the sheer curtains and watches Ezra pull into our driveway. “You’re missing the point. Imagine the look on your parent’s faces when they come home and we have Thomas.” She opens her mouth like she’s imitating their shock and surprise. “Can you imagine? They’re going to freak out. They’ll be so happy.”

  Outside, a hiss of air releases as Ezra puts the RV in park. Cece grabs my arm and squeezes. “We’ll be heroes. We’ll be resurrectionists.”

  Oh holy crap, what have I gotten into?

  The light from the outside obscures as Ezra walks in front of it. Cece opens the door before he can knock. They’re both matching rays of sunshine, all smiles an excitement for the journey ahead. I am the rain cloud in this scenario and all I want to do is go back in time and never ever agree to visit Cece’s old house.

  “Ready?” Ezra asks, clapping his hands together. “Need me to carry anything?”

  “No thanks,” I say, just as Cece hands him her oversized backpack.

  Ezra’s perfect lips twist up in the corners. “Ice Queen is coming with us?”

  “Yes!” Cece’s cheeks glow. “Aren’t you excited?”

  I make this dramatic shrug. “You both wanted me to.”

  “Cool.” He slings one strap of Cece’s bag over his shoulder and I try not to focus on the bulge of his biceps. Why does he have to keep wearing these tight-fitting shirts, anyway?

  “Whoa,” Cece says. I follow her gaze to the ugliest recreational vehicle I’ve ever seen.

  It’s an ancient Winnebago, all tan and brown metal panels on the outside, with sharp slanted windows at the front. The big brown W is faded and flaking off, but the Texas license plate on the front is shiny and new. “Told you it was ugly,” Ezra says with a snort.

  “You didn’t tell us it looks like an RV from an eighties movie that breaks down and leaves a family stranded while on vacation,” I say.

  Cece giggles. “But those movies always have hilarious results and everyone is happy in the end, so let’s go.” She takes off toward the hulking piece of ugly. I stay on the porch with Ezra, wondering if I close my eyes and click my heels together three times that maybe this will all go away.

  “It has new tires and a tune up,” Ezra says. “It’s perfectly safe for the road.”

  Cece skips on down the driveway and climbs right into the thing, disappearing as she closes the door behind her. Ezra hitches her backpack higher on his shoulder and gives me this one-dimpled grin. “You’ll be all right, Monroe. I’m a great driver.”

  I haven’t had breakfast yet, but I’m on the verge of throwing up as I follow him off the porch, each step I take feeling harder than the last. My instincts are telling me to turn around and run back inside where it’s safe. This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever done. My breathing becomes labored, and the sound of the gravel crunching under my feet is so loud I want to scream.

  It hits me now as I’m standing just a few steps away from Ezra Flores’ RV that I’ve never traveled this far from home without a detailed plan. I’ve always had a schedule and a list and two parents who know every move I make. I am alone on this one. I am Cece’s sanity guardian and I am screwing up bad.

  “You want to ride shotgun?” Ezra says, tapping his palm on the massive passenger side door.

  “Ezra, I can’t do this.” My throat feels like it’s closing up and I’m gasping for air even though deep down I know I’m still breathing. It just feels like I’m not. Tears fill my eyes. “I can’t. this isn’t smart. This isn’t a reasonable trip and it’s too much activity for Cece and what if she loses control and I can’t take care of her?”

  I’m talking so fast I don’t even know if he can understand me. His brows pull together and he takes a step forward, watching me like I’m a science experiment that will spew hot lava at any moment. His curiosity only makes me panic more. “You don’t understand,” I say, my chest heaving, aching for a deep breath. “I have to take care of her. I have to keep her safe and I need to make logical, reasonable choices. Helping someone who’s bipolar is all about being smart—” Mom’s buzzwords tumble out of me as I relive every single therapist appointment in the space between my rapid heartbeats.

  “Lilah,” he says, his voice honey soft. “I need you to breathe.”

  His dark eyes lock onto mine and I nod quickly, then inhale. “Slower,” he coaxes, his hands warm on my shoulders. “Breathe with me.”

  I watch his lips as they pull together and breathe in deeply. We breathe in and out three times. My heart is still pounding in my ears, but I do feel better. “I don’t—” I say, but he shakes his head.

  “You’ve always been straight as an arrow, Lilah. You can’t deviate from the rules or you freak out.” He releases my shoulders. “Sometimes you have to be a little unreasonable. It’s part of the wonderful gift of being alive.”

  I swallow. “This isn’t just about me.”

  “But it is,” he says, playfully punching me in the shoulder. The motion brings back a ton of memories of little kid versions of ourselves where he pretend punched me all the time. I wonder if he’s playful with his girlfriend like this. If she even knows what he’s doing today.

  He shifts on his feet, his head lowered a little to look at me. “Lilah, this is just about you. You think it’s about Cece, but it’s not. You’re too afraid to break out of your shell and do something fun. I haven’t even known you the last several years, but you’re still the same. Still scared to do anything fun, just like when you spent a summer sitting on the edge of the pool while we all dove in and swam.”

  Chills prickle down my arms. My instinct wants me to tell him to shut the hell up, but I can’t because he’s right. I’m sheltered and organized and reasonable. I follow the rules and I never let my parents down. I am the daughter they can count on. “I’m just not sure this is very smart,” I say softly.

  Ezra studies me. In any other moment, I might be struck by how handsome he is from this close, but my thoughts are too crazed to care about that right now. He flattens his lips and then smiles. “You can find a million reasons not to do something,” he says, his voice low as he leans in. He smells like a fresh shower and a little like the leather from his bracelet. “The one reason you should do this is sitting in my RV. And she’s counting on you.”

  I glance back. Cece’s grinning at me from just beyond the massive windshield. She waves and I wave back. I turn to Ezra. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “It’ll be fun,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I know you’re worried about taking care of Cece. But I’m here. And I’ll take care of both of you.”

  He pops open the door, the hinges creaking with age. “Ladies first.”

  I take a deep breath and climb aboard.

  The idea of a road trip had conjured up images of quirky truck stops, singing along to Johnny Cash, and driving with the wind in my hair. Reality is that the first hour of our trip is just a quiet drive down Interstate 45 where the land is flat, green and dull on both sides of the road. The only sights are cow pastures but it’s too dark to see the cows, and we pass a ton of gas stations, but none of them are particularly quirky.

  Cece hangs out in the kitchen area, busily writing in her notebook. I sit up front with Ezra in a faded gray bucket seat that’s seen better days. Wood paneling lines the interior of the Winnebago and at some point, someone reupholstered the bench seats and bedding with sunflower print polyester that also matches the tiny curtains over each window. The appliances are older than I am, and the flooring has been replaced with laminate wood paneling that Ezra say
s he got for half off at the Home Depot. The whole thing smells like an old garage. Not bad, exactly, but not very good either.

  “It’s still a work in progress,” he says when he sees me examining the duct tape that holds the glove box closed. “My dad bought this thing when he married my mom. He was twenty and she was eighteen and they were broke as hell.”

  “That sucks,” I say as I lean forward and press down a piece of the duct tape that’s wiggled itself loose.

  “I think it’s cool,” he says with a little grin. “My mom’s parents were immigrants who lived in California, and they hated my dad. I don’t know why. He’s Filipino too, but he was born here so I guess there was some animosity, plus I think he was probably kind of an asshole back then. They thought their daughter could do better, you know? But my parents were in love and they snuck off to get married the day after Mom turned eighteen. My dad always said he could either afford a car or a house, but not both. So, they got this thing.”

  “Are they still in love?” I ask, unable to stop myself from wanting to know such a personal thing.

  His face darkens. “Mom passed away two years ago. Ovarian cancer. But yeah, they were still in love before then.”

  “Ezra, I’m so sorry.” I reach out and touch his arm, then pull back quickly. We’re not exactly touch-each-other-on-the-arm friends.

  “It is what it is,” he says, his eyes on the road. “Not trying to be rude, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” I say brightly, hoping to make a smooth transition to another topic. My heart still aches for him, but I know a life of loss, and I know it’s sometimes easier not to talk about it. “Tell me more about the Winnebago.”

  He grins and taps the dashboard. “It’s been a fixture in our back yard since I was born. Dad refuses to get rid of it, but he also didn’t care to make it drivable again. I’ve put more money into this thing than my dad has, and I’m hoping he’ll let me keep it for my birthday in August. He hasn’t had money to buy me anything for the last few years, so this should make up for it.”