Page 24 of Run
“Thanks for being my first.”
Ari closes the door and I watch her make her way toward the hallway and disappear. “Thanks for being mine,” I say to the night sky.
CHAPTER 7
ETHAN
Apparently the kiss didn’t change anything. For Ari, that is.
For me it changed a lot, but of course I won’t let it show.
After the school year ended and throughout the summer before my senior year, I continued to check in on Ari when Axel was on a bender, or if she got home late and he would be waiting for dinner, or if he was otherwise unhappy. This evening, I heard and then saw Axel screaming at her for leaving her bike in the driveway.
I send Ari a text as I change out of my sweaty clothes from baseball practice.
You OK?
Yes, Mr. Worries a Lot
I smirk, and as I’m headed into the kitchen to help my mom set the table for dinner I type a response.
Just checking. Axel sounded like he was going to blow a gasket
Her reply is immediate and accompanied by a laughing face emoji.
He was. Why do you think I left my bike in the driveway?
I roll my eyes. Ari has been doing that lately—pushing Axel’s buttons, like she’s just trying to piss him off. It horrifies me and also makes pride bloom in my chest. It’s her way of giving him the middle finger. But mostly it keeps me up at night, worried she’s going to push too far.
Also, at some point, she stopped calling him Papa.
“What’s that look for?” Mom interrupts my thoughts as I slip my phone into my pocket. I shake my head, like it’s nothing. “Is that Ari?”
“Yeah. I heard Axel going off earlier, so I was just checking in on her.”
“Hmm.” Mom hands me a pile of plates as I approach, then turns back to the stove to stir the pasta sauce. My mom is beautiful. She has glossy brown hair that just barely touches her shoulders, and I don’t think she wears any makeup, but her skin glows nonetheless. “She’s not your responsibility, Ethan.” Her voice comes from behind me as I set the table. “You realize that, right?”
Folding paper napkins, I place them next to the three plates on the table. “Huh?”
Mom turns the burner off, rests her hip against the counter, and crosses her arms over her chest. “I love that you look out for Ari. I love that you are the kind of young man who won’t just stand by while someone gets hurt. And I know you can see she’s turning into a beautiful young woman.”
“Mom, can we not—”
“She’s not leaving anytime soon, Ethan,” Mom says with finality, and I turn to look at her. “You graduate this year. You’re hoping for a baseball scholarship. I wish we could afford to send you to any college you want, but we can’t. At least with a scholarship you may be able to have your pick from any state school. But Ari will still be in high school next year.”
“I know.” A moment goes by, and I add, “I never really decided if I even want to go to college. I mean, Fonz is going to start learning from his dad while going to community college. I could do something similar.”
Mom’s steps falter as she carries the pot of pasta over to the table and places it on a potholder, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Turning and smoothing her hands over her thighs, she approaches me, clearing her throat. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Ari would have left by now—would have called the police or reported that monster to the Department of Social Services and had him arrested for child abuse—if she wasn’t afraid that doing so meant she couldn’t see you every day?”
The revelation hits me in the gut. Mom knows, but she keeps going. “Ethan, honey, sometimes the best way to protect the people we love is to walk away. Staying here, making her feel protected—falsely protected—may only be keeping her in that man’s grasp.”
I am speechless as the front door opens and Dad’s footsteps sound behind me. “Oh, thank God dinner is ready. I’m starving. There was a crash on the parkway and traffic was backed up.”He keeps going, but I can’t hear him as the pulse in my ears gets louder.
Mom pats my cheek and I see her mouth the wordsthink about itas she walks away.
ARI
Even though it’s only the first week of September, it’s hot as hell. Especially inside the house. An Indian summer is what Lena called it. I call it insufferable.
