“It’s a school-sponsored trip!” she tells him, her fingers flying. “What do you think is going to happen? You think we’re going to have an orgy or something just because we’re out of state? Newsflash, you don’t have to be across state lines to have—”
Dad stands and takes a step forward as my mother reaches for his arm. “Grant, please.”
Tears well up in her eyes, but I stand too. Do I think he’d ever physically harm me or my sisters? No, but physical pain isn’t the only kind that hurts.
“Grant,” my mother pleads, just as Fallon stands, her hands flying, rage emanating off her in waves.
The yelling and fighting continue, and though I’m focused on making sure Fallon’s ok, I can’t help but notice that Emersyn’s gone. Just gone. I look toward the door, but it’s still shut, just the way I left it, and there’s no noise coming from the kitchen, though it would be hard to hear since my dad is full-on raging at this point.
“Fallon,” Mom says, signing, “I thought we agreed that you didn’t need to go on that trip. Maybe you and I can do a few museums this summer. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
My sister rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, you and Dad will find a museum where all the statues are wearing clothes and all the paintings are of fruit bowls.”
“There’s nothing wrong with modesty,” Mom says. “And what’s right for some families isn’t always right for ours.”
She’s trying to be diplomatic, but my dad’s having none of it. He silences her with just a look. “This discussion is over,” he announces, his lips moving slowly so Fallon is forced to read them. “Do I make myself clear?”
Silence descends as we finish our meal. I push the food around my plate, still shocked that no one realizes Em is gone. But the last thing I want to do is cause more discord, so as soon as we’re finished eating, I’ll track her down. Thankfully, my dad gets a call from the dean and retreats to his study, while my mom busies herself with clearing the table. I follow Fallon, but she shrugs me off, signing that she’s drained and just wants to be alone.
I want to leave, but it bugs me, no it worries me that my fifteen-year-old sister is MIA and no one has noticed.Her room is empty and so is the bathroom next door. Same for the guest room. The basement is dark, so I head out back to the patio. It’s freezing out here, but I won’t be able to sleep tonight until I know that she’s all right.
“Em?” I call, hoping she answers, but keeping my voice low enough not to disturb the neighbors. I’d like to avoid a search party, if possible. Something tells me that Em ducks out undetected on the regular.
After fifteen minutes and four unanswered texts, I step back in the house. It’s quiet now, eerily so. My mom’s sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a magazine, like her husband and daughter didn’t almost come to blows half an hour ago.
“Mom,” I say, sitting across from her. “It’s getting worse. You have to see that.”
She smiles sadly. “You know why they fight, don’t you? They’re too much alike.”
Nothing could be further from the truth, but my mother seems oddly comforted by her own twisted brand of logic, and I know that nothing I say will change her mind. From where she sits, Fallon’s a stubborn teenager, and Dad is just trying to do right by his little girl. That’s not it at all, but I’d be talking myself in circles if I tried to argue.
Besides, that problem won’t be solved tonight, or any time soon and there’s another issue we need to discuss.
“Mom, Emersyn’s—”
“Emersyn’s what?” my littlest sister’s voice startles me. “Adorable? Charming? Delightful?” She smiles as she walks into the kitchen like nothing’s happened. She dishes up some ice cream, kisses my cheek, and strides right out of the room.
What the heck?
“Look, Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll text when I get home, ok?”
“Ok, sweetie. Drive safe.”
I give her a hug but before I leave, I make a left into the living room. Em’s curled up on the dark brown leather sectional, her iPad in her lap.
“Where were you?” I ask her. Her face pales for a second before her smile slides back into place.
“What are you talking about, Book? I’m just eating ice cream and watching Netflix. It’s Maggie’s account. You’re not going to rat me out to Dad, are you? He’s convinced secular T.V. shows will rot my mind and turn me into a harlot.” There’s more to her meaning than just an illicit movie account, and I have so many questions, but for now, I just nod.
“No, but just be careful, okay?”
She rolls her eyes. “Book, I’ve been watching R-rated movies since I was in kindergarten. Don’t worry about me.”
At fifteen, she’s savvier than I’ve ever been, but I’ll never stop worrying about her.
Chapter 3
Ian
