Page 4 of Coerced

Unless there was some massive damage done to the back of the car that I couldn’t see from my vantage point, which I could very easily work out wasn’t the case, there wasn’t a single scratch on it.

I looked back at my parents. One glance at my dad told me everything I needed to know. He knew I’d caught on; he knew I understood they’d lied about what happened today, even if I didn’t yet know why.

Jasmine was oblivious. She ran forward, throwing her arms around our mom, and asked, “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

The devastation was written all over Florence Todd’s face. Whatever this was, it was huge. Of that, I had not a single doubt.

I continued to stare at my parents. Mostly, I kept my focus on my father’s face. He broke the connection first, blinking his eyes rapidly to contain his emotions. I’d never seen him like that.

Ever.

Not once had my dad ever broken down. He was always strong, always tough.

What was happening?

Jasmine loosened her hold on our mom, pulled back, and repeated, “Are you okay?”

Tears filled Mom’s eyes, and she lifted her hand to cup Jasmine’s cheek. “Oh, my sweet Jazzy.”

“Did you get hurt?”

I couldn’t take it any longer. Before my mom had a chance to respond, I blurted, “There was no car accident.”

Three sets of eyes came in my direction, but it was my sister who responded. “What?”

“Mom’s car is in the driveway, Jaz. There’s not a scratch on it.”

Jasmine’s eyes darted between me and our parents. She seemed unable to accept what I’d just said, and her expression indicated she desperately needed an explanation.

Since nobody made the effort to do that, I demanded it. “What’s going on? Why did you lie to us today?”

“Aria, why don’t you sit down?” my dad suggested.

Oh no.

No.

Asking someone to sit down was a sign of disaster. I always wondered if that suggestion was made more for the person advising it. It couldn’t be for the person who was being asked to have a seat. It had to be because people recognized someone might take off running and never look back if they were standing when their world was turned upside down.

Shaking my head, unwilling to succumb to bad news before it was delivered, I pressed, “What’s wrong?”

I needed the facts. Once I had the facts, I could panic.I could freak out. Not until then. And even then, never outwardly. I’d take it in—whatever it was—and I’d bottle it up. I’d allow my mind to run wild with thoughts and questions and feelings. But I wouldn’t do it until I knew I had a reason to, until I understood precisely what was happening.

“Aria, please sit down.”

That came from my mom, and the sound of her voice was so ragged, it was a wonder I could make out the words. She was begging me, pleading.

Despite that, regardless of the painful ache it placed in the center of my chest, I didn’t do what she asked.

Did my parents think I was an idiot? The longer they went without saying a word, without sharing the truth, the more the pieces aligned for me.

Mom had been acting strange for a few weeks now. Initially, I’d brushed it off as her being her usual self. She and Jasmine could get weird at times. In fact, it was one of the things that my dad and I often connected over. We’d never come right out and say anything to their faces about it, but we experienced some solidarity in the moments when it seemed two of the people we loved most in the world were melting down. We’d exchanged a look, and maybe a grin, and I knew he felt just as I did in those moments.

But this wasn’t one of those times.

Clearly, I’d been wrong.

And now that I was making that distinction, I couldn’t ignore the reality.