“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the house. “This is where I’m staying.”
“I—I just remembered I have to go help my mom with something,” Karl stammers, edging backward on the sidewalk. His round face is pale.
“Hey, it’s fine,” I say, trying to sound more reassuring than annoyed. “Let’s just get some ice for your wrist.”
“That’s okay,” he says, already turning away from me. “It actually doesn’t hurt that bad.”
He’s clearly lying; his wrist is obviously swollen and turning an ugly shade of purple. He’ll be lucky if he hasn’t broken it.
“But—”
“Thanks for your help!” he calls as he runs away, his voice already fading into the sound of his sneakers smacking the sidewalk.
I’m so surprised by Karl’s abrupt departure that it takes me a second to realize I’ve still got his bike. I call after him, but either he doesn’t hear me or he just doesn’t care, as he sprints back up the street, running like he’s being pursued by something horrible only he can see.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ROSE
“But . . . I don’t understand,” Rose said, her head swiveling between her father and Diane as they sat across the table from her, wearing matching unyielding expressions. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He lied to the police, honey,” Diane said, her eyes skirting briefly to her husband before jumping back to Rose.
“You can see why we’re concerned,” her father added.
“That was just a misunderstanding,” Rose said.
“How did Deputy Gibson misunderstand?” Diane asked. “Did he or did he not say he was your cousin?”
“I said that, not him,” Rose said. “And just because that officer was being really mean. I thought if I said we were related, he’d be more likely to leave us alone.”
“Then show us the letters,” her father said.
Rose stared at him blankly.
“The letters he wrote to you,” her father clarified. “You told Deputy Gibson he was your cousin because you were scared, but he’s really your pen pal, right? Which means you have letters from him. Go get them and show them to us.”
“They’re—they’re private,” Rose stammered, her heart racing.
Her father frowned. “I thought I raised you better than to lie to us.”
“I’m not—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Do not make this worse, Rose.”
“We just want the truth,” Diane added.
Rose’s mind spun frantically. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She couldn’t tell them the truth, but she couldn’t lie either.
“He didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she said finally. “I wanted to help him. Isn’t that why you’re running for mayor? To help people?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t. You told us that you saw a need and wanted to do something about it,” Rose argued. “Well, so did I. I met someone who needed help, and I helped him. He didn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t break any laws. He just needed help.”
“If he needs help, there are ways we can help him,” Diane said. “There are programs—”
“He doesn’t need a program.”
“Or there is a wonderful homeless ministry down at—”
“He’s not homeless either. You don’t understand!”
“We’re trying to understand, Rose, but you still haven’t given us any—”
“If you would just believe me that I know what I’m doing—”
“Rose,” her father cut in sharply, “stop interrupting your mother.”
“She is not my mother.”
She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. For six years, Diane had packed her lunches, kissed her scrapes, attended her parent-teacher conferences. She’d held her hair back when she had the flu and wiped her tears when she had nightmares. No, she wasn’t her mom. But she was the closest thing she had.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to take it back. Not when Diane and her father were about to ruin everything.
Her father looked as though he’d been slapped. Diane swallowed, patting his hand, her head bobbing in a slow, rhythmic nod. “You’re right,” she said eventually, still patting Rose’s dad’s hand as if it were the only way she could make her mouth form words. “I told you I would never try to replace your mother, Rose, and I still mean that. But I do love you like you’re my own, even if that’s not how you think of me.”
“My mom would trust me.”
“Rose!”
Her father was suddenly on his feet, his fingers spread on the table as if to anchor himself in place. Rose glared back, knowing she’d gone too far but refusing to be the one to back down first.
Diane rose slowly, holding up a hand to her husband, keeping control of the conversation. “Perhaps that’s true,” she said in a low voice, her dark eyes locked on Rose’s, unblinking. “But here are the facts. We did not know that this boy existed until this week. So either you just met him, or you’ve known him for a while and have been keeping him secret. Either way, you have shown a serious lack of judgment. Since he’s been in town, you have both lied to the police. Deputy Gibson has not made that information public yet, but he could. And after this morning’s story, we can only guess what the press would do with it. But even if the press were not a concern, your safety is, and the fact remains that we do not know the first thing about this boy. So no, your actions have not engendered a lot of trust.” She spit out the word trust like it was rancid. “You are not to see that boy again. Is that clear?”
Her voice had lost its conciliatory tone and was now as sharp as broken glass. Still, Rose couldn’t help but throw herself against its edges. “You can’t do that. Without me, he won’t have anyone.”
Diane shook her head, pursing her lips. “Baby girl, he’s going to have to sort that out for himself, because you are done with that boy. And if you have an ounce of sense left in that head of yours, you will not say another word right now unless it’s yes, ma’am. You hear me?”
Rose’s fists clenched in her lap, but she nodded, knowing the battle was lost. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good girl,” Diane said, straightening up and placing a hand on her husband’s back. “C’mon, let’s go put Emmie to bed.”
Jim’s gaze lingered on Rose, but she looked away, quietly seething. He didn’t understand. Neither of them did.
God didn’t send people back in time for no reason. Or even for small reasons. At least, she didn’t think that was how God worked. Which meant that her parents had just thrown a giant wrench into a cosmic plan.
Assuming, of course, it was God. And not just some random freak accident, like Justin thought.
She tried to push the thought away, but it refused to leave, clawing back into her mind like a stubborn cat. Where was God in all this? He flings a boy back decades in time to change the universe and then what? Can’t stop his only ally from getting grounded? What sort of all-powerful, all-knowing Creator was he, if he could be tripped up by a couple of paranoid parents?