They Didn't Know Read online

  They Didn’t Know

  Pam Eaton

  Cooper Ave Press

  Copyright © 2021 by Pam Eaton

  Cooper Ave Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, events, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Editor - Camille Fairbanks

  Cover Design - Molly Phipps with We Got You Covered Book Design

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9996787-9-4

  For Harmony -

  I miss you so much. I think about you all the time. I wish you had stayed. This life isn’t the same without you in it.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  A Note From The Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Pam Eaton

  1

  I thought I knew what hell was: the scorching temperatures of a Phoenix summer; moving to a Connecticut beach house in the dead of winter; the weeks spent in a mental health facility. But now—hell is being trapped here on this couch, with a plastic smile on my face, listening to my mom wax poetic about her motivational posters. Hell is the place I’ve been trapped in for the past eight months. Some days I’m waiting for the flames to rise up and consume me, and some days I can feel the thick coat of ash on my tongue. Some days…some days I don’t know why I bother to stay.

  “What about this one, Tori?” my mom asks. She turns toward me, hugging a frame to her chest, a fragile hope shining in her eyes.

  I put down the book I’m supposed to be reading for my new school and look at the poster from my spot on the couch.

  You have to look through the rain to see the rainbow.

  “Uh—”

  “It’s true, you know. The bad days will pass,” she says, but it seems like she’s trying to convince herself of that more than me.

  She stares at the frame and gives it a small nod. And this is why I have to stay. I can’t crush her any more than I have. Some days the pressure of trying to keep it all together makes me want to let the flames devour me. But every day I wake up.

  She taps a finger to her lips. “I think I’ll put this one in the stairwell.”

  This is the fifth poster she’s brought out. Who comes up with these phrases? Is there some guy out there that trolls retirement homes looking for sage wisdom or confusing anecdotes on life? I overheard her telling my dad that hanging these up around the house is going to change everything. I don’t think looking at a sign that says “Tomorrow is a new day” is going to make me forget what I tried to do last year.

  “I’m going to get some fresh air,” I tell her, rising from the couch.

  “Sure, sure,” she says, looking at her next poster. “Grab a coat,” she calls as I leave her to her motivational quotes and make my way to the back door in the kitchen. I’ve done my mandatory hour of sitting in Mom’s presence. I need out. I grab my jacket and throw on some shoes.

  I push open the storm door and a freezing wind lashes at my face. It somehow finds every gap in my clothing and pierces my skin. I let the sting of the cold air envelop me as I move across the yard. It steals my breath and yet makes me feel a little bit more alive.

  The house looms above me. Maybe in my other life I would have called it cute with its blue wood siding and flower box-lined, white-trimmed windows. Mom said the front yard will be bursting with hydrangeas and lilacs come late spring. It’s nothing like home though. There are no palm trees, no desert landscaping filled with rocks and cacti. None of the houses here have stucco walls or scorpions—the no scorpions part is a plus if I’m being honest with myself. Everything feels off, but that’s been a constant for a while now. We moved to where my mom grew up for a fresh start, but I still haven’t figured out how my parents think moving across the country is going to accomplish that. Either way, this whole “Fix Tori” project has landed me on this freezing cold, desolate beach at our new home.

  I move through the small yard toward the sand bordering it, letting the stab of icy wind rip through me. I try to take a deep breath, but the air is so cold that it feels like needles slicing at my lungs. I look back from my spot near the water and sure enough, Mom is in the kitchen hanging another poster.

  I exhale a white cloud. It makes her happy; just let her do it.

  I’ve learned the hard way not to comment about those posters around her. The last time I did it sent her into hysterical tears, which in turn led to disappointed and concerned looks from my dad. The last thing I want is to be locked up in a mental health facility, rooming with some girl who steals the hair from my brush and chants words in Latin late at night. Again.

  And as much as I want to tell her that the only useful thing about those posters is the glass, I rein in that dark humor. Because I know it would be a one-way ticket back to my own personal Bedlam.

  The reminder of that night makes me rub at the scars under the leather cuffs on my wrists. I almost got the pain to stop, and then my mom found me. Now here I am, broken, standing on frozen sea foam outside our new home.

  I look out at the endless stretch of water, and I feel…

  Nothing.

  Nothing but a pit in my heart that I can’t figure out how to fill. And most days, I don’t know if I want to.

  “Tori! Kris is here with Danielle,” my mom yells, jolting me back to reality.

  I have no clue how long I’ve been standing here, but it’s been long enough that I’ve lost feeling in my toes. I take a deep breath and turn around slowly, looking at the visitors in the kitchen. My shoulders fall at seeing my mom’s friend Kris. I trudge the short distance back to the house, dreading this.

  The overwhelming smell of Windex greets me as I enter the kitchen. Guess Mom went a little overboard with cleaning those frames. Kris watches me as I struggle to get my fingers to move and untie my shoes.

  I haven’t seen my mom’s best friend in five years. She really hasn’t changed much. She still has the same haircut like those memes making fun of a lady asking to speak to a manager. Her clothes scream soccer mom, which is weird because I’ve seen pictures of them from high school, and they were popular cheerleaders. Time could have been kind, but it’s like Kris slapped it and said no. Regardless, she knows all about last summer. And her eyes track my movements, like she thinks at any moment I’ll throw a chair across the room or grab a sharp object.

  Or maybe she’s afraid I’ll be a bad influence on her daughter, Danielle.

  “Hey guys,” I say, giving an awkward wave to both of them.

  “Hello, Victoria,” Kris says in a weird, slow voice. “How are you?”

  What is with that voice? I blink a few times, trying to see if she’s seriously talking to me like I suddenly can’t understand English. Apparently, she is. All right.

  “Fine,” I say.

  She makes a humming noise like she doesn’t believe me. “You remember Danielle,” she says, pointing at her daughter sitting at the table. It’s been five years since I last saw Dani in person, and a year since we exchanged messages on Instagram before I deleted all my social media accounts.

  “Why is she talking to me like I suffered brain damage?” I ask my mom in a whisper, which is pointless since our kitchen isn’t that big and I know everyone heard me.

  “Victoria Adams,” Mom says my name on a harsh gasp, while Kris looks like she’s sucked on a lemon.

  “Hey, Tori,” Dani butts in, trying to contain her laughter but failing miserably.

  Dani is no longer the stick-thin eleven-year-old we both used to be. Now she looks like she could pass for a Kardashian with those curves. Apparently, my body didn’t get that memo. She gets out of her chair and wraps me in a tight hug. Everything in me seizes at her touch. We used to hug like this all the time, but just like her boobs have changed, so has my fondness for human contact. Thankfully the hug is over as quickly as it began. “I’m so excited you guys moved here,” Dani says. “And don’t worry, I’ll totally take care of you at school.”

  School. One word, but it sends my heart racing. Last semester I did school online. But my parents weren’t okay with that option when we moved here.

  “Can’t wait to be the new girl,” I say.

  “I’m sure they’ll hardly notice a
new student,” Mom says, trying to be helpful.

  “They’ll notice,” Kris mutters, eyes looking at my wrists.

  Everyone turns to look at her. She visibly flinches like she just realizes she said that out loud. “I mean, you’re a pretty girl, of course they’ll notice,” she stammers out.

  Real nice, Kris.

  “You’re starting tomorrow, right?” Dani asks, dragging my attention away from her noticeably nervous, sweating mom.

  “Yeah,” I answer on a sigh.

  “Good. I’ll pick you up so we can go together.” Her body vibrates with excitement, and I take a small step back.

  I nod, because what am I going to do? Tell her no? Or say: sorry, I’d rather not be alone with you so you can ask me fifty million questions? I know it’s normal for someone to want to know what happened, but that doesn’t mean I have to spell it out for them. It makes my heart squeeze in agony to imagine what it would be like to actually say the words out loud. Besides, she wouldn’t get it.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful, Danielle! I’m so glad you asked,” my mom pipes in.

  I know my mom thinks that if I just fall back into school and hang around people, it’s going to help, but how do I tell her that I can feel alone in a crowded room? How do I explain that it doesn’t matter how nice these kids are to me because it won’t fix the broken things within me? There is no miracle cure.

  Kris stands from the table and grabs her purse, inching toward the living room. “Well, we just wanted to stop by, but we’ve got errands to run.”

  She tries to sound apologetic, but we all saw her eyeing me the entire time. I mean, come on, it’s not like I decided to dye my hair pitch black and wear black lipstick. And even if I did, who cares? I’m not out back burning sacrificial lambs or anything.

  I look down at myself. I do wear baggier clothes and hardly any makeup. But I want to blend in, not stick out.

  My mom walks Kris to the door, but Dani hangs back a bit. “You don’t have to give me a ride to school,” I whisper so my mom doesn’t overhear.

  She waves away my comment. “I want to. We used to be super close. I still consider you one of my good friends.” She chews on her bottom lip. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about”—she gestures toward my wrists—“that.”

  My stomach lurches. My hands tremble, so I tuck them behind my back. Of course she knows I tried to kill myself. Granted she doesn’t know why—not even my parents know why—but her bringing it up feels like a punch to the gut. “Thanks,” I somehow manage to squeeze out between my pinched lips.

  “Here,” she says, taking out her phone and handing it to me. “Put your number in here and I’ll text you to let you know when I’ll pick you up.”

  With still-shaking hands, I take her phone and type my number in. As I start to hand it back, the close-up picture of her and some guy on her lock screen snags my attention. He’s gorgeous, with dark brown curls in need of a cut, bright blue eyes, and an infectious smile. He’s exactly the type of guy I used to go for, until him. I shudder at the mere thought of him, but at least I don’t feel the need to throw up. Progress.

  Dani follows my gaze, and I’m hoping she doesn’t notice how stark white my hand is from gripping her phone so hard. “Oh, that’s my best friend, Nick. Isn’t he hot?”

  I all but shove her phone back to her. “Yeah. Sure. Could use a haircut.”

  Her smile becomes a little dreamy. “Yeah, but I like it.”

  Just a best friend? “All right. Well, text me.” I start walking to the door in the hopes that she’ll follow.

  She trails after me but stops halfway out the front door and looks at me with a hopeful smile. “You know, if you ever want to hang out or something you can come out with me and my friends.”

  I rock back on my heels. There’s a part of me that wants to jump at the chance of some sort of normalcy. There are days when I crave it. But the churning pit in my stomach holds me back every time. “I’ll let you know.” There. That was a very neutral and non-committal answer.

  With one last wave she leaves me standing at the door, having no idea that my hands are still clenched or that beads of sweat are slowly trailing down my back.

  “That’s so thoughtful of Danielle to pick you up for school,” my mom says from behind me.

  “Yeah,” I say, not elaborating.

  “Do you want help picking out an outfit for tomorrow?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

  I slowly turn and face her, knowing my face is contorted in horror. “Uh…no, I think I’ve got that covered, Mom.”

  Her shoulders slump a little and I can’t figure out why. She hasn’t dressed me since the first grade. And I’ve got no clue what she’d try to get me to wear. But I’ll stick with my standard look lately: invisible. “Oh, okay. Well, I’m going to go figure out dinner. Dad should be home from work soon.”

  She trudges back to the kitchen, her body slumped in defeat, and I want to scream because I somehow managed to hurt her feelings, again.

  I pull at the roots of my hair. I can’t keep doing this. I’m going crazy walking on eggshells around her. Well, more crazy than usual.

  2

  I park my butt by the front window, but I kind of wish I hadn’t because now I’m stuck staring at my own reflection. Baggy boyfriend jeans, grey long-sleeved shirt that covers everything, and my trusty black hoodie with the thumb holes that helps hide my leather cuffs. The only good thing about living in Connecticut: it stays colder longer than it does in Arizona, allowing me to wear layers without questioning looks.

  A car horn honks, dragging my eyes from the dreary site. Dani waves from the driver’s seat. I lean forward and squint. My heart stutters. She’s not alone. There’s a guy sitting next to her. A burning starts underneath my leather cuffs and I rub them against my jeans. When she texted me yesterday, she didn’t say anything about driving someone else. I lick my lips and Dani honks again and waves. I blink. Crap, they can totally see me standing in the window like a creeper. I shove my beanie on my head and pull my long brown hair forward.

  “I’m leaving,” I yell to my mom.

  She walks out of the kitchen with a large, hopeful smile and her hands clasped in front of her. “Have a good day, baby. You’re coming straight home after school, right?”

  My forehead furrows. “Where else would I go?”

  She gives a little shrug. “Well, you might make some friends today…”

  I won’t give her false hope. It’s not good for either of us. For just a moment I let my walls down so she can see what lurks behind my eyes. So she’ll see that I won’t be going anywhere today with new friends. And I give her that quick glimpse of how miserable I really am.

  I turn without waiting to see her reaction, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear her pain-filled gasp. I walk out the door without another word.

  I trudge toward the car, my mood already souring, and notice the guy in the front seat is Nick, the guy from Dani’s phone. He’s got a huge grin on his face and laughs at something Dani says. A pang of longing hits my chest. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.

  I slide into the backseat and curl up against the door. Dani turns around in her seat, her eyes bright and her smile huge. “Tori, meet Nick Janus; Nick, I’d like you to meet Tori.”

  “Hey,” Nick says, turning to look at me with friendly eyes.

  I give a little wave and then pull my hoodie tight around me. He bites his lip and glances at Dani. “Sooo, let’s head to school,” she says in a false-cheery voice.

  As she backs out, Nick doesn’t turn back around to the front, instead he still stares at me. His eyes travel from my beanie and down to the holes where my thumbs are sticking out of my hoodie’s sleeves. I shift in my seat.