"I love birthdays. It's the only time I let myself eat cake," Dinah mumbled through a mouthful of the Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream cake she'd bought me.
"I can't live like that." My fork dug into the icy sweetness. "I'd go nuts counting calories."
"You don't have to count calories, Camila . Maybe if I started running . . ." she drifted off as if she couldn't finish the thought. Dinah enjoyed exercise classes but hated the idea of motivating herself in her own time.
She'd taken me to Mario's for my birthday dinner and just had the server bring out the surprise cake. The distant sound of Rosemary Clooney's Mambo Italiano played from the speakers, and my nerves finally relaxed.
I'd been on edge all day from the fight with Lauren last night. She'd peeled out of her driveway after I'd run into my house and, as far as I knew, hadn't been home all day. It was the weekend. I guess she was off doing whatever it was that she did.
Ideas had been popping into my head all day. Maybe she sold drugs in Chicago? Worked for a crime family? Or maybe she volunteered at an elderly home? But every stupid thought drove me crazier than the last.
"Camila?" Dinah stopped chewing and looked at me. "Are you going to tell me about last night?"
I felt like the thumping in my chest shifted my body. Was she talking about me breaking into his room? The near-sex? But how would she know any of that?
"Last night?"
"The race. I heard you showed up with Lauren and. . . .staked your claim, so to speak." Her grin made me smile.
"Oh, yeah," I answered hesitantly. After the fight with Lauren, I was more confused than ever about where we stood. I couldn't explain it to her if I didn't understand it myself.
"Well?" She moved her finger in a circle to keep me going.
"Not much to tell, Dinah. Lauren and I have called a truce, I guess. Other than that, I'm not sure what's going on." I stuffed more cake into my mouth.
"Do you care about her? More than a friend?" Her fork was paused in midair, and she stared at me expectantly.
I cared about Lauren. A lot. But what good did it do me?
"Yes," I sighed. "But she doesn't care about me, Dinah . Just leave it alone." She gave me a sad smile and did what good friends do—gave me a second
slice of cake.
After Mario's, she drove me home instead of going to the movies like we
planned. I was more interested in catching up on missed episodes of Sons of Anarchy than seeing the romantic comedy she wanted.
"What is that?!" she exclaimed, looking at something out the front windshield.
I followed her gaze and sucked in a breath at the sight of my yard, full of neighbors. They were eyeing a hugely bright spectacle by my house.
What?
My pulse started to race. Was my house on fire?
I quickly shot out of the car and raced up my front yard. I gasped at what I saw.
The tree between Lauren's and my houses was lit up with lights. Hundreds. Of. Lights.
Oh, my God. Who did this?!
I couldn't control the smile that spread across my face. The tree was decorated with an assortment of radiant lighting. White lights, small and big bulbs, as well as lanterns of different styles and sizes adorned the tree. The awe- inspiring magical quality of the world within the branches was too intense for words. I was sure I would never enjoy looking at this tree without lights again.
Lauren.
My lips began to quiver. As I walked closer to the tree, I understood why so many people were hanging around outside now. The sight was beautiful.
I'd spent a lot of time climbing this tree, reading in it, and talking with Lauren in it until the stars faded with morning's light.
She'd done this for me. I didn't know who else it could've been. This was our special place—one of many—and she'd lit it up with magic and wonder.
The quake in my chest grew stronger, and a few tears cascaded down my cheeks as I silently took in the spectacle.
"Do you know what this is about?" Dinah asked beside me.
"I have an idea." My voice was hoarse from the lump in my throat.
Noticing something stuck to the tree trunk, I walked away from my dispersing neighbors and ripped the sheet of paper from its staple.
Yesterday lasts forever.
Tomorrow comes never.
Until you.
Breathless, I looked over to Lauren's house, but it was pitch black. Where was
She?
"Why's your bedroom light on?" Dinah piped up, and my eyes shot to the
second floor of my house where, indeed, my light was shining. I never kept any lights on when I left the house, except for the one on the porch.
"I must've forgotten to turn it off," I muttered distractedly as I hurried to the house. "I'll see you later. Thanks for dinner," I called out behind me, racing up the stairs.
"Uh . . . okay. Happy Birthday!" Dinah stuttered before I slammed the door. I was being most definitely rude, but my head was elsewhere now.
I dropped my jacket and purse on the floor. I could see my bedroom light shining from my open doorway, and I slowly climbed the stairs. I wasn't scared, but my heart pounded, and my hands shook.
As I walked into the room, Lauren sat on the rail outside my French doors. She looked beautifully disheveled, jeans hanging from her narrow hips and sexy- messy hair. My arms ached to hold her.
I wanted to forgive her and forget about everything right now, but my pride held me back.
Luckily, she didn't give me a chance to make a decision.
"Is that what you were looking for in my room last night?" She gestured to a thick manila file folder on my bed.
I must've been fire engine red at that moment. All day, I'd been thinking about her behavior and what she was so afraid to tell me, and I'd forgotten about the fact that I'd let him know I was snooping in her room by shoving that picture at her last night. I guess I'd just wanted her to know that I knew something was up.
"Go ahead," he urged gently. "Take a look."
Debating for only a moment if she was serious or not, I walked to the bed and leaned down to open the folder. I nearly choked on my own air.
There were pictures, just like the one I'd found, of a girl—no, scratch that— of Lauren bruised and bloodied. Scanning the pile of thirty or so photos, I caught
Lauren's fourteen year old face in some of them. Others were of parts of her body. I spread the photos out, carefully scanning each one.
The pictures detailed different injuries to her body: legs, arms, but mainly her
torso and back. In one of them, I saw the fresh mutilations of the faded scars she now had on her back.
I held my fist to my mouth to stifle a groan of disgust. "Lauren, what is this? What happened to you?"
She looked down to her feet, and I could tell she was searching for words. Lauren didn't enjoy pity parties, especially her own.
So I waited.
"My father . . . he did that to me," she spoke low as if she didn't even want to admit to himself. "And to my brother."
I snapped my eyes up to hers. What?! A brother?
Lauren, like me, didn't have any siblings.
She continued, "The summer before Freshman year, I was hyped up to spend
my whole summer hanging out with you, but as you remember, my dad called out of the blue and wanted to see me. So I went. I hadn't seen him in more than ten years, and I wanted to know him."
I nodded and sat down on the bed. My mind was reeling from wondering how a parent could do this to their child—or children—but I wanted to hear about everything, including this brother.
"When I got there, I found out that my dad had another son. A kid from another relationship. His name is Chris, and he's only about a year younger than me."
Lauren paused, looking thoughtful. Her eyes had lit up when she'd said Chris's name.
I couldn't believe she had a brother. I'd known her so well growing up, and even though she didn't find out about this secret brother until she'd been fourteen, it still felt wrong that I didn't know this about him.
"Go on," I prodded softly.
"Chris and I got along really well. Even though it was a shock to find out I'd had a brother that long without knowing, I was thankful to have a family. We were close in age, both into cars, and he wanted to be around me all the time. Hell, I wanted to be around him, too."
I wondered if Lauren still saw Chris , but I decided to shut up and ask questions later.
She continued, "My dad's house was a real dump. It was dirty, and there was
never a lot of food in the place, but I was enjoying my brother. It was just the three of us. The first couple of weeks weren't that bad."
Not that bad?
"Then I started to notice that something was off. Our dad drank a lot. He'd wake up with hangovers—which was nothing new for me with my mom—but then I started seeing drugs, too. That was new to me. His house parties were filled with these horrible fucking people who talked to us like you shouldn't talk to kids." Lauren's eyes started to pool with unshed tears, and her voice was barely a whisper. I started to get scared.
What the hell had happened?
After a few seconds of pause, she let out a huge sigh. "I kind of got the feeling that Chris might've been messed with by these people. Like "messed with" other than just roughed up."
Messed with? I closed my eyes as realization dawned.
No. Please, not that.
She sat down next to me on the bed, still not making eye contact. "One night,
about three weeks into my visit, I heard Chris crying in his room. I went in, and he was hunched over the bed holding his stomach. Once I got him to turn over I saw the bruises all over his abdomen. My dad had kicked him—more than once —and he was in a shitload of pain."
I tried not to picture the young boy, but it was impossible.
Lauren continued, "I didn't know what to do. I was so fucking scared. My mother never hit me. I had no idea that people did these things to kids. I was sorry that I'd come but also glad, for Chris's sake. If my father did this to him while I was here, I couldn't even imagine what he did when I wasn't around. Chris insisted that he was fine, and that he didn't need a doctor." Lauren's shoulders slumped, and I could feel the tension roll off her body as she spoke slowly and quietly.
"My dad targeted Chris. He was the bastard and worthy of less respect in my father's eyes, apparently. He didn't hit me until later."
"Tell me." I needed to know this. I wanted to know everything.
"One day—not long after I found out how he really treated Chris — my father asked us to go to a house and pretend to be selling something. He wanted to break inside and rob the place."
"What?" I blurted out suddenly.
"From things they would say, I knew money was tight, especially with his expensive habits. Chris would tell me that this was normal, that he did this for my
dad a lot. He never refused. My father abused him for anything and everything: burning dinner, making messes . . . Chris knew that saying no wouldn't do any good. We'd still have to do the job but just with bruises. But I refused anyway. And my dad started hitting me."
Nausea burned my stomach. While I was wasting away my summer resenting him for not calling or writing, he was being hurt. "Did you try to call your mom?" I choked out.
"Once." She nodded. "It was before my father started abusing me. She was drunk, of course. She didn't see it as a bad situation, so she didn't come to get me. I tried to tell her about Chris, but she didn't consider him her problem. I thought about just getting out of there, running away. But Chris wouldn't leave, and I couldn't leave him."
Thank God she'd cleaned herself up otherwise I'd have to hurt her.
"So I gave in to my father," Lauren admitted flatly, her eyes waiting for my reaction. "I helped him and Chris do jobs. I broke into houses, delivered drugs for him." She walked back to the window and peered out at the tree. "One day, after weeks of hell, I refused to listen to him and demanded to go home. And I was taking Chris with me." She pulled his t-shirt over her head and showed me her back. "He took a belt to me, the end with the buckle."
I ran my fingers across his scars. The edges were rigid, but the dip of the welts was smooth. There weren't very many, and the rest of her skin was unmarred.
She paused for a moment and turned to meet my gaze, the ghost of her pain still deep in her eyes. "So I finally just ran away. I stole fifty bucks and jumped a bus home. Without Chris ."
