Porcelain Skin (NOW ON AMAZON KU)

36. When You're Ready

"Mom? Where's dad?" We're both sitting silently. The only sound that can be heard is the tinkling of our silverware brushing against our plates. I've been watching her closely for the past five minutes, wondering when she's going to notice me, or if my dad is going to come join us for dinner.

"He received some bad news today, so he's in his office," she tells me.

I eye her for a moment as she pushes her food around, never once bringing her potato-filled fork to her mouth. Her mind is definitely occupied with something, and I'm dying to find out what.

"What happened?" my fifteen-year-old self asks.

She stops playing with her food and just stares at her plate for a moment. Mom's dull eyes slowly lift to meet my own innocent ones. "He, uh..." She clears her throat as emotion fights to clog the passageway."He received some bad news that he's responsible for."

"Oh." My young self isn't quite sure how to respond since I can't fully comprehend the level of pressure he must have been suffering.

"Your dad has been under a lot of stress lately. He found out some bad news today, and I think it just sent him over the edge," she tells me gently. "On top of that, he just got another call from his boss that didn't go well," she explains.

It isn't until later that I discover that the news he received is about the man who had committed suicide—the man he'd been responsible for imprisoning.

"It's probably for the best," she goes on. "He needs a new job, something less demanding and stressful." She offers me a sad smile, but I just continue to watch her behavior. I get why she's upset, but I get the feeling that there's more to the story that she's not telling me.

Just before dinner I had been in my room and had heard my dad come home. This was bad because over the past year he'd started devoting so much time to his work that we barely saw him before midnight. We actually preferred it this way, because when he was home it was never pleasant. It was always him and mom throwing nasty remarks at each other, or him screaming at me to clean up a particular mess. He had gradually faded into a stranger, and I hated him. Every word that dripped out of his mouth was laced with venom and cruelty. He was never physically abusive, but his words could tear your heart out just as easily as a fist.

I had been sitting on my bed listening to the common banter between my mom and dad; her typical hushed tone compared to his obnoxious roars and threats. I just wanted to slink under my blankets and hide.

A few minutes later the arguing died, and I heard a door slam shut below me. I waited several more minutes before braving the walk downstairs. My mother stood alone at the kitchen counter dishing potatoes and roast beef onto two plates. She didn't look up as she set the plates on the table and motioned for me to have a seat. The calm in her demeanor was a dead giveaway that something wasn't right.

"Would you mind taking this to your father?"

I startle from where I've been gazing at my half-eaten meal in thought. I hadn't realized that I'd zoned out until my mother speaks. She had now left the table and is standing at the kitchen counter holding out a plate full of roast and potatoes for me to take. My heart sinks because the last thing I want to do is be anywhere near the man sitting behind those office doors, especially after learning that he's had a particularly lousy day.

She must notice the hesitancy in my movements because her face softens.

"Please?" she nearly begs, and the intensity behind that soft word has me obeying.

I nod as I stand from my chair, grab the plate from her trembling fingers, and numbly shuffle my way down the hall. I can hear my mother gathering the dishes as I walk closer and closer to the devil's lair.

I knock gently, hoping that if I present myself quietly he will be more gracious. There is no answer. I knock louder, but my fist is greeted with silence. I place my ear up to the wood to listen. I don't want to chance walking in on him during an important phone call only to find a hateful sneer directed at me—his daughter. When no movement or noise is detected, I carefully push the door open.

My eyes take in the scene before me with horror as the plate in my hand clatters to the floor and shatters along with my heart. I will never forget the gut-wrenching dismay, twisting and clawing at my gut for a way to escape as my brown eyes furiously take in the images before me. The look of agony on his face as his own hazel eyes rapidly blink at me. The panic that battles inside him is obvious as he willingly lets go of everything and slides into the deceptively peaceful claws of death.

"I'm so sorry, Trevor," I gasp as I'm abruptly ripped from images of my past. My voice is wobbly with conflicting emotions. "I don't think I can."

His hand instantly reaches over and intertwines with my own quivery fingers. "Emma, it's fine." His thumb is stroking the back of my hand as concerned eyes meet my own. "Just when you're ready. I'll never push you to tell, but if you ever need to talk, I'm happy to listen, okay?"

I just nod as I brush a hand over my damp cheek. "I will tell you one day, Trevor. I will."

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I'm curious to know if anyone has any ideas of what in the world just happened. What did Emma see? Guesses anyone??? 

Thoughts on Trevor? Is he starting to grow on some of you? Any Trevor haters out there? O.o