Page 21 of The Summer We Fell

I take a deep breath. “Hi!” I call. “I’ll be there in a second! I just need to change.”

My voice wavers with something that isn’t normally there, something bright and false.

“Hurry for me, hon,” Donna calls back. “I’m in the middle of making this pie and the chicken needs to turn.”

You’re late is what she means, and I take in a shuddering breath.

Is this worth it? Is anything worth it? Today at the diner a woman told her son that if he didn’t study harder, he’d wind up waiting tables just like me. Charlie called me a moron. Two gross old men asked me how much extra for a little sugar after their meal, and when I told them sugar was right there on the table they said, “That’s not the kind of sugar we’re talking about.”

What’s on the other side of all this? What about any of this makes it worthwhile? Nothing. But how the hell would I ever make it in LA when I can’t even exist safely here?

The sob I was holding in swells, choking me as I reply.

“Okay,” I call before swallowing, my voice too high and thin. “Just one sec.”

I have only taken one limping step toward the stairs before Luke marches out of the kitchen, staring at me with rapidly darkening eyes. I grip my shirt tighter, and his gaze follows the motion.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Nothing,” I whisper, wiping my face on my shoulder. Pull it together. Pull it together. “I fell.”

He is frozen in place. “Don’t fucking lie to me. What happened?”

Donna peeks into the hallway, her eyes going wide as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel. “My goodness, hon, you’ve got gravel stuck to—” Her eyes fall to the blouse I’m holding together. “Oh, honey.”

Danny crosses the room and places his hands on my arms.

I suck in air at the contact. “My arm,” I whisper.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he says, releasing me. “What happened?”

I glance from him to Luke. I want to lie about this, but I guess the ripped shirt gives it away, and Luke always seems to know when I’m lying anyhow. “Some guys tried to pull me off my bike on the way home. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fucking fine,” growls Luke. “You’re limping, you’re scraped from head to toe, and they ripped your goddamned shirt.”

Donna winces at the language he’s using but doesn’t say anything. “Do we need to call the police, sweetie?”

I shake my head quickly. “No. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“The hell it wasn’t,” Luke says.

Maybe he’s right, but the police aren’t going to do anything. They’ll probably assume I’m at fault, and who knows…maybe I was. Maybe I should have changed into different clothes before I biked home. Maybe I shouldn’t have been singing. Maybe I shouldn’t have been biking in the first place.

“I’m fine. I am. I had to leave the bike. I think the frame was bent.”

“The boys will go get it,” says Donna, placing a hand on my good elbow. “And I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

Donna leads me toward the stairs and Luke just stands there, watching me go, fighting some impulse I don’t understand before he finally stomps away.

* * *

Donna has to get tweezers to pluck the gravel and glass from my skin. I bite my lip, bracing my thighs and digging my nails into my palm to distract from the pain.

“That’s the worst of it,” she says at last and I release a long, relieved exhale. She turns on the shower for me but hesitates when she reaches the door to leave.

“If…it was worse than you implied downstairs, you can tell me,” she says. “No one else has to know.”

My eyes well. She thinks I was raped, and she’s willing not to tell Danny if that’s the case. I believe her too. “It really wasn’t worse. They barely even stopped the car.”