Read Online Evergreen (Mer Tales, Book 2) by Brenda Pandos - Free Book Online
Authors: Brenda Pandos
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contemplating stabbing someone.
Then the perfect excuse came to mind—one to set me free.
“I used it to carve our initials on a tree,” I said plainly.
Mom and Dad’s eyebrows creased before a collective sigh filled the room.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Dad asked as he laced Mom’s fingers with his.
“I don’t know.” I gulped again. “It’s silly.”
Mom’s face softened, then she smiled. “Did I tell you your dad and I have our initials on a tree in Napa.”
They looked lovingly at one another, almost as if they’d forgotten that their wayward daughter, injured and bleeding, sat awaiting her punishment or release. Thank God I thought of an answer.
But even though their fears were alleviated, Fin’s was not. He only had a few minutes of sunlight before I could explain why I’d hung up so quickly.
“Can I go?”
“Yes… Of course.” Mom rose from the couch and wrapped the knife in the bloodied towel. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Dad stood up with her and stayed an extra second. He hugged me.
“Ash. We really do mean it when we say we love you. You know that?”
“Yeah, of course, Dad,” I smiled weakly. “I wasn’t trying to scare anyone.”
“Okay.” He pulled away and smiled, distrust still hanging out behind his eyes.
I darted around him and took the stairs by twos. But somewhere in the middle of the ascent, pain from nowhere wracked my chest and then disappeared, like an elephant had jumped on me. The overwhelming crushing dread that I’d never see Fin again, that I lived with daily, had evaporated. More normal feelings of our separation remained, like I could wait a few weeks to see him and survive.
I started to hyperventilate. Something was wrong. Fin was in trouble. I dialed my phone. Every call rolled over to voice mail.
“No.” I crumpled onto a step and my wound broke open. Blood began to trickle down my leg once more.
:::
The rest of the night all my calls to Fin rolled over to voicemail and besides a short sweet email I’d received from him earlier, I didn’t hear anything further. I wanted to remain hopeful and believe nothing physically had happened to him, but my heart felt hollow and numb. Even my promise mark seemed extra dim in the shower the next morning.
I yawned again as Mr. Branson droned on about the Nazi’s in France. I couldn’t listen. I could barely function.
“Ms. Lanski,” Mr. Branson said. “And when did the French police arrest the Jews in the Vel’ d’Hiv Roundup?”
I froze. “Ummm.” This was the first I’d heard of the Vel’ d’Hiv Roundup.
“I assure you the answers are not laying in your lap.” He gripped the edge of his podium. “Please, Mr. Davis, will you help Ms. Lanski with the answer?”
“July 1942.”
“That’s correct.” He took a deep annoyed breath. “People, if you don’t take the time to learn your history, you may end up being carted off to a concentration camp for your race or religion. Do you want that?”
My cheeks ignited as Jeremy reveled in giving the right answer. Mr. Branson gave me a look before continuing. I cared, especially where the Holocaust was concerned, but dates didn’t make one a scholar on the subject. Details were the most important piece and that was why Mr. Branson was the teacher—to teach me.
My phone buzzed to life and Fin’s name blazoned on the receiver. I squeaked, unable to control myself. My hand flew in the air.
“Mr. Branson, I have to use the restroom. Now.”
He shot me a glare. “We’ve only a few more minutes of class.”
As the phone silently rang and tugged at my heartstrings, I contemplated using the most embarrassing excuse in the world. “This can’t wait!”
The entire class seemed to turn in unison and gawk as Mr. Branson’s eyebrows furled. “Fine, but leave your phone on my desk.”
I gulped and didn’t move. If I stayed, I’d be a liar and later, a laughing stock. But my phone? He’d threatened if he caught texters in
Then the perfect excuse came to mind—one to set me free.
“I used it to carve our initials on a tree,” I said plainly.
Mom and Dad’s eyebrows creased before a collective sigh filled the room.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Dad asked as he laced Mom’s fingers with his.
“I don’t know.” I gulped again. “It’s silly.”
Mom’s face softened, then she smiled. “Did I tell you your dad and I have our initials on a tree in Napa.”
They looked lovingly at one another, almost as if they’d forgotten that their wayward daughter, injured and bleeding, sat awaiting her punishment or release. Thank God I thought of an answer.
But even though their fears were alleviated, Fin’s was not. He only had a few minutes of sunlight before I could explain why I’d hung up so quickly.
“Can I go?”
“Yes… Of course.” Mom rose from the couch and wrapped the knife in the bloodied towel. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Dad stood up with her and stayed an extra second. He hugged me.
“Ash. We really do mean it when we say we love you. You know that?”
“Yeah, of course, Dad,” I smiled weakly. “I wasn’t trying to scare anyone.”
“Okay.” He pulled away and smiled, distrust still hanging out behind his eyes.
I darted around him and took the stairs by twos. But somewhere in the middle of the ascent, pain from nowhere wracked my chest and then disappeared, like an elephant had jumped on me. The overwhelming crushing dread that I’d never see Fin again, that I lived with daily, had evaporated. More normal feelings of our separation remained, like I could wait a few weeks to see him and survive.
I started to hyperventilate. Something was wrong. Fin was in trouble. I dialed my phone. Every call rolled over to voice mail.
“No.” I crumpled onto a step and my wound broke open. Blood began to trickle down my leg once more.
:::
The rest of the night all my calls to Fin rolled over to voicemail and besides a short sweet email I’d received from him earlier, I didn’t hear anything further. I wanted to remain hopeful and believe nothing physically had happened to him, but my heart felt hollow and numb. Even my promise mark seemed extra dim in the shower the next morning.
I yawned again as Mr. Branson droned on about the Nazi’s in France. I couldn’t listen. I could barely function.
“Ms. Lanski,” Mr. Branson said. “And when did the French police arrest the Jews in the Vel’ d’Hiv Roundup?”
I froze. “Ummm.” This was the first I’d heard of the Vel’ d’Hiv Roundup.
“I assure you the answers are not laying in your lap.” He gripped the edge of his podium. “Please, Mr. Davis, will you help Ms. Lanski with the answer?”
“July 1942.”
“That’s correct.” He took a deep annoyed breath. “People, if you don’t take the time to learn your history, you may end up being carted off to a concentration camp for your race or religion. Do you want that?”
My cheeks ignited as Jeremy reveled in giving the right answer. Mr. Branson gave me a look before continuing. I cared, especially where the Holocaust was concerned, but dates didn’t make one a scholar on the subject. Details were the most important piece and that was why Mr. Branson was the teacher—to teach me.
My phone buzzed to life and Fin’s name blazoned on the receiver. I squeaked, unable to control myself. My hand flew in the air.
“Mr. Branson, I have to use the restroom. Now.”
He shot me a glare. “We’ve only a few more minutes of class.”
As the phone silently rang and tugged at my heartstrings, I contemplated using the most embarrassing excuse in the world. “This can’t wait!”
The entire class seemed to turn in unison and gawk as Mr. Branson’s eyebrows furled. “Fine, but leave your phone on my desk.”
I gulped and didn’t move. If I stayed, I’d be a liar and later, a laughing stock. But my phone? He’d threatened if he caught texters in
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