Page 47
“You could always talk to him, sis.”
“Ugh.” I dropped my head to my hands. “Someone change the subject please.”
“The women’s shelter I volunteer for is having a fundraiser in two weeks. Would either of you be willing to help out?”
Lennon was full of surprises. Being a head chef at Quantum meant her work schedule was grueling. She barely had time to hang out with us, let alone volunteer anywhere. I hoped my friend wasn’t burning herself out.
“Since when have you volunteered at a shelter?” Lennon stiffened when my question came out accusatory rather than inquisitive. God, I was an asshole. “Sorry, that was rude. What I meant to say was how long have you volunteered there?”
“For a couple of years.”
“What’s the name of the shelter?” Daria jumped in.
“Haven House.” She fiddled with her napkin on the table. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you guys.”
“Why haven’t you said anything before?” I reached over, laying my hand over hers.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of us?”
“Of the past.”
For all intents and purposes, my friend was an enigma. Little by little, she’d started to come out of her shell, but other than telling me her grandparents used to own the property the rehab was on, she was pretty tight-lipped.
“The past can only hurt you if you hold on to it.”
“Your philosophical side is showing again, Daria,” I teased.
“Can’t help being awesome.” She popped a fry in her mouth.
“But what does it mean?”
“In the words of Elsa, let it go, Lennon.”
That must’ve been her green light because all at once the words tumbled from her mouth.
“My dad used to hit my mom.”
Daria and I moved on instinct, coming around the table to slide onto the booth next to her. We each took one of her hands, and listened, too shocked to do anything else. The more she talked, the freer she looked, like the words had been holding her hostage. Maybe they had. Like me, Lennon survived hell. Mine lasted less than forty-eight hours while hers went on for years. I couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be surrounded by that kind of violence day after day. Our parents may have been neglectful, but they never made us feel unsafe.
“The night of my high school graduation, he went too far. He was pissed because Mom had given me a little money to go to the beach with my friends for a few days. By the time the cops got there, it was too late. She was gone.”
“Lennon,” I whispered her name. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Daria covertly wiped a tear from her eye, then asked, “Where is he now?”
“Rotting in prison.”
“Good.”
As if the universe knew we could use a distraction, my cell phone chimed, indicating a new text. Reaching across the table, I picked it up, knowing before I looked it was from Zak. He got antsy when I was out of his sight for too long. I smiled when I saw the screen.
Z: Are you almost done with lunch?
Me: Not quite, why? Is there an emergency?
