I showed up on Lacey’s doorstep. I hated to bring her down after the good news that she’d delivered earlier, so I tried my best to plaster a smile on my face.
“Oh, please,” she said. “I saw you try out for a play. You’re not a very good actress.”
I hiccuped out a laugh and she pulled me inside.
“You have chocolate milk,” she said. “Wait, is that what Cooper was holding? Four quarts of chocolate milk?”
I nodded. “Chocolate milk makes everything better.”
She swiped the carrier from me and took it to the sink. I thought she was going to pull out some glasses right then, but instead she uncapped a bottle and began pouring it down the drain.
I gasped. “Lacey, that’s like liquid gold.”
“It’s like liquid poison. We are purging ourselves of Cooper.” The empty bottle clanked on the counter, and she got the next one and began pouring.
“Can we at least deliver it to needy children?”
“Do you hear that?” she asked. We went quiet and the glug glug sound of large amounts of liquid making its way through a small opening rang out.
“All I hear is you pouring chocolate milk down the drain.”
“Exactly. That’s the sound you need to remember. The sound of freedom.”
I shook my head and couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s the sound of freedom?”
“Those words sounded better in my head.”
I stopped her from uncapping the next bottle. “Let’s save some for your family. I bet your little sister and brother would love to drink this liquid poison.”
“True.” She opened the fridge and put the remaining two bottles inside. “I found the perfect movie for us.”
“What?”
“It’s called Body Count. You’ll like it. Lots of death and revenge. Then later we should have a bonfire. Do you have any Cooper things you need to burn?”
I hugged her. “Thank you for this.”
She hugged me back. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
I shook my head, feeling the tears threaten again. I pulled away and changed the subject. “I like your friends.”
She led me to the living room. “They liked you too. So, welcome to the world of having more than one friend group. It’s a great place to be for the inevitable moments like this.”
“Moments like what?”
“When you want to murder one of them, of course.”
“Of course.” I looked at my hands, which still felt grimy. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Yes, down the hall, second door on the right.”
The bathroom mirror proved I was in worse shape than I thought. Dirt streaked my cheeks, turned more mud-like from the tears I’d added to it earlier. I pulled the handle on the faucet and scrubbed my hands and face with water. Then I patted dry with a hand towel. I leaned against the counter and took several deep breaths. A single drop of water clung to the end of the faucet, and I watched it drop. Then I reached for the handle on the sink and twisted. Water poured out and down the drain with a glug.
“The sound of freedom,” I whispered.
Lacey was settled on the couch when I rejoined her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Okay. I’ll be fine.” And I would be. Eventually.
She pushed Play. The first scene proved the title of the movie was an appropriate one. “Maybe that should be the real sound of freedom,” Lacey said, imitating gunfire.
“It’s much less pathetic, but maybe that’s why it’s not as fitting.”
Lacey gave a small laugh. “You got this. And I’m here for you. You’ll be on to your next victim in no time.”
The next day I stood in the center of my room taking in everything I chose to surround myself with. Most of the clippings and pictures were years old. I began taking things off my walls one by one, sorting them into piles. One pile was “definitely throw away,” one was to file in my desk drawer, and the other pile would be to hang back up on my wall in a new order so my space wouldn’t feel so stale.
Like Cooper, I had Polaroid pictures of us on my walls too. Ones I had either stolen from his wall or he’d given me after he snapped them. I put them in the “file away” pile for now.
My phone rang. It was an out-of-area number. I knew what that meant.
I answered. “Dad?”
“It’s me,” he said. His voice always sounded far away when he called. Which was appropriate, because he was. Very far. “You still mad at me?”
I considered his question. The anger that had brewed all week was mostly gone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t upset at what he had done. “You thought if you gave me some time, I wouldn’t be?”
“I called you as soon as I could. We had drills this week. So that’s a yes? You are still mad.”
“I’m not happy that you reached out to Mr. Wallace without my permission.”
“If I see my baby girl in need of my intervention, I’m not going to just sit back and not take action,” he said.
I had been willing to forgive him, but he was being unapologetic. That made it harder. “Dad, I’m telling you I don’t want you to do that. Especially without talking to me. If I had asked you to, it would’ve been one thing. But I didn’t.”
“Well, I did it.”
“I know! And you may have ruined a relationship for me with the person who I need to write a recommendation letter.”
“He better still write that letter.”
I growled and hung up the phone. Why were the men in my life so pigheaded? I’d never hung up on my dad before, and I felt guilty immediately. It wasn’t like my dad got unlimited phone time.
My Cooper wound felt fresh again. I ripped the heart list off the wall and threw it into the “throw away” pile. That list had been pointless.
A few minutes later my door squeaked open.
“Honey.” It was my mom.
I turned to face her.
“Your father has something to say to you.” She held up her phone.
I took it from her. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I sighed. My mom was good for him. I wished he were home more, because they really did balance each other out.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“I know. Sometimes I just want to protect you, and it’s hard for me to remember you’re not a child anymore.”
“I know. I’m glad I have a dad who wants to protect me, but let’s wait for me to call for help first, okay?”
“So I don’t need to beat up Cooper when I get home?”
He knew what happened with Cooper too. I looked at my mom with narrow eyes, and she acted innocent.
“No. I took care of that on my own.”
“You beat him up?” he asked.
I laughed, but then stopped. “Yes, Dad. I think maybe I did.”
“I found something for you out here.”
“You did?”
“I was going to wait until I got home to show you, but when we hang up, I’ll email you a picture.”
“Okay.”
“Love you, kid.”
“Love you too.”
We hung up, and I waited two minutes to log onto my email. My dad was true to his word—he’d sent an email. The only thing it contained was an attached picture. I clicked on the image. A small gray stone resting on the palm of his hand filled the screen. It formed a lopsided heart. He’d found a heart rock, after all. I swallowed hard and smiled.
After throwing away, filing away, and rehanging my piles, I knew I could no longer avoid work and Mr. Wallace if I wanted to keep my job.
He was in his office when I arrived at the museum. He had done some cleaning of his own and the room looked bare.
“Hi,” I said, trying to be as humble as possible.
“Abby, are you feeling better?”
“Yes, for a while now, actually. I’ve been avoiding you.”
He shook his head, but a smile took over his face. “You’re always very honest.”
“I’m sorry for how I behaved last Sunday night. And I’m sorry my dad bullied you into letting me be in the show.”
He sighed and stood. “Come in. Have a seat.”
I did as he asked.
“He didn’t bully me into it. I was already on the verge. And your paintings showed amazing growth.”
“You think?”
“You still have things to learn, but yes. I hope you haven’t decided to leave us. I really value your work here.”
“I don’t want to leave. I love being surrounded by art.”
“Good. I have you on the schedule for tomorrow. Are you going to be able to make it?”
“Yes. Absolutely. And do you think . . .”
“Yes?”
“I want to go to a winter art program. Do you think you can write me a letter of recommendation?”
“I’d love to.”
“Thank you.”