To make up for my mistake, I'm a good girl the rest of the morning. I finish my homework, do the dishes, comb my mother's hair and make sure Dad isn't stressed because of me. I'm the model daughter.
“I put something in your purse, just in case,” my mother whispers in my ear while Dad checks his email. I give her a quizzical look, and go to check my purse. Great. I have my very own can of pepperspray and a rape whistle. I almost laugh, but then remember the look on Peter's face as he tried to choke the life out of me. Not very funny at all.
Jamie texts me and offers to take me out to lunch at Miller's Diner. I haven't see him in a while, and I feel guilty about that so I say yes. Along with offering to pay, he also picks me up. It takes more effort than normal to haul myself into the truck. He looks like he's going to say something about how shitty I look, but then thinks better of it. I silently thank him by asking how his Saturday night was.
Miller's, the closest diner to Sussex with the best reputation, was the kind of place people had been going to for sixty years and where the only thing that ever changed were the prices to match inflation. We always order something horrible and fattening, drenched in butter or sauce or fried. Jamie always says he liked a girl who knew how to eat. I can definitely put it away.
Of course it's packed with the after-church lunch crowd. There's a distinct smell of rose perfume and mothballs that emanates from a group of elderly women clustered with their husbands and families in the booths that line the restaurant. Miller's used to be a train car, so there's little room to maneuver along the aisles. Our waitress leads us to a booth in the back, one of the only left available. The seats are cracked and repaired with Duct tape that doesn't match the green fake leather. It's all part of the Miller's charm. Neither of us bother to look at the menu. We've got it tattooed on our brains. I order a grilled cheese and a salad, but make up for it by getting fries. Jamie goes for the bacon cheeseburger with a milkshake.
“You there?” he says after our waitress brings our food. I've been mostly absent from the conversation so far. I'm distracted. I'm also hoping he doesn't mention the scarf.
“Yeah, sorry.” I shake my head, trying to clear it.
“You've been out of it lately.” He squirts ketchup all over his burger and fries. He'd eat ketchup on ice cream if it were socially acceptable.
I wave my hand. “Sorry. A lot on my mind.”
“You recovered from the party?” I reclaim the ketchup from him. He drained most of what was left in the bottle.
“It wasn't that bad, Jamie.” I glare at him. I can't believe he's still going on about that. Compared to the rest of my week, that was one of the tamest things I'd done.
“It could have been.” He leans over the table, as if he's trying get his point across, but I'm not getting it.
“I wish you wouldn't worry about me so much.” I shift in my seat. The fact that he's so worried that I had a few too many drinks shows me just how ballistic he'll go if I actually tell him everything. Well, I just can't tell him. Ever. That totally sucks, because I hate keeping anything from him.
“Then don't give me a reason. I know you enough to know that something is up with you, and that you don't want to tell me.” I think before I answer, swirling a fry in ketchup.
“What if there is?” I say without looking him in the eye. Thing One and Thing Two.
“I want you to talk to me about it.” He hasn't touched his burger yet, which worries me more than anything else. Nothing gets in the way of Jamie and a good meal.
“What if I can't?” I pop a fry into my mouth, still not meeting his eyes.
“That's what scares me.”
“Don't be scared. I'm fine.” I smile with the fry still sticking out of my mouth and cross my eyes.
“I wish I could believe you.” He finally lifts his burger. Whew. I was getting really concerned there.
“You're not my father. You can't make my decisions for me.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to.
“I wish I could,” he snaps back. I'm glad he can't. My hand goes to the scarf for the millionth time.
“You've gone through a lot, with your mother and everything.” So has he, with his father.
“I'm fine.” Wash, rinse, repeat.
“Of course you are,” he sighs.
“What about Tex? You don't do this with her.” It is a valid point.
“Tex can take care of herself.” The truth is Tex would tell him to go to hell and mind his own business. I'm more passive. He knows he can influence me more. I hate that he knows that.
“So can I. You need to stop treating me like some delicate flower, or some lost puppy that needs a home. I'm not.” I start ripping a fry into small pieces and throwing it in the ketchup. He takes tiny bites of his burger. The problem is that I kind of want someone to take care of me. Someone to hold me and take my mind off all the crap I can't control. Jamie's just not the one who can do that, and I'll never admit out loud that I even want it. So we're both out of luck.
“I know. I know.” We eat the rest of our food in silence, and don't get dessert, even though Miller's pie is legendary. He pays after I put up a good fight for the check. Jamie always wins.
“I don't want you to think that I don't think you can take care of yourself. You're strong; I know that. Can I help it if I worry?” He holds the truck door open and holds an arm out to boost me in.
“You could try harder.” I elbow him, which is more a punishment for me because his stomach is so hard.
“I will.” He pokes my nose and I try to bite his finger, but miss.
***
The bruises are a purplish-green by Monday morning. I sigh as I wrap my scarf around my neck. I haven't been back to the cemetery. Not because of him hurting me, as much as I want to say that's what it is. Before that night, the cemetery had been a sanctuary. I go there to feel like I'm soaking up the eternal rest of everyone around me. Take my shoes off and let my feet sink into the grass and drink in the immortality around me. I've never felt that death lingers there, or sadness, only peace and remembrance. That's been broken for me, and I want it back, but I need some time to recover before I go on another suicide mission. No one can take that place away from me. Not even him.
“Hey, are you okay? I feel like we left off on weird note yesterday.” Jamie finds me by my locker. I'd gotten to school super early due to waking up and not being able to get back to sleep. I haven't been tardy in over a week. I'm on a roll.
“Not weird. I'm fine.” I'm going to say it over and over. Until it makes sense, or I start to believe it.