Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- 2 Months Later
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Kasie West
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
My dad patted the hood. I could see the emotion in his eyes. I felt nothing. I mean, I felt bad, of course, because I hated seeing my parents so sad. As for my brother, his dying so young was tragic. But I hadn’t known him. I knew about him. The things my mother had told me over the years. The things my parents said on this day every year. But still, I didn’t know him. My dry eyes seemed to taunt me. Why couldn’t I just conjure up some tears for my parents this year? The tears that had come naturally when I was younger. I knew I didn’t care less now, so what had changed?
I stared at the cab of the truck—the keys dangling in the ignition. My dad must’ve come out earlier to make sure everything was in place.
“Do you want to start her up this year?” my dad asked, probably noticing where my gaze lingered.
My heart jumped. “What? No. That’s your job.”
“This year you actually have your license. Maybe it should be yours from now on.” He put an arm around my neck. “In fact, maybe this year we should sell her and get you your own car.”
The beating of my heart doubled. My own car. “Really?”
“I think it’s a good idea.”
I bit my lip, trying to contain the smile, but then my heart rate slowed as his eyes ran the length of the 1955 light green Chevy truck, taking in each perfectly restored part. It really was a beautiful truck. Probably the only reason our neighbors tolerated it sitting on our lawn for so long—it was like a piece of art. My heart knew it was an empty promise. My parents wouldn’t sell the truck even though we only started it once a year. And I wouldn’t want them to.
“You think what’s a good idea?” my mom asked, carrying a box and joining us.
“I was just telling Hadley that we need to get her a car of her own. Maybe it’s time to sell the truck.”
“You’re going to sell your truck? Then what would you drive?”
“No. Not my truck,” he said softly.
It took her a long moment, but her eyes widened when she finally realized what he was implying. “Eric’s?”
“We’re not selling it,” I said quickly. “It was just a passing thought. We’d never sell it. I’m fine.”
My mom’s face relaxed, but my dad let out a heavy sigh.
I nudged him with my elbow and forced a smile. “Well, go on. See if she starts.”