The People We Choose Katelyn Detweiler (graded readers TXT) 📖

“When?”

“The day he took me to Philly.”

“You said you loved each other and didn’t tell me?” Her whole face droops. “That’s… kind of a big deal, Calliope. I know we haven’t had much—or any—real alone time, just the two of us. But you could have called me.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

She’s quiet after that. It’s unsettling.

“It was stupid of me. And if I could redo it again differently, I would. I’d tell you right away. But it doesn’t even matter now, that I love him and he loves me. If his dad is my…” I close my eyes. Donor. Frank. “Then it was all for nothing. I was a bad friend who got swept up in boyfriend land, and I’ll end up all alone in the end. Maybe I deserve that.”

“You don’t have to be quite that dramatic,” Ginger says, roughly dissecting the last strawberries with her fork until it looks like a pile of obscene gore in the middle of the plate. “I would never say you deserve to be in love with your half brother. That’s way too epically cruel and Shakespearean. I’m not sure I’d wish that on my worst enemy.”

“So”—I reach for her hand, forcing her to drop the fork—“you forgive me? You pity me enough to let my bad behavior slide?”

“I didn’t say that either.” But she’s smiling now, red and toothy. “Ugh. It’s hard to stay mad at you when you might be in love with your sibling.”

“Thanks for that, Ginger.”

“Anytime. That’s what best friends are for.”

I drown myself in more diner food and too much coffee until Ginger is slammed with the dinner rush, and then I drive aimlessly in loops around town, trying and failing to get lost. It’s impossible in this town. The sun sinks behind the hills at the edge of the valley, and I keep circling. I don’t stop until Mama texts, asking where I am. She never checks in. It’s time to give up for the day. Hope that I’ve stayed away long enough.

I turn my headlights off before turning down our driveway. Added precaution. Just in case the light would carry through the trees to the Jackson house. Max might be watching for me.

I’m walking up to the porch when I hear: “Something wrong with your lights?” I jump.

Mama’s in her rocking chair, a tumbler of whiskey in her hand.

“My lights? No. I was fiddling with the brights. And then figured I was at our driveway, so I just turned them off.”

“You do know you’re a terrible liar. Which I’m glad about, by the way. Better to be a bad liar than a good one. Though better yet not to lie in the first place.”

I sit down on the chair next to her. There’s no walking away from this conversation.

“I’m assuming the stealth entrance was for the benefit of our dear neighbors. Though really, I would guess they can only see headlights in the winter, when the trees are bare. Maybe not even then.” She takes a sip, glances off in the direction of the Jacksons’ house. “I don’t see any lights coming from their neck of the woods. So, in the future if you’re avoiding Max, probably best to keep those lights on. Never know when a deer or a racoon or a kitten will wander in your path.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For turning your headlights off? Or for lying?”

I sigh. “Both.”

“Good.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“That’s fine. I don’t need specifics. But you can be honest about hiding out. Would have saved an awkward conversation when Max came poking around the studio today. And then again at the house earlier this evening. He said he’d figured you’d be finished picking up new school things by then.”

“Oh god. What did you tell him?”

“That you weren’t at the studio. Or at home.”

“Where did you say I was both times?”

“I said I wasn’t sure. That you might be running some more errands.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s what moms do.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, staring out into the dark, and I almost say it. I almost say: I found Frank.

But then Mama speaks. I swallow the confession. “Listen,” she says. “I won’t ask questions or make any grand speeches, but I will tell you this: Whatever it is that’s got you so upset? It won’t just go away. I’m glad you could have time to yourself today. But, darling—you have to face it. Whatever it is, whatever the implications are. Face it head-on. Be brave. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

“I don’t think it’ll be as easy as you think.”

“I never said it would be easy. The most valuable things in life rarely are.” Mama takes her last swig of whiskey and stands up. “We should get to bed. I suspect you didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

I follow her in and go through the motions, brushing my teeth, washing my face, putting on pajamas. I lie in my bed, steeling myself for the morning.

Ginger and Mama are both right. I need to face it straight on.

Face him straight on.

No more calls, no more automated voice mail. To be honest, I’m not even certain I’d recognize his voice over the phone well enough, not after one dinner. Even if he picked up, I would need more evidence. A more definitive answer.

I can’t be stuck in this loop, wondering, worrying, lying.

Elliot runs in the morning. That’s my best shot at catching him alone. Because I can’t exactly knock on the door, say Oh hello, Max, can I talk to your dad? Privately?

I’ll wake up early. Wait by the top of their driveway. Hope he doesn’t take a break day.

That is the plan.

Please don’t let it be him.

I’d rather he was cruel. A thief. A murderer. A convict of any kind, really.

I’d rather he was anyone else in the world.

Because anyone else means it’s okay to love Max.

Chapter Thirteen

THE next morning my