Free Summer (Four Seasons #2) by Frankie Rose Page B

questioning over the Wyoming Ripper Murders, Amanda flew straight in. Yes, but she was his lawyer. Of course she flew straight in. That’s what he was paying her for.  
    I’ll still never get over the fact that she wouldn’t fight to clear Dad’s name while she was back there. Even though I begged her to. In the end, it didn’t matter. He was cleared regardless. I was trapped by a serial killer, and Luke was almost shot to death in the process, but still.
    Amanda enters the kitchen, lifting the brown paper bag she’s carrying in her hands, breathing in deeply. Her nose crinkles, and I can almost see the woman I remember from my childhood. Almost, but not quite.  
    “I still don’t understand why you and...” She pauses, like she’s unsure how she’s meant to refer to my father these days.  
    “We liked it because none of us could cook anything like it. Dad always pretended we were in a foreign country just because we were eating with chopsticks.” I don’t look at her. I busy myself pouring soda over the ice in my glass. Memories of mealtimes when I was a kid assault me from all angles. It still stings that I’ll never get to sit down and have another meal with my father. We always had the best conversations over our food. I’d tell him all the ridiculous things that had happened at school. He’d tell me all about the older kids he’d been teaching.
    A body-wide shudder runs through me, turning my blood ice-cold in my veins. God, I miss him. I miss him so much. It’s a cruel and brutal thing that I’ve lost both of the men I’ve loved in my life.  
      “Your father always had an imagination,” Amanda says suddenly. “He liked to create realities that just weren’t feasible.” She unpacks the food methodically, hands working quickly, eyes firmly locked on the task at hand. I take the plate she offers me and I begin loading it up. I get the feeling, somehow, that she’s not talking about pretending we were eating in Japan. “How’s your summer break, anyway?” She sits down, eyes still fixed on her plate.  
    “Hard. Exhausting. I’m catching up on three subjects so I’ll be up to date by the time the new semester starts.” At least studying so hard has distracted me somewhat from the fact that the rest of my life is in pieces.
    “Well, you know what they say, don’t you. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. And you’re healing well, I assume?”
    “Yes.” I could go into great detail about the fact that I can’t look at the twisted scar on my leg where I was shot without almost suffering a panic attack, but I don’t. She’s the last person who would understand.
    “Money’s still in the bank? Groceries in your fridge?” she asks.
    I pick up the chopsticks and work to fill my mouth, nodding my response. I can tell she’s getting frustrated, but I’m out of small talk. My life’s complicated enough without my mother deciding to impress her new lover by inviting me back into her life. I’m not stupid. This has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the one person that does matter to her—Brit.  
    The day I met my mother’s girlfriend in December was as much of a shock to her as it was to me. The look on her face was one of sheer surprise—Amanda hadn’t even mentioned the fact that she had a daughter. She’d pretended like I didn’t even exist.  
    “So tell me something,” my mother says.  
    “What?” I shove food into my mouth, bracing myself for what’s about to come next. What she’s about to ream me out for.  
    “Anything. It’s hard to hold a conversation with you when you keep giving me one word answers.”
    “I’m not really sure what you want me to share with you. To be honest, I’m still in shock that you’re even talking to me. This is a record. I’m counting the words coming out of your mouth to see if we break it in the future.” I hate that I’m allowing my emotions out of their cage. I’ve never wanted her to know how badly she’s