Page 100 of The Design of Goodbye
“I guess.” He grabbed the one on top, hesitated, but eventually handed it to me.
There wascolor.
It was so vivid, so brilliant, it took my breath away. The sketchbook was filled with paintings of Michigan: the beaches, the lakes, the sand dunes.
Once I found my breath, I said, “These are beautiful.”
“Glad you like them.”
“Like them?” I faced him, only to discover he was already staring at me. “Ilovethem.” The last painting was of a grouping of cherry trees, their budding leaves indicating the first signs of spring. It wasn’t finished, though. Only half painted. Incomplete. “You didn’t finish.”
A crushing sadness passed his face. “That was the last time I ever used color.”
He leaned against the wall next to his closet and pressed his palm to his forehead.
“I wish I could help make your pain go away,” I said, wanting to reach out and comfort him in some way.
“You do help. It doesn’t hurt as much when you’re here. But,” he continued regretfully as he began cleaning up, “you should probably go. My dad’s going to come up soon. I’m surprised he even let you in.”
I hadn’t realized it until now, but there was no way I was leaving without him. “Come with me,” I pleaded. “Spend the night.”
“I can’t.” He smiled apologetically. “My dad’s not in a good mood.”
It was selfish to pressure him. If he left, it would make things worse with his dad, but I needed him tonight. Ineededhim.
“Please?”
“I wish I could.” He was torn. “But my dad—”
“Ineedyou.”
Those three words caused a shift in him—a resolution.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”
I hated I’d pressured him, but he couldn’t stay here. In this dangerous house and lonely room. I waited anxiously as he packed. He was putting on his jacket when Mr. Strom barged in.
“What’s taking so long?” Mr. Strom glowered at me, at Liam, then at Liam’s backpack. His face turned red with understanding. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Madison’s,” said Liam cautiously. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“The hell you are.”
The air was thick with tension. Liam moved to stand in front of me. Mr. Strom stepped closer. Liam stepped back until I was pressed up against the nightstand with no room to escape.
“There were no notes, were there?” Mr. Strom focused on me. I flinched at the intensity in his eyes and knocked into the nightstand. It tittered to the side but didn’t fall. It did knock off the picture, though, which landed on Liam’s bed, right side up.
I stared at the picture of a younger Liam—practically a different person—and wondered if the man in the room was the reason Liam’s eyes no longer held that spark.
I supposed the woman in the picture was as much to blame. She’d abandoned her son, after all.
“Do you even have a headache?” growled Mr. Strom. “Or did you two have a whole conspiracy planned? Skip work so you can go hang out with your girlfriend?”
Liam’s hand found mine. “She needs—”
“Does she even know what you did?” Liam froze. Pleased, Mr. Strom finished with “Thought so.”
I squeezed Liam’s hand. It brought him back to reality, and he pushed past his dad, pulling me with him as we escaped. We stumbled down the stairs, through the front door, and into the safety of the night.
