Page 52 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

He blocked her out, trying to wedge the door open, his
eyes focused on the outline of Roger.
“Ash.” She shook his hand, pinching tighter. “Ash.”
At once he pulled his foot back, and the door banged
shut. They stared at it, the silver 10 against the orange. The
deadbolt clicked on the other side.
Then she felt it—the weight of desperation, three hours
of hope and fear, the sting of every one of Patty’s words. You’re

not wanted. The pathetic shadow of their father. It mingled in
a cloud and lowered over her. She swayed, surprised to feel
tears on her cheeks. Her legs too heavy to move.
“What a waste.” Ash swore and kicked the white stucco
wall. He pounded a fist against their window. “What a bloody
waste!” He turned and saw Greta, eyes still fixed on the
orange door. ADVANCE READING COPY

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here. If those are parents, who
needs them? They suck. You suck!” he screamed at their
closed door. “Let’s go.” He took her hand this time, like she
was a two-year-old, and led her back to the car.
Nate’s face was ghost white. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing
outside the car as they approached. “I wasn’t sure if I should
do something.”
Ash shook his head and moved the seat for Greta to climb
in. “Can I drive?” he asked Nate.

Nate looked a little distressed. “Uh, sure. You know about
the speed thing, right?”
Ash snatched the key from Nate’s barely extended
hand and slid into the driver’s seat as if it were his own car.

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