Tether Read Online Free

me, but they couldn’t shield me from the people who would approach me on the street or knock on my front door to ask insanely personal questions. Reporters went through our trash and interrogated my classmates. They chased my seventy-eight-year-oldgrandfather down the street with cameras and microphones. The elopement story had satisfied the idle gossips, but the truly curious hadn’t given up yet, and I felt their eyes on me everywhere, all the time. That was why I was in therapy—not to talk about what I’d been through, because obviously I couldn’t, but to find a way of coping with the scrutiny. Sometimes I thought I was making progress; other times—like now—I wondered why I even bothered.
    “What happened to you?” Gina asked. “You seem so sad.”
    I twisted the fabric of my apron so tight around my fingers that they began to throb. “You just don’t get it.”
    “No,” she said. “I don’t. But I want to. Talk to me, Sasha. I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
    “Maybe you don’t.” I turned and ran to the kitchen, ripping my apron off as I slammed through the swinging door. Johnny glared when he saw me.
    “What are you doing in here? We have customers!”
    “I’m going home,” I told him, dumping my apron on the counter.
Poor Gina,
I thought. Six weeks ago I would
never
have turned my back on her like that or pushed her away when she was trying to help me. Gina wasn’t the only person who felt as if she didn’t know me anymore. Sometimes I didn’t even recognize myself.
    “Your shift’s not over.”
    “I don’t care.” I knew that if I stayed I’d end up telling Gina everything, just so I didn’t have to carry around my secret any longer. The restaurant felt so small and threatening. I had to get out of there. “Nikki can cover for me. I have to go.”
    I left without waiting for Johnny’s response. He could fire me the next day or not, I didn’t care. The air outside was thick and humid, but there was a cool breeze coming off Lake Michigan. I took it into my lungs and tried to calm down.
    “Everything is fine,” I said, as if speaking the words out loud would make them true. My voice quavered, and I felt like I was going to pass out, but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other.
    “Everything is fine, everything is fine, everything is fine,” I repeated, until the words were gibberish, strings of letters that meant less than nothing at all.
    I trudged through the neighborhood, past brownstones and playgrounds and storefronts that were as familiar to me as my own name, but no matter how hard I tried to connect, to conjure up happy memories and imagine a brighter future, none of it felt right. It was like a story I was trying to tell myself, a lie I couldn’t bring myself to believe. When I crossed Fifty-Third Street, my house came into view. The shabby Victorian, with its cheerful cornflower-blue shutters and wide wrap-around porch, was the only place on Earth I felt safe now. It was home, or as close to it as I could manage in this world.
    I passed the mailbox without stopping, figuring Granddad would’ve already gotten the mail, but then I remembered he’d gone to St. Louis for a conference and wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. Something made me pause halfway up the porch steps and double back. I opened the mailbox with a mixture of dread and excitement, unsure of what I expected to find but certain that something was waiting for me.
    On top of a neat stack of letters, circulars from the neighborhood grocery co-op, and catalogs full of things neither Granddad nor I would ever buy was a little white origami star.
    I grabbed it and left the rest of the mail behind, running into the house and letting the door slam behind me. My hands shook as I pounded up the stairs, shedding my bag and shoes along the way. I barreled into my room and flung myself down on the bed, closing my eyes.
    Let it be from him,
I begged the universe.
Please,