The Hard Truth About Sunshine(23)

I'll admit there's a niggling kernel of guilt for the way I treated Jillian earlier. My temper is an issue, and my inability to process negative feelings is an even bigger one. Jillian took it full in the face from me. While she didn't even flinch under my harsh words-in fact, she offered me gentle words in return-I'm regretting it.

Already today, Jillian has provoked two very strong emotions within me that I don't normally feel.

Sympathy and regret.

The sympathy merely caused a heavy feeling in my chest, but the regret?

That sort of slices like razor blades within me.

It's her fault I'm feeling this way to begin with, yet …  part of me welcomes that pain. It's either going to be a potent reminder that if I give in to Jillian and the hope she inspires, I'll be in for a world of hurt as I acclimate. Or it's going to push me away from her, which may just be the very best thing for me.

My phone rings again. With another glance down, I see it's Mags again. She's been satisfied with my text updates over the last few days, and now she's calling twice in a row? A prickle at the back of my neck alerts me to the fact that whatever she's calling about is probably important.

I reach down, connect the call with a tap of my finger, then pull the phone to my ear. "Hey."

"Hey, Christopher," she says, and I can tell by tight tone in her voice that something is most definitely wrong. "Listen …  Jillian is with you, right?"

I turn to my right, confirming that Jillian is most definitely with me before I say, "Yeah …  why?"

Mags doesn't respond to me. Instead, I hear her tell someone else, "She's fine. She's with the group."

My eyebrows furrow inward. "What's going on?"

Mags' voice sounds relieved as she tells me, "Apparently, Jillian didn't discuss with her parents that she was going on the trip. She just left a short note, and she won't answer their calls. She's texted them once to say she's fine, but nothing after that. They just showed up at my office wanting to know if I knew anything. They're about ready to go to the police."

I turn again to look at Jillian, completely unsuspecting of the apparent firestorm she's set into motion. "Well, she's fine, sitting next to me in the car. We're headed to Yellowstone."         

     



 

At this, Jillian raises her head, turning to look at me. I make a quick decision and take the exit from the interstate that is right before me, having to slam the brakes hard to make it. One of Jillian's hands goes to the dashboard to steady herself, the other grabs at the book that starts to slide.

From the back, Connor says, "What the hell?"

From the exit ramp, I pull onto the gravel shoulder and bring the vehicle to a hard stop. Mags' voice is my ear. "Her parents want to talk to her. Will you give her the phone?"

I don't hesitate. "Yeah …  sure."

I hold the phone out to Jillian, my voice hard as granite when I say, "Your parents want to talk to you."

Her shoulders stiffen and her eyes cloud with wariness. She looks at the phone like it's a bomb, but she takes it from me.

"I'm going to step out for some privacy," Jillian murmurs as her hand goes to the door, the other clutching my phone with white knuckles.

"I'd kind of like to hear what you have to say," I growl at her, furious she lied to her parents and, in turn, lied to us.

She doesn't respond, only jumps out of the car.

I mutter, "Oh, fuck no, you don't," as I bolt out of my door.

I hear the other two doors open, Connor and Barb scrambling out. I round the front of the SUV and stalk after Jillian as she walks up the shoulder of the exit ramp with the phone to her ear.

When I reach her, I catch her side of the conversation. She sounds pissed. " … but I couldn't tell you. You wouldn't have let me come. I left you a note. I've texted I'm fine. Why can't you just accept that? Instead, you drag Mags into this and now the group?"

Jillian is silent. I trot past her, turn, and block her from walking any further. She stops but won't look in my eyes. Barb and Connor approach slowly behind her, having no clue what's going on.

With a heavy sigh, Jillian says in a tired voice, "I can't take it anymore. Just because Kelly died doesn't mean I'm going to."

She listens to whoever is on the other end of the line …  her mom …  dad …  both, not sure. But whatever they are saying produces a reaction. Jillian's shoulders square and her spine elongates, turning ramrod straight. She lifts her face, and those blue eyes are blazing. While she stares directly at me, I can tell the fury on her face is for whomever is talking to her.

When they stop, her voice is calm but deadly serious. "No. I don't accept that. I'll never accept it. So listen to me when I say this …  I'm not coming back. You can't make me because I'm an adult. You'll just have to sit there and be thankful I'll send you text updates to let you know how I'm doing. When I get back, we can talk about how things need to change, but I'm done being your prisoner."

A shock of electric-like current flows through me at the word "prisoner," and I have no clue what the fuck is going on. My eyes flick past Jillian to Connor, who looks worried, and then to Barb, who merely looks curious. It's an improvement over her normal bored facade.

Without another word, Jillian disconnects the call and hands my phone to me. "Come on, let's get back on the road."

I take the phone and reach out to grab her by the shoulder as she turns toward the SUV. "Oh no, you don't. You owe us an explanation."

She looks at me blankly. "Explanation about what?"

"Don't even try to play stupid, sunshine," I snap at her. "Your parents were seconds from calling the police if they couldn't get you on the phone just now. We deserve an explanation on why they didn't know you came on this trip."

"It's none of your business," she says and I note that Connor's jaw drops over the ludicrous statement. She is in group therapy where sharing is the mantra of the day. How many times had Jillian pushed us to share, and here she was harboring secrets?

My hand slides from her shoulder to her upper arm. It's my half hand, but it still clamps onto her with enough strength to make her eyes flare a tiny bit. I pull her toward me a little and growl, "It's our business because you just put me, and I'm betting Barb, at risk for potential court violations for being out of state. What do you think would have happened to us if your parents had gotten the police involved?"

Jillian gasps, her face crumpling over that possibility, and I tamp down the guilt. I'm being a bit dramatic. I actually have permission to leave the state, and I have no clue about Barb other than I know she's court ordered to attend group as well. I have to assume she has permission like me. But still …  I want to make a very clear point to Jillian.         

     



 

"You put on a really amazing act about how much you care about others, but you were totally selfish by not telling us what was going on with you," I proclaim. "And now that I'm thinking about it, you're the one who suggested this trip under the ruse you wanted to do it for Connor. I'm betting you wanted it just for yourself, right? So you could escape?"

"Ease up, Christopher," Connor chastises me.

"You shut up." I point a finger from my free hand at him over Jillian's shoulder. "You know I'm right."

"You're not right about why she suggested this trip," he snarls back at me. "She did it for me, not for herself.

I know he's probably right about that because Jillian's not a selfish person, but I don't admit that to him. Looking back to the source of my disgruntlement, I tell her, "Now it's your turn to share. Why didn't your parents know you came on this trip?"

I'm surprised when Jillian jerks her arm out of my grasp and glares at me. "You wouldn't understand. More than that, you wouldn't care. You don't care about anything, Christopher."

"What about me?" Connor says from behind her, and she turns to face him. "Why didn't you tell me? You know I care."

Jillian nods. Her voice is softly affectionate when she says, "Yeah …  I know you do. But like Christopher, you wouldn't understand."

"Why not?" Connor asks.

"Because she thinks her problems pale in comparison to ours, and she's afraid of our derision," Barb says. It's not a guess. It's not a hypothesis. She states it as fact, and I have to say …  I believe her.

"Is that true?" I ask Jillian, but she doesn't turn to face me.

Instead, she addresses Barb. "You were raped and abused. You're suicidal. Connor's dying unfairly young. Christopher lost parts of his body, and I'm betting pieces of his soul too. I don't think my problems are something we should waste breath on."

Those words …

It feels like someone punched me in the middle of the stomach, ripped through my skin and muscle, and is pulling my guts back out. I know I've given her no reason to think otherwise, but I don't want Jillian to feel like she's a waste of anything. As much as she confounds me, and as scared as I am of her at times, I know I don't want her feeling badly about herself.

I sure as shit don't want her to feel isolated.

"Your problems are as important as ours," I say, and Jillian turns all the way around to look at me. Her expression is wary and guarded. "Tell us the truth, sunshine …  why are you in group with us?"