Read Online Caught Up in the Touch by Laura Trentham - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Trentham
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Aunt Esmerelda. I have a paying guest who requires breakfast”—Lilliana winked at Jessica—“which means I won’t be at church this morning.” A pause. “If you’re worried about my soul, sing extra loud. Love you, bye now.”
Jessica sat up straighter. “I don’t want to keep you from anything, and you certainly don’t have to fix me breakfast.”
“Please. You’ve given me the perfect excuse. Anyway, it’s almost eleven, and I’m not even dressed. How’re you feeling this morning?”
Jessica whipped her head around searching for a clock. Bright-blue digital numbers on the microwave confirmed the time—10:55. “I can’t even remember the last time I slept in like this.”
“Even on a Sunday?”
“I hit the gym by six, and get in a few hours of work after that.”
“On a Sunday? Girl, you are crazy. Do you have a boyfriend or anything?”
“Not anymore. I lived with a guy I dated in grad school for a while, but it didn’t work out. I don’t really have anything else to do but work.”
Lilliana whistled on a sigh. “Sounds miserable.”
Jessica took a sip of her coffee and stared at the row of bikini-clad cows high-stepping across her mug. Miserable. Maybe so, but she was also responsible and the mere mention of work set her nerves on edge. “You mind if I check my emails?”
Lilliana waved toward the mudroom, which doubled as her office. “Go for it.”
She hadn’t checked in since she left Richmond Wednesday morning. Over a hundred emails littered her inbox, most of them unimportant. But there were half a dozen from her father. Defiant and ready for a fight, she’d told him of her plans to drive through southern Georgia. He’d tensed but made no comment, leaving her strangely disappointed.
His emails started late Friday afternoon. In each one, she could sense his frustration and impatience growing until she reached one dated an hour earlier.
CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!
If she’d been standing in front of him, no doubt he would have yelled at her, spittle flying. Her stomach bounced off the floor and into her throat like a rubber ball. Heat spread over her face and down her neck, prickling her skin. She backed out of the mudroom, staring at the screen as if it could physically attack her.
Her hand fell to her hip, tracing the raised scars through her silk robe like long lines of braille. Each one told a story. The first story began with her ma-maw’s death and her banishment to the prisonlike boarding school up north.
Home for Christmas break, she’d noted the dinner table bickering hadn’t eased during her absence. If anything, being back only provided another target for her parents. Caroline had certainly seemed relieved to share the burden, deflecting her parents’ ire to Jessica as often as possible. Disconnected with her old high school friends and without her ma-maw, Jessica felt unbearably lonely, yet a strange aggression grew in the isolation.
By the fifth night, she had wanted to scream and swipe her dishes to the floor. Instead, she’d retreated to her bathroom and debated on where to score her skin. One of the girls at school had crisscrossing scars on her left arm from wrist to elbow, begging for attention, but the last thing Jessica wanted was for someone else to see the cuts.
After considering several body parts, she’d settled on her left hip. Discrete yet easy to reach. Even in this, her logic had prevailed. Her first cut had been too deep and too long, the skin peeling apart, burning and throbbing, blood leaking all the way down her leg, spotting the woven pink bathroom rug crimson.
She’d leaned on the sink, trembling and heaving deep breaths, willing herself not to pass out. But, through the shock of what she’d done came overwhelming relief. Her stomach had unknotted and the urge to scream faded. Each beat of her heart drove poison from her body through the cut.
Standing in Lilliana’s kitchen, she felt a familiar scream building in her chest, but
Jessica sat up straighter. “I don’t want to keep you from anything, and you certainly don’t have to fix me breakfast.”
“Please. You’ve given me the perfect excuse. Anyway, it’s almost eleven, and I’m not even dressed. How’re you feeling this morning?”
Jessica whipped her head around searching for a clock. Bright-blue digital numbers on the microwave confirmed the time—10:55. “I can’t even remember the last time I slept in like this.”
“Even on a Sunday?”
“I hit the gym by six, and get in a few hours of work after that.”
“On a Sunday? Girl, you are crazy. Do you have a boyfriend or anything?”
“Not anymore. I lived with a guy I dated in grad school for a while, but it didn’t work out. I don’t really have anything else to do but work.”
Lilliana whistled on a sigh. “Sounds miserable.”
Jessica took a sip of her coffee and stared at the row of bikini-clad cows high-stepping across her mug. Miserable. Maybe so, but she was also responsible and the mere mention of work set her nerves on edge. “You mind if I check my emails?”
Lilliana waved toward the mudroom, which doubled as her office. “Go for it.”
She hadn’t checked in since she left Richmond Wednesday morning. Over a hundred emails littered her inbox, most of them unimportant. But there were half a dozen from her father. Defiant and ready for a fight, she’d told him of her plans to drive through southern Georgia. He’d tensed but made no comment, leaving her strangely disappointed.
His emails started late Friday afternoon. In each one, she could sense his frustration and impatience growing until she reached one dated an hour earlier.
CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!
If she’d been standing in front of him, no doubt he would have yelled at her, spittle flying. Her stomach bounced off the floor and into her throat like a rubber ball. Heat spread over her face and down her neck, prickling her skin. She backed out of the mudroom, staring at the screen as if it could physically attack her.
Her hand fell to her hip, tracing the raised scars through her silk robe like long lines of braille. Each one told a story. The first story began with her ma-maw’s death and her banishment to the prisonlike boarding school up north.
Home for Christmas break, she’d noted the dinner table bickering hadn’t eased during her absence. If anything, being back only provided another target for her parents. Caroline had certainly seemed relieved to share the burden, deflecting her parents’ ire to Jessica as often as possible. Disconnected with her old high school friends and without her ma-maw, Jessica felt unbearably lonely, yet a strange aggression grew in the isolation.
By the fifth night, she had wanted to scream and swipe her dishes to the floor. Instead, she’d retreated to her bathroom and debated on where to score her skin. One of the girls at school had crisscrossing scars on her left arm from wrist to elbow, begging for attention, but the last thing Jessica wanted was for someone else to see the cuts.
After considering several body parts, she’d settled on her left hip. Discrete yet easy to reach. Even in this, her logic had prevailed. Her first cut had been too deep and too long, the skin peeling apart, burning and throbbing, blood leaking all the way down her leg, spotting the woven pink bathroom rug crimson.
She’d leaned on the sink, trembling and heaving deep breaths, willing herself not to pass out. But, through the shock of what she’d done came overwhelming relief. Her stomach had unknotted and the urge to scream faded. Each beat of her heart drove poison from her body through the cut.
Standing in Lilliana’s kitchen, she felt a familiar scream building in her chest, but
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