Some Kind of Normal

Man. There were hundreds of words inside me, dying to be heard. Thousands probably, and now that he was finally giving me the chance to say them, which ones would I pick? Which ones were the sharpest? The most brutal? Which ones would pierce through flesh and bone?

“I…”

The only problem was that I was going to fall apart before I’d be able to get any of them out. It’s just the way I was built. I, Everly Jenkins, am a crier, and an ugly crier to boot. I cried when I was happy. I cried when I was upset or angry. And I for sure cried whenever I was confronted with something like wanting to tell my dad that I knew about his secret.

Breathe. Just breathe.

“Everly, whatever this is, we need to talk about it. I’m here for you, sweets, you know that. I can help you. Does it have something to do with Trevor? Was he taking drugs? Is that why he had a seizure?”

Wow. I think I had to pull my jaw off the table.

“Just because he has long hair and tattoos, you think he does drugs?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you implied.”

He frowned. “Everly.”

“Why do you go to New Orleans so much?” The words came out in a rush. They weren’t sharp and they sure as heck wouldn’t pierce through flesh and bone. But they were a start.

This was his chance to explain. His chance to be honest. His chance to tell me that everything was going to be fine and that he still loved all of us. His chance to maybe admit he was human after all and not this perfect, upstanding pastor who was nothing more than a big fat lie.

“Is that what this is about?” he asked.

He got up and set his coffee cup on the counter before reaching into the cupboard for his extra-chunky peanut butter. “I counsel a troubled youth group, Everly. You know that.” He grabbed a bagel out of the bread box, sliced it, and then tossed it into the toaster just like he’d done every single morning since that morning.

The tears, oh the tears, they were right there, like hot little bullets just waiting to spring from my eyes. But I forced them back, my body tense like a boxer’s before a fight. When my father turned to face me, his eyes didn’t hold the sun anymore.

You’re lying.

I wondered if he could read my thoughts. I wondered if he knew that ever since that morning, I’d thought the same thing over and over again. You’re lying. You’re a liar. You’re a lying piece of crap.

“Right. The troubled youth group.” I pushed back from the table. “Can I have the car? Like, you don’t need to go to New Orleans or anything today, do you? Can the troubled youth of New Orleans live without you today?”

The sarcasm, it was heavy, and I knew my father didn’t know how to handle this side of me. I’d always been his angel. His good little girl. The one who believed all the bullshit and the lies. The one who still believed that her dad was a man above all others. A guy who lived by the words that he preached.

“Everly.”

“Good,” I said abruptly. “I’m going to visit Trevor.”

I pushed past him, scooped the keys out of the little porcelain dog near the fridge, and ignored the silence that followed in my wake as I ran up the stairs, not stopping until I was in my room.

The face that greeted me in the mirror was angry. It was full of blotchy patches of skin and eyes that were too shiny. I yanked a brush through my hair and slipped into the first thing I grabbed out of my closet, a blue summer dress that was faded and old, but whatever. I was never going to be a fashionista like Hailey, so why should I care?

After slipping into a pair of flip-flops, I grabbed my purse and ran out the front door before he could stop me.

Twenty minutes later, I stood on the porch of Trevor’s house, nodding like an idiot as his mother told me that Trevor didn’t want to see anyone right now.

Mortified, I glanced down at my toes. What was I doing here anyway? Trevor and I weren’t exactly friends. I’m not sure what we were, but I knew that I should not have expected him to want to see me.

“Oh, okay, Mrs. Lewis. I’m so sorry to bother you”—I glanced at my watch and winced—“so early on a Saturday morning. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Please,” she said softly. “Call me Brenda.” She stood back a bit, her brows furrowed. “Have you had breakfast? I’m just in the middle of making waffles and strawberries.”

“Oh, no.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you so much, but I’ve got…ah…” Nothing whatsoever to do because right now, my life is sucking huge donkey balls.

“It’s no trouble, really.” Her eyes were soft, the lines around her mouth deep. “I’d love to talk about how Trevor’s doing with his studies. That’s if you have the time?”