“Fine,” she whispered, turning over on her side to stare at the wall.
Her father turned off the light and quietly shut the door behind him. As the tempest of thoughts once more raged through Lilah’s mind, the image of her mother’s pale, gray face reappeared in the darkness. It continued to linger there long after Lilah had shut her eyes, praying for sleep to find her. It lingered in her nightmares and throughout the night, silently watching as Lilah tossed and turned while the wind rattled against her bedroom window. And it was still there the next morning, when Lilah sat up in bed, desperately trying to rub the sleep from her bloodshot eyes. It was only when Lilah had reached her decision once and for all that Willow’s face quietly retreated from her sight, resigning itself to the distant corners of Lilah’s weary, disquieted mind.
Chapter 17
Eyes of Ash
Lilah had already finished eating breakfast when Stanley stumbled into the kitchen at eight o’clock, fumbling with the mismatched buttons on his blue flannel shirt. Eyelids still heavy from sleep, he squinted at the clock over the stove, muttering a curse at the blurry digits.
“There’s a Pop-Tart and hard-boiled egg on the counter,” Lilah said, glancing up from her book.
Her father jumped at the sound of her voice. “Jesus, I didn’t see you sitting there,” he grunted, scrubbing a hand through his unbrushed hair. “Thanks for making breakfast,” he added. He let out a jaw-cracking yawn as he fetched a black shaker from the spice cabinet, then trudged over to the plate she had set out for him. Eyes still half-shut, he began peppering his egg before remembering that it needed to be peeled first.
“Bad night?” Lilah asked from the table.
“Bad dreams,” Stanley muttered, pouring himself a mug of coffee. He took a long swig without waiting for it to cool, glancing at Lilah through the steam. He noted, with more than a hint of surprise, that she was already dressed, her hair done up in a tidy ponytail with a bow. “How come you’re up so early? Did you sleep okay?”
“I slept fine,” she lied. “I just felt like getting a head start on my reading assignment today.”
“I see,” Stanley replied. “Have you taken your—”
“Taking it now,” Lilah interjected, tossing a pill into her mouth. She feigned a big swig of orange juice, letting the tart liquid carry the medicine back into the full glass, then stuck out her empty tongue for her father to see. “Happy?” She made sure to be extra careful when she set the juice back on the table, not wanting to draw attention to the bright blue tablet settling to the bottom of it.
“Thank you,” her father said, taking his plate and mug in his hands as he sat down at the table. Resting his elbows in front of him, he sighed. “And no, I’m not ‘happy.’ I’m sorry you’re dealing with all of this. I’m sorry I’m doing such a lousy job helping you through it. I’m sorry—”
Stanley stopped himself mid-sentence, chomping off a mouthful of pastry to halt the words his tired mind had almost let escape: I’m sorry I didn’t die in her place. I’m sorry you had to be stuck with an oaf like me for a parent. We both know how much better at this she would have been. But Lilah couldn’t know the demons he struggled with; the lamentation that gnawed at the back of his mind daily – how his brilliant, sensitive, caring wife could be taken from the world when he offered so little in her place. He took another burning gulp of coffee, trying to stall for time. When he finally cleared his throat a few moments later, Lilah was back to reading her book.
“I’d better get going,” Stanley said, pushing his chair away from the table. “I have three new volunteers to train this week and they’re probably already at the station waiting. You have enough to entertain yourself with until I’m back this evening?”
“Yep,” she replied, holding up her book. “I’m good.”
“What about lunch?”
“What about your lunch?” Lilah retorted, glancing at his empty lunch sack on the counter.
“Crap.” He bolted over to the refrigerator and stuck his head inside. “All we have is a little bit of casserole from the other night. I’ll leave that for you and stop at the deli on the way to the station.”
“No, you take it,” she said. “I’ll, uh – I’ll just make myself a peanut butter sandwich.”
“You sure?” he asked, glancing at the clock again.
“Yeah, no problem.”
Stanley stuffed the Tupperware in his frayed lunch sack, poured the rest of the coffee pot into a thermos, and made his way for the back door. He hesitated there for a moment, his hand floating over the doorknob, before walking back over to Lilah and kissing the top of her head. “I love you. Okay? Don’t forget that.”
Before she could reply, he was out the door.
A knot of guilt rippled through her stomach as she watched him drive away. But she could feel Willow’s eyes watching her again, and she knew that there was only one thing that would make them go away: tracking down Mike Hastings.
· · ·
After counting down the minutes until nine o’clock – a suitably late hour for a morning phone call, she reasoned to herself – Lilah took the little slip of paper with Jace’s number scrawled on it, feeling her heart race at the sight of his handwriting. As she dialed his number on the kitchen phone, her fingers were trembling so badly, she had to hang up and try again. Once she’d finally punched in all the digits in their proper order, she held her breath, waiting for the line to connect.
A gruff-sounding voice answered on the second ring. “Wainwright residence, Frank speaking.”
“H-Hi. Can I speak to Jace, please?”
“Hang on.” A loud clack let Lilah know that Frank had plunked down the receiver. Still, she had to hold the phone away from her ear as he shouted, “Jace! Jace! Damnit, Mara, where is that boy of yours?”
Jace’s mother said something in response, but her voice was too soft for Lilah to make out the words.
“Do I look like a damned messenger?” the man snapped. “I’m not looking all over the house for him.” A moment later, he picked up the phone again. “I don’t know where he is. You’ll have to call back.”
“Okay, but could you just—” Lilah started, but the dial tone was already trilling in her ear. She hung up the phone, chewing on her lip. She thought about calling back, but she worried about getting Jace in further trouble if she did. Luckily, her own phone rang less than a minute later, interrupting her internal debate.
“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.
“Hey,” came the sound of Jace’s voice. It sent a shiver of elation down her back. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s okay! How did you know it was me?”
“A hunch.” Lilah thought she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh, well, good hunch…” she replied, feeling her cheeks grow hot. “Um, I’m sorry if I annoyed your stepdad. He seemed a little grumpy when he answered the phone.”
“It wasn’t you. He’s always like that. So… how are you?”