Catherine's POV
It was Saturday morning, and I had the kitchen to myself. Mum was off to yoga class, her neon yellow pants still burned into my retinas. Seriously, no female over the age of ten should wear that colour. Ever. I don't care if your butt is tight, it's just that kind of wrong. But my mum was all about sunshine and happiness, so yellow was her colour of choice lately.
She'd done a drive-by - kissing the air by my cheek before grabbing her water bottle- and was gone. Dad was in his office, working on a speech (thank God, because it was too early to play pretend), and Billy was still in bed.
I'd been up for a while and had been sitting in the same spot at the table, staring into a cup of cold coffee, wondering what Jason was doing. Was he still in bed? Was he okay? Was he still as freaked out by what had happened as I was?
My stomach rumbled just then, and I thought that maybe I should make myself something to eat. Something adventurous like poached eggs or french toast. On second thought, both of those choices seemed like too much work. Bagel and Nutella it was.
I was just about to get off my butt when my dad walked into the kitchen. He helped himself to the last bit of coffee in the pot and leaned against the counter. He was his regular Saturday self. Hair slightly dishevelled, unshaven, and sleep still in his eyes.
He was beautiful, my dad, but we all know that beauty can hide dark and sinful things because the reality was that my beautiful father was a snake. He just hadn't shed his skin yet.
"So how's Jason?"
Funny. His voice still held that extra bit of warmth that wrapped every single word he uttered in a blanket of trustworthiness. It was his secret weapon.
Too bad it was a total lie.
I gently shoved my cup away. Guess today wasn't the day he was going to come clean, which meant that today wasn't the day I could stop playing pretend. I'd thought about confronting him. I thought about it every single day. And every single day I thought no, today isn't the day I want his lie to be real, because once his lie became my reality, I'd have to face a whole lot of other stuff I wasn't ready for. It was a coward's way out. But right now being a coward was getting me through life.
So I took an extra moment to get my game face on (go, Cat, go) before I answered him with the most epic answer ever.
"I don't know."
And I didn't. The truth was that I hadn't been able to stop thinking about Jason since Thursday. The whole thing had been awful to watch, and thank goodness Mrs. Walker had been there. She'd put her sweater under Jason's head and just held him. I'd never felt so helpless in my life, so I couldn't imagine what Jason had been feeling. The ambulance had whisked him off to the hospital, leaving me to deal with all the other kids that had been there. Their questions were idiotic, and I left without answering any of them.
"Did he like, bite his tongue off?"
"Is he gonna die?"
"I hope whatever he has isn't contagious, like a disease or something."
"It was a seizure, wasn't it?"
Earth to Catherine. Startled, I nodded.
"Hmm."
I heard his feet scuff the floor and in my head, I said every single bad word I wasn't allowed to say out loud, then I repeated a few of them. The really bad ones. He pulled out the chair across from me and set his cup on the table.
"What's going on with you, Catherine?" Again with the warmth. Even now when I knew that he was angry with me. The warmth. It was nauseating.
I glanced up and shrugged. "Nothing."
My dad, who was in his early forties, was a cross between Liam Hemsworth and Henry Cavill (just a little less handsome, drool-worthy to all women over the age of thirty). His hair was still as dark as mine, though when he forgot to shave, there were a few silver hairs on his chin. His eyes were blue, but not the dark blue that mine were. His eyes were so light that when I was little, I thought he had somehow trapped the sun inside them.
"Are we gonna talk about what's been going on with you?" he asked. "You haven't been yourself, and Catherine, I have to tell you, I'm concerned."
For one perfect moment, I let the warmth of his voice wrap me in that blanket of "it's going to be okay." For that one perfect moment it washed over me, and for that one perfect moment, I felt some kind of hope. But as much as a lot of folks in this town think that I live inside some weird, perfect world, I'd like to tell each and every one of them that there aren't any perfect moments that are real. Not really.
So this one passed, and as I stared into my father's eyes, the familiar pangs of hurt rushed up from my heart and crushed my larynx.
Again, I shrugged because I had nothing else to say. My throat was so tight I couldn't speak, so I grabbed my coffee cup and downed the rest of it, nearly choking on the cold, overly sweet remnants that dredged at the bottom. Smart move. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I glared at him, at this moment blaming him for every single crappy thing that I could think of.
"Catherine," he said slowly, so slowly that those three syllables could have been four.
"Why don't we talk about you?" I managed to squeeze out.
Silence.
My dad cleared his throat. "Is there something you want to say to me?"
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 am. I - Catherine Moss - am a crier, and an ugly crier to boot. I cry when I'm happy. I cry when I'm upset or angry. And I for sure cry when I'm confronted with something like wanting to tell my dad that I knew about his secret.
Breathe. Just breathe.
"Catherine, 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 Jason? 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. "Catherine."
"Why do you go to Philadelphia so much?" The words came out in a rush. They weren't sharp and they sure as hell 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 loves all of us. His chance to maybe admit that he was human after all and not this perfect, upstanding politician 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 teens group, Catherine. You know that." He grabbed a bagel out of the bread box, sliced it, ad 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 teen's group." I pushed back from the table. "Can I have the car? Like, you don't need to go to Philadelphia or anything today, do you? Can the troubled youth of Philadelphia live without you for today?"
The sarcasm 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 all the lies. The one who still believed her dad was a man above all others.
"Catherine."
"Good," I said abruptly. "I'm going to visit Jason."
I pushed past him, scooped the keys out of the little porcelain cat near the fridge, and ignored the silence that followed in my wake as climbed 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 Annabeth, 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 Jason's house, nodding like an idiot as his mother told me that Jason didn't want to see anyone right now.
Mortified, I glanced down at my toes. What was I doing here anyway? Jason and I weren't exactly friends. I'm not sure what we were, but I knew I should not have expected him to want to see me.
"Oh, okay, Mrs. Smith. 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 Hannah." She stood back a bit, her rows 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 Jason's doing with his studies. That's if you have the time?"
Time? That was a good one. I had all the time in the world because Annabeth was gone for the weekend on her family's annual camping trip, and there was no way I was going home. Not now.
"It's no trouble, Catherine, really."I gave a half shrug, mostly because I had nowhere else to go and, well, the smell of cinnamon was making my mouth water.
"I could stay for a bit."
"Good," Hannah Smith said, her smile wide as she stood back and motioned for me to come inside.
She had a nice smile. A slow crooked smile. Kind of like Jason's.