Page 59 of We Drank the Dawn

“Sarah.”

I held up a hand. “I know—I know, Peter. It’s bad. I don’t know what to do though.”

“You’ve got to tell someone.”

“I’m telling you.” I said it as if he ought to be impressed.

He shook his head. “That’s not enough. An adult—someone who can help you.”

“I’m practically an adult myself. Plus, he’s never actually hurt me.”

Peter narrowed his eyes as if trying to see beneath my surface.

“What?” I demanded.

“I’m just wondering how true that is.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know that. But you’ve told me your mom makes a lot of excuses for him. There’s no chance you’re doing that, too?”

I frowned at him, my face flushing. “I’m not.”

“Alright.” He gave me a sad smile. “I just care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The words softened me like a stick of butter in the microwave. There weren’t many people in the world who cared to that extent. “He only hurts Mom. At night usually.” My gaze dropped to the table and I fiddled with my napkin as I choked out a whisper. “That’s why she’ll—do anything to keep him happy. Even if that means making me miserable.”

“She’s afraid,” he said.

“She is.” I agreed. “I feel bad for her. Her entire world is him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing either of us can do. It’s just the way it is.” I took a sharp breath. “I’m counting down days to my freshmen year of college though. I can’t wait to get out.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Is the plan still ‘go to college’ then ‘see the world?’”

“Something like that, I guess.” I shrugged, feeling the flimsiness of that plan. Resolutely, I spelled it out. “No matter what I do, I just want to create and enjoy all the beautiful moments in life, and experience awe and wonder and joy. And not get stuck like my mom.”

He gave a soft puff of laughter and I kicked him beneath the table. “What?” I demanded.

“I don’t think there’s anyone less likely to get stuck.”

I laughed too. “Yeah, well, the first thing I’m going to do when I’m out of their clutches is spend an entire weekend at Estes Park, maybe camping or something.”

“That sounds fun. Can I come?”

My heart rolled in my chest. “Sure!”

Then he frowned, like he was considering something. “Do you have a bucket list written down somewhere?”

I’d never considered writing one. “No, actually.”

“You should write your ideas down. So you won’t forget all the beautiful moments you want to have.” He thought for a second. “You’d hate to look back and realize you let your dreams slip away.”

“That’s a good idea.” I mulled that over. I could write a list of top priorities. All the things I needed to do to truly feel like I’d lived.

And even as I sat there, staring at Peter, I realized that list would be achingly simple.