Page 20 of Shelter
“I know. I’m sorry.” I exhaled and took two steps toward her. Ava was looking out her window, her eyes still shining. I put my hands on her shoulders and felt them shake with a quiet sob.
My stomach twisted, just like it did every time Ava wept. “Stop crying.” My words fell somewhere between an order and a plea, and I heard her hold her breath and struggle to stop.
I pressed my lips together, thinking about how I’d let myself cry afterhehad walked away. Why had I gone and done that? I hadn’t cried in more than three years.
And Elise Cormier saw me.
I dropped my hands from Ava’s shoulders and turned away.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffed, probably thinking my disgust was directed at her. “I’d just hoped he’d stopped. It’s been a whole month.”
“Yeah, I know,” I grumbled bitterly. “Seems like he’s back from vacation.”
I crossed her room and grasped her doorknob, but a thought stopped me. Elise Cormier knew our secret. My guess was that Flora suspected it too, even if she didn’t know for sure. Their presence hadn’t been enough to stop our father completely, but I knew it helped. I turned back to my sister.
“Ava.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, and I made sure she was listening. “Yeah?”
“The next time he gets mad, go to the Cormier’s. If Flora’s in the kitchen, go there. If not, go to the guesthouse.”
She blinked at me. “What about you?”
“I’ll come with you if I can,” I hedged. The only way I’d do that was if Mom wasn’t home. If Ava, I, or the both of us were his targets. I wouldn’t leave my mother alone with him again.
“But don’t wait for me.”
Chapter 5
COLE
“Hey, Whitehurst, want a hit?”
Wearing a shit-eating grin, Louis Castor offered me his apple bong. I looked with envy at the smoking fruit my best friend held. It had been a god-awful week. After placing fifth in the state last year, I’d lost the first wrestling match of the season Tuesday night. I shouldn’t have gone at all. If I’d bailed, at least I would have been home for Mom.
But I hadn’t been. Now she was limping again.
That was the night before the PSAT. A long night. So I’d probably blown those, too.
I looked at Louis and his very tempting offering and sighed. “We’re in season. Coach randomly tests,” I said with a shrug. “I can’t afford to get kicked off the team.”
Louis dropped down into a squat beside me, his bony limbs collapsing like an accordion.“Old King Cole was a very old soul, and a very old soul was he. He turned down his pipe, and he turned down his bowl, and he cursed out his fiddlers three.”Louis chanted the nursery rhyme he’d modified just for me.
I gave him my best deadpan stare even though he’d tempted my grin.
“You should at least appreciate the simple beauty of the apple bong,” he said, holding the improvised pipe like a trophy. Then he put his big lips around the hole he’d drilled into the side of the apple and took a long, solemn draw. Squinting his eyes and tucking his chin as he held it in, he pointed a finger at me.
I rolled my eyes and took his cue. “Why, Louis? Why is it simply beautiful?” I asked.
“Because,” he wheezed, holding onto his hit. His face broke into a smile as smoke puffed out of him, “it’s a Pipe-O-Snack. You smoke your doob, and when the munchies hit, you’re all set. Smoke your stack. Eat your snack.” He gazed lovingly at the browning apple. “I could write a song about my apple bong.”
His laughter screeched across the night. Louis thought he was the funniest person around. And half the time, he was right. I gave him a grudging smile. “Ingenious.”
He nodded, satisfied, but then he gave me the side-eye. “You sure you don’t want any?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
He pushed his shaggy bangs off his forehead. “Can I get you another beer?” Louis offered, nodding at the half-empty Abita I’d given up on.
