Free Between Now & Never by Laura Johnston Page A

brows are pulled together, creating tension that makes my headache worse. “Feels like there’s something I was about to tell you, but I can’t remember.”
    Dad offers an all-knowing smile.
    “I’ve said that before?” I ask.
    He nods. “It’ll come. It’ll come.”
    “Why was I walking?”
    “That’s what we’re hoping you can tell us.”
    Out late at night walking alone through a dust storm? Doesn’t make sense. “A dust storm ?”
    “Yeah,” Dad says. “Biggest one in years. Delayed flights at the airport. Power outages. Trees uprooted.”
    “Wow,” I say, shocked that I can’t remember it. I dig for memories, but my head hurts. It must be there somewhere, buried. I would have caught a dust storm like that on camera.
    “I take it I didn’t call you guys?”
    Dad’s lips press into a stiff line. “You didn’t even have your phone on you.”
    Now this really doesn’t make sense. “I always have my phone on me.”
    “Yeah, well, it was nowhere to be found. We searched the scene of the accident.”
    “Where was it—the accident?”
    “On Power Road by the mall.”
    “But why? Why was I even there?”
    Dad throws me a sharp sideways glance, about to pop with irritation. Patience isn’t his best virtue.
    Mom walks in and apparently senses the tension. “Let me do the talking, Ryan.”
    I must have been driving them crazy, question after question, over and over. I got a concussion once in the fourth grade, playing soccer. All I kept asking was whether we won or not. I look at my family and note the signs of sleeplessness: rumpled clothes, bags under their eyes, crazy hair. Lizzy even has her pillow, a few ponies, and those polar bear slippers of hers.
    I picture myself wandering around the streets last night like some mental patient, confused. No. Definitely not. There had to be a reason.
    “I’m sorry,” I say to all of them.
    “Oh, don’t be, sweetie,” Mom says. Dad shifts a restless gaze to the floor like he doesn’t share her sentiment. Rachel too. Lizzy is wrapping a latex glove around one of her ponies like a saddle blanket.
    “Cody,” Dad says, “you left the house yesterday with your friend from the basketball team.”
    “Vic,” Mom chimes in.
    I remember now: Vic. At least I remember our basketball tournament in Vegas. I recall seeing the picture of his mom in his kitchen and figuring it out. My dad put her behind bars. I recall Vic’s living room. Playing the guitar. And Julianna.
    She didn’t even glance my way.
    The memories end there, my train of thought fizzling out into a big, wide-open nothing.
    “I was with Vic last night?” I ask. Mom nods.
    I thought I had decided to keep my distance. For his sake, for mine, for everyone’s. He’s bound to figure out who my dad is at some point.
    Dread gives me a hard jab as I wonder if he already knows. Did I give it away? Could Vic have gotten mad last night, really mad? I think of his jacked arms and wonder if he threw a punch. Knocked me senseless? Vic’s sure to have a vicious swing. But no, it was a car.
    “Wait a minute. Who hit me?”
    Dad is all eyes on me now, his gaze calculating. He’s no longer just Dad; he’s the special agent. I’ve seen that look, the look he gets when something doesn’t add up and he’s determined to figure out why.
    “We don’t know,” Mom answers. “They must have driven off.”
    “A lady drove by as the dust passed and saw you lying on the sidewalk. She called 911,” Dad explains. “She said she didn’t see any other cars near you when she pulled up.”
    “No one saw the car,” Rachel says. “I’m surprised she even saw you , the dust was so thick.”
    “Detective Ferguson seems to think the lady found you pretty soon after you were hit,” Dad says.
    Rachel stands. This is the first time in forever that I’ve seen her without her eyes rimmed in black. “Here, look at this,” she says and pulls something up on her phone.
    She shoves her iPhone in front of my face as