Beyond the Lies: Part Two

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN: DREW

"Drew, you can't leave me!" Paisley cries, tightening her grip about my neck.

Unexpected tears begin to distill down my face as I return her fond embrace. "I'm sorry, Paisley."

She briskly draws away. "I don't want to be alone."

"I know. But neither does Gail, and she's going through a lot more."

Her eyes noticeably glimmer in dismay. "You've...made up your mind."

I grimly nod. "Yes."

Then entails an interminable silence before our gazes simultaneously meet.

"You won't tell, will you?" I softly inquire, combing a hand through my hair.

She strictly wags her head. "No. Not unless I must."

"Will you...join us downstairs?"

Paisley swiftly swipes at a stray tear. "No."

"Are you sure?" I can sense my heart screw up.

"Yes. I'm sure. Goodbye, Drew. I love you."

"I love you, too." And with that, I swiftly take my leave.

As I scurry down the stairs, my heart painfully throbs in despair, and for a moment I dismally halt. Clutching desperately onto the stained wooden rail, I squeeze my eyes shut, holding up grief-stricken tears. Then, once I have somewhat regained myself, I make my way downstairs, through the uncluttered living space, and into our adjacent kitchen. Gail is silently engaged, back to me, at the glossy quartz countertop.

I let out a deep sigh. "Gail?"

She briskly whips around, eyes teemed with pure concern. "Drew! Is...is she alright?"

I nod my head, although unsure. "I think so. Upset, for sure. But she'll pull through."

"Good." She momentarily hesitates. "Drew? Are you sure you want to come?"

My heart skips a set of beats. "Yes. We've had this conversation." No! My conscience shrieks, and I swiftly shut it out.

Gail dips her head. "I'm sorry." She then pointedly gestures at a plastic Ziplock freezer bag brimmed with yesterday morning's frozen leftovers. "How many pancakes would you like?"

I indifferently shrug. "I'm not all that hungry."

"Neither am I. But we need to store our strength. Please eat just a few."

A grin lights up my face, despite the inner-waging war. "Ok, Mom."

She gives out a girlish laugh, and then tilts back her chin. "Feisty."

From the gleam in her green-freckled eyes, and the kittenish tone of her voice, I am immediately aware of one truth.

She is flirting.

And how can I help but flirt back?

"You know it," I laugh in response, and then briskly add, "I will take two—with extra whipped cream."

"Coming right up."

In a trice, she has whipped up my meal, and then proceeds on her own. Once she has sat down, we join hands to pray. For our food and the journey ahead. For my mom and my sister, and Dad. For the truth to be revealed, and a strength that comes solely from God. Then we swiftly commence to indulge, although all I can taste is my fear. Bitter, diverting, unbearably resolved.

Next, we gather up and take account of our things, before washing, brushing, and tidying ourselves. Paisley keeps inside her noiseless room without further objection. While her absence does concern, I attempt to keep upbeat. Perhaps she has accepted my reasoning, somewhat come to appreciate my heartfelt intentions.