Ethan’s been off since the weekend. We had our almost moment in Mathias’s studio, but I think he realized right after I did that it wasn’t a good idea. Then again, maybe it had only been an almost moment for me. Maybe he didn’t even notice. Either way he seemed fine afterward, at least I think he was. This is different. I can’t put my finger on it exactly but something has definitely happened.
And he won’t tell me what it is.
We’re in his room later that week, Ethan absently refreshing his inbox on his laptop while Old Man purrs in my lap. The silence between us is awkward and growing more so with every passing second. The only thing that breaks it is Mrs. Kelly occasionally passing in the hall to check that the door is still open but trying to act like she’s not. Ethan said his grandparents didn’t comment on his blue hair, but after seeing my matching hue, they’ve been more watchful, as though dyeing our hair together means we might be doing other kinds of things together. We’re not, so the constant checking doesn’t bother me, but Ethan is another story.
After about the fifth pass by his grandmother, Ethan’s shoulders tense and the second we hear her join Mr. Kelly in the backyard, he gets up and slams the door shut. It’s not an earth-shattering slam. None of the pictures fall off the walls, but Old Man starts in my lap and decides he’d rather be outside. The lack of impact seems to bother Ethan. His eyebrows furl tightly as he paces around the small room before stopping at his desk only long enough to give his laptop the same treatment as his door. That one makes me wince. The laptop doesn’t look like it can take much more abuse.
“And that’s my cue to go.” I turn toward the door, ready for a lovely view of Ethan’s back on my way out. I’ve learned long ago that there’s no reaching him at this point.
Except...he’s not too busy silently raging to notice anything else. He’s looking right at me instead of through me.
“What?” Then he follows my gaze to the laptop that definitely snapped one of its hinges. Ethan continues frowning and visibly breathing through his nose for another moment before he’s able to get a handle on himself. He rakes his fingers through his blue hair, locking his fingers behind his head. “Oh yeah. Sorry.”
“For what?” I say, genuinely shocked by the words that just came out of his mouth.
“Silently slamming things around like a little shit. I’m just—just—” He punctuates that statement by kicking his desk chair across the room, which sounds more violent than it is. The chair has wheels so it just rolls a few feet on the carpeted floor before toppling over. A short, harsh laugh comes out of him. “I remember that helping a lot more as a kid.”
“Well, I don’t,” I say, my eyes wide on his. “I remember you yelling at me over torn books and then throwing them in pools.”
His gaze lifts to meet mine. “Guess I’m sorry about that too.”
“Wait, wait.” I wheel right up to him, faux incredulity guiding my movements. “Did the hair dye mess with your brain chemistry or something? Why aren’t you storming off right now and leaving me confused and annoyed?”
He doesn’t smile at me; if anything he looks pained.
I drop the act. “Um, that was supposed to be a joke.” Clearly it did not land. More silence threatens to invade the space between us and I decide maybe he can surprise me again. “So what’s going on with you?”
His gaze travels to his laptop. “It’s been days and Bauer hasn’t gotten back to me.”
I figured as much, but I hadn’t dared ask. Bauer wasn’t just our best lead on his mom, so far, he was our only lead. We hadn’t heard back from anyone else on Ethan’s list.
And whatever else I want, Ethan hurting like this will never be one of them.
I can’t force people to reply to messages or return calls, but maybe I can help distract Ethan, at least for a little while.
“You want to get out of here?”
His answering yes comes almost before I get the question out.
Ethan watches me intently as I break down my chair after transferring to the passenger seat of his Impala.
“So I know how to do it in the future,” he explains.
I breathe easier when he stows everything in the back seat. The way he was acting in his room earlier, I started to worry that I’d wake up to him gone one day, no word, no nothing, just an empty room. If he’s talking about the future here, he’s not planning to take off in the middle of the night or anything.
“Where we going?” he asks when his grandparents’ home fades from view.
I shrug; already it feels lighter just being away from his room. He does anyway. “Where do you want to go? And don’t say California,” I add, testing that he really is calmer.
“What, you got something against Disneyland?”
I smile at his profile, not feeling the slightest bit self-conscious that I’m staring. “Sadly, I forgot my Mickey ears.”
“Seriously, you own a pair of Mickey ears?”
“Seriously, you don’t? Didn’t you live near Anaheim for a while?”
He nods. “Sometimes. But we were usually too worried about rent and food to plan any trips to the Magic Kingdom.” He doesn’t say this with any bitterness, it’s just the truth. He glances over at me. “You went with your parents?”
I twist my ring around my finger. “Yeah. A few times.”
Ethan laughs a little. “I bet your dad posed for those cheesy Splash Mountain pictures, like pretending he was asleep or on the phone.”
“Every time. My mom used to have them all framed on her desk at work.”
“Not anymore?”
I press my cheek against my shoulder and hold it there. “I don’t know. I haven’t been since my dad died.”
“What, never?”
I glance over at Ethan and the surprise in his voice. “I’m a bit old for take your daughter to work day.”
He falls quiet after that, not moody, angry quiet like in his room, more contemplative. We drive for a few miles, aimlessly turning down streets and staring at the passing homes.
“So you think they are still there?” he asks after a while.
“Hmm?”
“The Disney pictures with your dad?”
My gaze traces over a pair of bicycles left in someone’s yard. “I don’t know.” I’d hate to think she tucked them away in a box like all the others that used to fill our house.
He slows the car and waits for me to look at him. “Let’s find out.”
I give him a weary smile. “Sure. I’ll call her up and ask.”
“No, I mean let’s go. To her office.”
My smile freezes on my face. “And what, break in?” I start to turn back to the window, but Ethan has a look on his face that I know all too well, except I’m usually the one wearing it, not him.
“Come on, aren’t you curious?”
“About my mom? No. About your mental state right now? Little bit.”
“Thought you were the one who wanted to have fun this summer, the same kind of fun we used to have.” He drapes an arm over the steering wheel and leans toward me with a sly smile. “Wouldn’t be your first break-in.”
I half roll my eyes. “I told you we didn’t break into Amelia’s house.”
“I’m talking about when we were kids.”
“Crawling through Mrs. Lowell’s cat door to get your football after she confiscated it is not the same thing.” My lips twitch at the memory. “You wouldn’t even come with me! And don’t give me the excuse about needing to play lookout,” I add when he immediately opens his mouth. “You were scared.”
This time he leans back, inviting my perusal. “Do I look scared now?”
He looks like a lot of things: strong and challenging, wild with his blue hair and teasing grin. He looks like every kind of secret we’d ever had together as kids and a few new ones that send tingles trailing across my skin.
I lean an inch toward him. “She probably changed the door code.”
He matches my movement. “Yeah, but I bet you could figure it out.”
Another inch. “And there’s a few steps.”
He shrugs, moving closer. “So I’ll pick you up.”
I glance at his arms and imagine how easily he could lift me, before returning my eyes to his face and this game that is already way too good. “Security cameras?”
“Ski mask.” His grin widens with every one of my so-called objections.
Any closer and we’d get into the same kind of trouble we did at Mathias’s studio and I don’t want to ruin this. More than that, I do want to know if the pictures are in her office, if she kept them there knowing I’d never see them. I won’t take them from her, but to see them again and remember...? Yeah, I want that.
So I lean as close as I dare and grin back. “Let’s go.”
“On the plus side, there’s no stairs anymore.”
I glance over at Ethan with a flat expression.
My mom’s interior design office doesn’t have steps anymore. But it also doesn’t exist. The little building tucked in between a dentist’s office and an accounting firm no longer says Keri James Interiors, it says Chambliss Reality.
“So then she moved?”
“I guess.” I gesture at the building. “Obviously.”
“Any idea where?”
I shake my head, not ready to share with Ethan how little my mom and I communicate these days, though her missing office space is doing plenty of sharing for me.
“We could still break in,” he offers. “Take a selfie, maybe a branded pen.”
I have to laugh at that, just a little. “I know you would. That’s enough.”
We’re still sitting in his car—no real point in getting out—and his hand inches across the seat toward mine. “You okay?”
All I would have to do is extend my pinky and we’d be touching. “We’d have gotten caught anyway.”
“No, I mean are you okay? I know you wanted to see those pictures with your dad.”
He hasn’t moved any more, but suddenly he feels too close. I can feel my eyes glossing with the promise of tears and distract myself by reaching out to brush a strand of Ethan’s hair. “Even blue, this is really too pretty. You know that, right?” But it isn’t too anything. It’s kind of perfect.
“You trying to change the subject?”
I let my hand fall back. “Maybe.” There’s a pause and I can feel Ethan looking at me even when I turn my face to the window.
“I never said it, but I’m sorry about your dad.”
His voice is so gentle that it slips right through my defenses and one tear slides free. It’s just a drop, but I’m like a dam with a crack and there’s been too much pressure held back for too long.
“He was always really nice to me,” Ethan continues when, if my throat hadn’t squeezed itself shut, I’d have begged him to stop. “Joking with me even when I was scowling at everything.” I can hear the smile in his voice before it drops to almost a whisper and I turn to him, headless of my damp cheeks. “He loved you so much. I used to watch you guys, even when you were in trouble and he was yelling at you. He never let you leave the room without hugging you. And I swear it physically hurt him when he had to ground you. I just—I can’t imagine how much it hurt to lose him. And I’m sorry.”
My ribs felt like they splintered from the first mention of my dad, but now those sharp edges start to slice. I swipe my cheeks dry. “Why do people say that? Lost him? I didn’t misplace my dad. He died. I can take you to the cemetery if you want to see his grave.”
Ethan flexes his hand toward me. “Rebecca, I didn’t mean to—”
“And you know how he died? He was just so distracted by—how did you put it?” My words turn venomous, spewing from my mouth. “Loving me so much while he yelled himself purple that he didn’t see the red light. We got T-boned in an intersection that I still can’t force myself to drive through because I know if I do I’ll see his body again, crumpled and bleeding and dead.” My breath rattles through my lungs when I suck in a breath. “Because of me. Because I snuck out.” Every I is like a knife ripped from my gut. “Because I thought my life was so unfair. You know what’s unfair? I was the one not wearing my seatbelt. I was the one who got thrown from the car. But I was so drunk that I was like a rag doll. All I broke was my back. My dad had his entire rib cage crushed in on itself.” Air rasps out of me again in words that stab me from the inside but it’s not enough. I blink and I see him. Blink again and he’s still there. Not moving, not breathing, eyes open. Blink, blink, blink.
“Nobody talks to me about him, my mom won’t even keep his pictures where I can see them, because she knows it too. It’s my fault.” That last part leaves my lips like a ghost, words I’ve never spoken before but that have haunted my every sleeping and waking moment for the past two years. “I’m the one who should have died that night.”
There’s a fresh kind of horror when I finish my vomit of words and pain that is supposed to stay locked up tight inside me. I can’t fling open the car door and run off into the night to find my way home when I’m ready. No, I have to endure Ethan’s clumsy apologies, his well-meaning words that can’t possibly blot out the ones that came before. I have to sit in his car with my confession trapped between us while he asks me if I want to go home. I don’t want to go home; I don’t want to go anywhere.
“Yes,” I lie. My throat feels raw.
It takes an eternity. And even then I have to get my chair. Ethan tries to help, so desperately wants to help, and I just want to be done and alone. And I yell at him.
And I hate myself even more than I already do.