Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way 2)

“We can’t mooch off my dad forever,” she said.

“You think I don’t know that?” I sat up too quickly, spilling some beer on my shirt. There was nowhere to fucking put it without a coffee table. “I’m the one who’s been saying that since day one.”

“Well, he’s on my case. He wants to know what we’re doing. I swear, he can be so fucking annoying. He still makes me drive Lake sometimes. I don’t understand why she doesn’t get her stupid license. Between the two of you, I feel like a chauffeur.”

I grabbed for my cigarettes. Lake had been taking driving lessons and had failed the driver’s test twice. Everyone had been surprised, considering she aced everything else. I was glad. I hated to think of her taking off whenever she wanted, driving to see boys, to parties, to college . . .

At the same time, it made me wonder what was going on with her.

“As long as he contributes to our rent, we don’t have much choice, do we?” I pointed out.

“No, that’s why you need a job. So I can get away from him.” She sighed heavily. “For the millionth time, can you please not smoke in here? My dad will be so pissed if he doesn’t get his deposit back.”

I didn’t even realize I’d lit a cigarette. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Just a few drags while I watch the news, and then I have to get in the shower.”

“Shower? Why? Are you going somewhere?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “We have Lake’s thing at the school.”

She groaned, flopping onto the arm of the couch. “I forgot. Let’s skip it.”

I shook my head. “We said we’d be there.”

“So? She won’t care.” She winked. “I can model my new purchases for you.”

I got up, put my cigarette out under the faucet, and headed for our bedroom. “Maybe when we get home.”

“Why is it,” she started, “when I make us reservations or invite you to come out with my friends or ask you to meet me at the movies, you always forget, every single time. Yet this you remember? Lake’s stupid honor roll ceremony?”

I turned around in the living room. Tonight wasn’t some run-of-the-mill event. Lake had made Principal’s Honor Roll with a GPA over 4.0, and on top of that, she was the school’s Student of the Month for April. I wasn’t going to miss it, even if I had to go alone. “It’s a family obligation,” I told her. “We can’t afford to piss off your parents.”

“Really?” she asked, watching me closely. She sounded more curious than angry. “Is that all it is?”

We stared each other down. I’d been careful these past couple months. Lake and I were never alone. I barely looked at her, let alone spoke to her. Maybe Tiffany had caught me staring. I did that, sometimes, without realizing it. “Of course that’s all,” I said and disappeared into the bedroom, a pit of guilt forming in my stomach, because it wasn’t true.

That wasn’t all it was. Not by a long shot.

12

Manning

For Lake’s honor roll ceremony, I wore the nicest things I owned—slacks, a dress shirt and tie, and a light cashmere pullover. They were all gifts from Cathy, who shopped often and slipped us things without Charles knowing. It bugged the hell out of me to take more charity from Tiffany’s parents, except in cases like this, where I wanted to look nice. I’d even gotten a real haircut at a legit barber for the first time since before prison.

I drove us to the high school, parked, and put the keys in my pocket. While Tiffany led the way to the auditorium, I looked around the campus where Lake spent most of her days. If Maddy were still alive, she’d have been eighteen this year. I would’ve done things like this with her, helped with college applications, quizzed her for final exams, watched her receive honors. She would’ve. She was smart, driven, and creative. She’d wanted to do something artistic, but even if she’d tried to get out of going to college, I would’ve made her do it.

The Kaplans stood outside the auditorium. My eyes went straight to Lake’s profile as she spoke to her father. She was changing before my eyes, subtle things I doubted anyone else even noticed. I did. There were more freckles on her nose than she’d had months ago. Her hair fell longer down her back. It made her look younger when we were all just hanging around the house, but sometimes, like tonight, she wore it up in a twisty thing and could pass for early twenties. It made my gut smart each time it hit me—she was getting older every day, living a life that didn’t include me.

I’d learned through dinner conversation that she’d been in a school play while I was inside, and since I’d gotten out, she’d been taking drama and improv classes. I could see the difference in her personality. She still didn’t seek the spotlight, but she was more self-assured than she’d been when we’d met. It was a quiet confidence I could sit and watch for minutes at a time without even realizing it, and that was dangerous.