Page 159 of Down Bad

Distant dog barking.

“You took the orchid,” he notices.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “Looks terrible.”

I frown right back. “It’s alive, isn’t it?”

“Barely.”

“Still counts for something.”

He meets my eyes.

I look back at him.

Tía Lottie was right. About how this would feel. About how his reaction to seeing me might go down.

It’s a beautiful place, where my tía and tío moved to. A modest little house by the beach in a place called Dreamwood Isle. To be more accurate, it’s about four blocks away from the actual beach, but you wouldn’t know it. The beach is all you hear when you’re outside on their creaky new porch, strolling down the sidewalk to the nearby corner store, or happen to crack open any window.

Even if I spent most of that time helping my tío move around furniture, fix up the yard, and clean out the attic, I felt like I was in paradise. Even got to enjoy my tía’s home cooking I’ve missed.

It felt like a vacation.

A vacation you never have to come home from.

And my tío and I got along better than we ever have before.

As if my dad was somehow watching over us like some sweet-eyed supervisor between children at school, secretly getting what he wanted, a wish coming true before it was too late for us.

Or I’m full of shit and the beach is just what my tío needed to quit being such a hard-ass all the time.

But here I am. Here instead of there.

On Wyatt’s porch.

Again.

“I was wrong.”

Wyatt hears what I said. But he doesn’t react yet.

“Not for standing up for you,” I clarify.

He crosses his arms.

“That, I will always do.” I take a breath. “But I was … wrong to take your life into my hands like that. To fix it for you.” I pause. “I need to learn how to trust people again. You got along fine before I showed up and mowed over my tía’s favorite flowers, anyway.”

He drops his eyes to the ground, still saying nothing.

I get up. “And I was wrong for leaving.”

“You were angry.”

“No, Wyatt … I was scared.”

He looks at me now. Really looks at me.