Never Said by Carol Lynch Williams Page B

don’t like to be where people are,” I said, opening the car door. “Please.”
    The sun was too bright. The jean shorts I had on, and the nice top, were too hot. Too tight.
    â€œI don’t want to hear it,” Mom said. She looked away from me. “And it’d be nice if you’d get a learner’s permit.”
    I didn’t answer. There was no way I was driving. I closed the door, and when I got to the office, Dad was waiting.
    â€œWhere have you been?” He didn’t yell. But his words were rocks.
    â€œI feel sick.” And I did. It was no lie. I wanted to throw up. “Daddy . . .”
    â€œJust answer the phone, Sarah, and take messages,” Dad said. ”I’m in a terrible bind.” He was all dressed up. “What’s so hard about that?” He looked at me, checked his watch, and shaking his head, took off down the hall. Another meeting and no competent daughter to secretary for him.
    That day I sat at the desk, trembling. Vomit edged up the back of my throat. Tears filled my eyes, and I had to keep wiping them on my shirt. I wanted to run home.
    Where was Annie? I should go where she’d gone.
    I stared at pictures of three guys I thought she was going out with at the time. She had taped the photos to the shelf, eye-level.
    The whole office wandered by. Bringing notes for me for when certain people called. Reminding me of their phone numbers. Asking where Annie was.
    David came by speaking baby talk on his cell to one of his kids. “Hey,” David said, covering the mouthpiece. “You’re looking pretty, Sarah.”
    I fake smiled.
    He put his elbows on the desk. Rested his chin on one hand. Took a Jolly Rancher from the jar between us.
    â€œWhere’s your sister?” he asked. “I’m talking to Van, and he loves her.”
    I shrugged. Waited for him to leave. Hoped the office phone wouldn’t ring.
    Emma Jean hurried up from the back. She wore a dark suit and her hair was pulled up in a way Mom always said was most unbecoming. “She’s had tons of cosmetic work done,” Mom said. “Her face. Her body.”
    Dad said Emma Jean helped seal the deal on more than her fair share of houses, so he didn’t care what she did cosmetically, and by the way, he thought she looked terrific. I handed Emma Jean a stack of manila folders, some several inches thick.
    â€œCovering for that sister of yours?” Emma Jean asked.
    What kind of question was that? One I didn’t need to answer. But Emma Jean stood there. Waited.
    â€œYes,” I said.
    She nodded and left.
    No wonder people bought houses from her. They were afraid not to.
    Two of the boys in Annie’s pictures I recognized from school. Had she met the other one on the Internet? Here? At a party?
    The phone startled me when it rang. I told the person everyone was in a meeting, could I take a number? Sweat rolled down my back. I hung up.
    About eleven thirty, Paul wandered in. He’s older than Dad. They started this real estate company together, Paul using Dad’s ideas, Dad using Paul’s money.
    Paul saluted me. Something green was stuck between his front teeth. He looked at me so hard that I felt uncomfortable. And then he said, “Sarah.” His eyes were too blue—for an old man, I mean.
    â€œWhat?” I’d almost yelled at him.
    â€œWhere’s that looker of a sister?”
    I flinched. Shrugged. Wasn’t that sexual harassment or something?
    The whole day was stressful and long. I stayed late with Dad because he said so, because Annie did sometimes, and then, at long last, the two of us drove home, Dad talking business the whole way.
    I didn’t listen. I just wanted to get in my room. Lie on the bed. Text Garret. Do anything to unwind. Every muscle in my body was taut.
    My room. My room. That’s what I thought running up the stairs. I slammed the door behind me and collapsed against it.
    I fell