Page 101 of The Design of Goodbye
We’d almost made it to my car when Mr. Strom barged outside, stumbling down the porch, yelling, “She’ll leave you once she finds out what you did!”
“It wasn’t my fault!” shouted Liam.
I tightened my grip on his hand.
“Keep telling yourself that, boy. We both know it’s not true.”
The front door slammed shut.
The lock clicked into place.
“I-I didn’t,” started Liam, his anger replaced with pure devastation. “I didn’t do—”
“What?” I stroked his cheek with my thumb, trying to calm him, but he was too far gone in his internal desolation. “What didn’t you do?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” His words came out in stuttered breaths. “Ididn’t.”
I couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince me or himself.
“I know,” I said, pulling him toward my car. “I believe you.”
chapter thirty-five
Once in my car, I locked the doors and breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was scary.” My voice was timid and didn’t match the pounding of my heart. “Your dad.”
“Sorry,” said Liam.
I gripped the steering wheel. I needed something to hold onto if I was going to get through this. “He was kind of mean to you.”
The interior light of the car turned off, bathing us in darkness.
“I guess.”
“He seemedreallymad.”
He grabbed a water bottle out of the cup holder. Instead of taking a drink, he rolled it between his hands, the plastic crinkling loudly throughout the car. “Yeah.”
“Is he always like that?”
“I guess.”
He wasn’t going to open up easily—he never really did. But I hadn’t expected him to become guarded so quickly. The prospect of telling him was even more daunting now, and I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. I was terrified of his reaction. Terrified what it might mean for us.
But if I waited, I’d never tell him. And hiding what I knew? It felt like a lie.
“I—” My hands fell onto my lap, fingers tingling from the prolonged tight grip. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.” When I didn’t move, speak, or do anything else but stare at my hands, he suggested softly, “Wanna write it down?”
I still couldn’t do anything but sit there, terrified. Liam silently handed me a pen, and it was the encouragement I needed.
I turned the car light back on, and I took our truth book out of my purse. My hand shook as I wrote. My handwriting didn’t look like mine. I liked that it didn’t. I hated I had to do this. Hated what I wrote wastrue.
When I handed Liam our truth book, I held my breath as he read my words:
I saw your dad hit you.
