Stuck in the Moment Read online

  Chapter Three

  “You’re late.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I said, jerking an arm out of my jacket. I threw it over the banister at the bottom of the stairs before stomping down the hall and into the kitchen.

  I couldn’t help my frustration—I was angry.

  Before Carter showed up, I felt like I was making some kind of progress with a softer side of Jasper, only for him to turn around and revert to making demands.

  I wanted nothing more than to punch him in his perfect face.

  Why couldn’t he just tell me what the problem was? Why the secrecy?

  I didn’t understand, and he wasn’t doing anything to help me make sense of it. How could something as innocent as a birthday party cause him so much grief? How could he be sure that it would cause Carter any grief at all?

  An unsettling wave of doubt hit me, a frustrating consideration that maybe Jasper was onto something. Maybe he knew exactly what he was talking about, and maybe I was too stubborn to listen.

  Maybe, but not likely.

  “You’re not getting off so easily, Allison,” Dad said, following me.

  I opened the refrigerator, bending to assess the still-empty shelves. He hadn’t gone shopping. Again. There wasn’t a thing left in the house to eat—not even a slice of bread. Again. Not that I was surprised. I shut the door.

  “We were out back,” I said, glancing out the window to the barn.

  Dad shook his head. “I was just out there. You weren’t. Try again.”

  “We were. But we had a problem with our plans for Carter’s party, so I dropped in on Nora for a minute.”

  “Eighteen minutes,” he said, reading the clock above the oven.

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” I repeated. “It won’t happen again.” Dad peered at me, still skeptical. “Call her if you have to. I was with Nora.”

  He watched me a little harder, searching for a trace of deception.

  “Keep a better eye on the time from now on.” He pointed a finger at me. Then he turned out of the kitchen, and I stood there, hanging my head.

  Thankfully he was in a good mood. Thankfully he didn’t question what kind of party-planning problem we’d encountered. Most of all, I was just grateful for the fact that I didn’t have to mention Jasper’s name. That alone would’ve opened a can of worms, and I wasn’t in any kind of mood to argue with my dad about boys. Not tonight. Not ever.

  My stomach rumbled.

  I searched the kitchen again, checking the cabinets high and low for some small trace of food, but there was nothing to be found. Not a cracker. Not a crumb. Nothing to eat. It was just another typical night at the Montgomery residence.

  I turned out of the kitchen. Past the living room, and up the stairs, I dragged myself down the hall. I didn’t bother glancing into Lucy’s room. It would still look the same. It’d been empty for two years—untouched since the night she’d left us.

  I made my way to the last bedroom on the second floor.

  Throwing myself back on the bed, I glanced out the window that overlooked the small field that made up our backyard. My eyes locked on the tall barn at the edge of the woods.

  I don’t know how long I stared out the window at the darkness falling on Sutton Woods, but the minutes turned slower as my body quaked with hunger.

  I was tired. Hungry. Tired of always being hungry.

  “Dad?” I said, peeking my head into the living room a while later. He looked up from his recliner—the same spot where he always sat. The TV droned on as he half-turned his head, but his eyes never left the screen.

  He didn’t really focus on me anymore—or anything else, for that matter.

  “Hmm?”

  “I know it’s past seven—”

  “You’re not leaving.”

  “I’m hungry.” I hated that I had to admit it. I’d eaten a good lunch at school, but only because Mel had overpacked again. I was running on one meal, and with it getting so late in the day, my eleven o’clock lunch seemed like years ago.

  Suddenly I wished I would’ve stayed the extra few minutes at Carter’s for dinner while I had the chance. Yes, I would’ve had to endure Jasper’s company, but what would it have mattered? In the grand scheme of things, I would’ve at least gotten a hot meal. Besides, I was already late. What difference would it have made to my father? Late was late—whether it was one minute or one hour.

  Carter’s house wasn’t an option anymore. They would’ve finished dinner by now and moved on to family time—catching up with their jerk relative who’d come into town unannounced.

  But even with that option exhausted, I knew one place I could go on a Monday night that was a sure bet for food and comfort. If only Dad would give me the green light . . . .

  “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

  “To Roz’s.”

  He stared at the TV again for a solid minute, his face completely unreadable. And just as I was about to turn away and give up hope that he’d give me so much as a grunt, he cleared his throat. “You have one hour.”

  “Really?” I asked, shocked by his nod of approval. “Okay. One hour. Thank you.”

  “Don’t be late.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Grabbing my jacket off the banister, I ducked out the front door as quickly as possible.

  I looked at my watch. 7:51. One hour.

  I had one hour.