Chapter 4

four

LUKE

In a house where the women outnumber the men, I know better than to insert myself into situations that don’t involve me. But my mother didn’t raise me to stand by and watch when someone important to me is being hurt.

I was working in the flowerbed as a favor to my mom when I heard the crack of a door slamming shut and saw Ella running across the field like her shoes were on fire. She’s been out there about ten minutes now.

The thought crossed my mind to grab two of our barn kittens and turn them loose on her. The chaos would be enough to pull her out of her head. They’re in that stage where they’re teaching each other how to be kittens and constantly gnawing on everything in sight, running and screaming at each other. Knowing Ella, she’d simply scoop them up, and they’d calm down. They’d probably all go to sleep and while it would still distract her, it would be a lot less fun.

I should really stay out of it.

Gaby is inside with Mom. I could grab either of them. Or even Evie. She’s probably taking a nap, but someone really needs to go make sure she’s okay.

It’s not often that Ella wears her emotions on her sleeve.

Which is why it’s hard for me to just leave it alone and stay out of it.

Ella probably wouldn’t even talk to me. It’s not like we’re close.

That’s not exactly true, Luke.

My insides twist. A few years ago, before Mr. Taylor passed away, Ella went missing. We all went our separate ways to look for her, and I was the one who found her. I’ll never be able to scrub the image of her from my brain. She was crouched at the lake’s edge, her fingers reaching toward the water.

I don’t know if I was worried she was going to dive in or if something might grab her, but I yelled for her all the same. When she looked over at me, I hardly recognized her. Moonlight highlighted the exhaustion clinging to her edges.

That’s all it took to know why she was here and what she was reaching for.

While I wasn’t as familiar with grief, I remember how Ella wore it like a cloak that night.

I climbed over the fallen logs and maneuvered around the giant rocks, extending my hand to hers. Sometimes that’s all we need. A person to lend us some courage—or in this case, a hand—to face the hard things. Comfort when things seem bleak.

Any of my siblings could be that person for her, but I can’t shake the feeling that it needs to be me.

I want it to be me.

“Fine.” I mumble, peeling off my work gloves.

I’ll just go check on her and make sure she’s okay. Maybe crack a few cheesy jokes because Ella loves them. Mom probably has some cookies in the kitchen I can grab. Cookies can solve any problem, anywhere.

In my peripheral, I see her step-sister Laila on the back steps of their farmhouse. She’s carrying her shoes in her hand, no doubt sneaking out the back. I watch her just long enough to determine that she’s aiming directly for Ella, and protectiveness surges up in me. No one in that family needs to take a step near her right now.

Before I can second guess myself, I’m crossing the field to intercept her. I don’t need to ask Ella what’s wrong now that Laila is out here—I know it was her step-mothers doing.

“Go back inside,” I reply, pointing my finger toward their house. “Now.”

I’m close enough that I don’t need to shout, but Laila is blinking at me like I did.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

She plants her hands on her hips and straightens her back, but she’s still a good foot shorter than my six foot two frame. I think she’s trying to be intimidating. Her comically large earrings and the chickens pecking at the bottom of her dress aren’t helping her case.

She yanks the end of her dress up off the ground, holding the bulk of the material in front of her as she tries to shoo them away with a foot.

It would be funny if I wasn’t so angry.

“I can cause a scene, Laila.”

Her eyes widen. “It’s not my fault. She made Mom mad and now she’s threatening to cancel?—”

I hold a hand up to stop her.

Mostly because I don’t want to know the next words she’s about to say. She confirmed she was about to head out there and let Ella have it. The details about why aren’t important except that I’m tired of standing by .

I definitely should’ve stayed out of this.

The last thing I need to do is cause a scene and make things worse. I glance out at the field where Ella has disappeared, probably laying in the dirt. That’s better, though, in case Laila makes a mad dash for it. She won’t know where to look.

I do.

I’m not sure why there’s an overpowering need inside me to say something right now. It would be much easier if I just let her go with an assurance she’d leave Ella alone. But it’s not enough.

Ella is always looking out for everyone else. Now that I’ve involved myself, I’m all in. She deserves someone to stand behind her, beside her, wherever.

“She’s your family, Laila. Even if it’s not by blood. She’s there for you anytime you ask and even when you don’t. So how often do you stand up for her? When things get bad, can she count on you?”

Laila presses her heavily glossed lips together and swallows hard.

“Did I stutter? How often?” I repeat.

“Probably not as much as I should.” She responds with a slightly deflated attitude, and she looks more apologetic than she did a couple of minutes ago.

Which is great, but it’s not enough for me.

“What do you know about whatever just happened?”

“I don’t,” she answers quickly. “I heard Mom raise her voice, but I don’t know what happened.”

It wouldn’t be hard for her to guess. I’ve never outright seen Ella’s stepmother treat her unkindly. Charlotte is too careful about that. On the outside, she’s never shown less than perfect as a wife and mother.

Just looking at Laila’s clothes, I can see a shining example of what a lie she’s sold. I live in a house with six other siblings. Clothes that have been worn for a while have a distinction in coloring and texture compared to clothes that are brand new off the rack. Laila’s are clearly new, and Ella’s usually aren’t. How do I know? One of her favorite things to do is what she and my sisters affectionately refer to as ‘shopping hauls’ and her bags always come from the thrift store.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it. But for a woman who claims to love Ella like her own, she sure doesn’t treat her like one.

A realization snaps into place as I take in what Laila is wearing.

Fancy dress, heavier makeup than normal (again, sisters), expensive looking shoes.

Tonight is the Midnight in the Hollow dance.

I have my own reasons to be a little uptight about tonight, but everything went to the mental back burner as soon as Ella ran across our field. She’s settled front and center in my mind—a dangerous pastime lately.

“I gotta go. Just—leave Ella alone,” I reply as a hasty afterthought as I dash toward our back yard.

Ella can’t miss tonight.

She’s been talking about it since the last one, a whole year ago.

I toe off my boots and then ease in the back door. For once, the hinges don’t creak and give me away. From somewhere in the depths of the house, I can hear Mom and Gaby. They’re far enough away that I can grab a few things and get back out undetected.

As soon as I enter the kitchen, a thermos on the table and a plastic container of cookies grab my attention. There’s a note, of course, and I sigh as I read it.

I know you’ll fix whatever is bothering her. You might pretend to be grumpy all the time, but we both know with Ella you’re anything but. Make sure she’s back in here by 6:30 so we can finish getting her ready, dear.

~Mom

Never try to hide anything from a mother.

I’m not sure how she knows Ella and I have some kind of connection I can’t explain. Or if she knows—like her insinuation implies—that we’ve been spending more and more time alone lately. There’s no point in even trying to figure out how or why, because she’s always been this way. She says it’s her mother’s intuition.

I just hope she’s not sharing it with everyone in this family.

Some secrets are meant to stay quiet.