From the other side of our screen door, Mustard lets out a mournful meow.
“You know you can’t come outside right now,” I say to him. “It’s getting too dark.” He blinks slowly at me, his tail swatting impatiently, and then he sees a moth batting against the porch light and he makes a weird little yip noise.
I go back to reading Em’s latest e-mail.
Park, either you still don’t want to talk to me, or the entire city of Cincinnati, Ohio, has fallen into some weird alternative dimension where e-mails can’t be sent or received. I’m going to assume it’s the latter because you know I love you and I’m so sorry if I made you mad and I just want good things for you, okay? Okay.
So yesterday Matty and I decided we’d had enough of lovely ol’ England. We had brunch with Tamsin, and then she and I said good-bye at the train station (so romantic). After that, Matty and I hopped on a train to Wales and then got on a boat. Guess where we are now? IRELAND! We’re in Dublin tonight—tomorrow we’re taking a bus across the country—we’re going to some place called the Dingle Peninsula. (Every time I say it, Matty snickers under his breath.) Evidently, they have a dolphin living there that everyone calls Fungie (terrible name, no?). And cliffs and hiking and old ruins. And the hostel we’re going to stay at is haunted!
It’s been cool traveling with Matty—it’s nice not having to share rooms at hostels with strangers—though he never wants to go shopping with me. I miss you pretty much all the time, but that’s one of the times when I miss you the most.
How are things going with everything? Have you told your family about the internship? I’m thinking of you.
Miss you, xoxo, Em
She’s right. I don’t want to talk to her. It’s unfair and unreasonable, but it’s so much easier to ignore the pangs of guilt about the lies when someone isn’t pointing them out to me.
At least it was until tonight. Now that Charlie knows, things are going to get even harder.
The pool of dread in my stomach stirs right as a horn honks.
Finn’s truck is idling in front of our house. He’s leaning across the passenger seat, looking at me through the open window.
Despite my mood, I smile. “Hello, Finnegan!” I yell, and I see him frown at the name.
Mustard meows behind the screen.
Mrs. Edwards sits back on her feet, squinting in Finn’s direction, trying to make out who it is in the twilight.
I wait for him to say something.
“Um, yeah, so do you want to hang out?” he finally says.
I look at the blinking cursor of my screen and then back up at the only person besides Ruby who knows my secrets right now.
Correction, the only person besides Ruby and my brother.
I slam my laptop shut. “Give me a second.”
I see Mrs. Edwards purse her lips and shake her head, standing up and going inside.
When I push the door open, Mustard tries to wrap himself around me, but I shoo him to the side, earning a bite on my leg.
“Little jerk,” I say to him as he stalks out of the room.
I leave my laptop on the coffee table and grab only my purse and keys, locking the door behind me.
? ? ?
Finn’s truck rolls to a stop on the side of the road.
When I hop out, I’m greeted with evening. It’s cooled off now that the sun’s set, and the world around us is musty with goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace, itchy with nettles and weeds. Finn heads toward the left, parts the brush in front of us, holds it to the side for me.
I pause. “What if there are snakes?”
Finn shakes his head. “No snakes.”
I nod and step forward.
We’re in front of a large fence, one that stretches to the right and left of us, as far as I can see. On the other side is a runway lined with blue lights. There’s a tower at the end of it, more flashing lights behind it.
“The airport?”
He nods.
“But isn’t this trespassing?” I ask.
“Not on this side of the fence.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Not trespassing. No snakes. You’re not going to break your leg. It’s not a survivalist cult compound. Trust me.”
I flush red.
He settles down on the grass facing the runway and then lies down all the way, cradling his head in his hands. I hear him humming softly—Taylor Swift again—and I give in, lying down next to him, my hands fretting at the corner of my T-shirt.
“I’m sorry I worry so much,” I finally say. “I don’t mean to. But it’s like my brain can’t stop.”
He waits for me to say more.
“I used to think it started with Charlie being sick. But even when I was little, I worried about stuff. I worried about getting bit by a spider or Charlie leaving me behind. I worried about there being ghosts in the basement. I worried about getting kidnapped by the helium people.”
“The helium people?” Finn asks.
“Yeah. When I was little, Grandma McCullough told me this story about gravity people and helium people that totally freaked me out. Being a helium person sounded like the worst fate ever.”
“Why? What’s a helium person?”
So I tell him the story of the little girl who was made of gravity, who spent all her time on the ground being safe. And how she met another little girl of helium, who spent all her time flying in the sky.
“I realize the point is that the gravity girl’s fear gets the best of her, that she’s missing out on the world around her, that she’s holding her new friend back. But when I was little, I was convinced she was doing the right thing by not letting go.”
“Huh,” Finn says, his voice doubtful. “That’s a pretty shitty story.”
I laugh, surprised. “Don’t hold back.”
“Come on. The gravity girl was terrified. I don’t blame her for holding on to the helium girl. Sure, it might not have been the best thing, but she was just a scared kid.”
A jolt of surprise runs along my arms like static electricity.
“No offense to your grandma or anything,” he adds quickly, propping himself up, anxious he’s overstepped.
“None taken. Really, it’s okay.”
He flops back down, clearing his throat after a minute. “When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark.”
This time I wait.
“Johnny used to tell me he saw our mom outside the windows at night when it was raining, and she was all bloody and broken from the car accident, and her teeth were sharp and pointed like a vampire’s.”
I make everything in me go still, the words I want to say, the way my hand wants to reach out to his.
“At first, anytime it rained at night, I’d try to man up and stay awake, because I wanted to see her, you know? But then I’d lie there, thinking more about it, and the thought of those teeth? Scared the crap out of me. I’d close my eyes and my whole body would freeze up, and I was too much of a baby to even go to the bathroom. I wondered how I’d ever see my mom again if I was scared of the dark. But I still couldn’t open my eyes.”
His words remind me of the first time Charlie was in the hospital for an extended stay. I’d wake up, convinced I heard him on the other side of the wall, and then I’d remember he wasn’t there, and then I’d stare at the ceiling, unable to move, wondering what was in his room instead.
Fear is so lonely making.
“Every time, I somehow managed to fall asleep anyway. And then I’d wake up in the morning needing to pee like no one’s business, and outside, everything looked normal, like the night before was never real, like my mom had always been gone.”
“Did you ever see her?” I ask.
“Johnny was just screwing with me.”
“I know, but maybe she was still watching over you, without the scary teeth, you know?”
Finn shakes his head. “No. The moment her car hit that telephone pole, she was gone.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I don’t really remember her. Johnny insists there was nothing to miss, that she was just as much of an asshole as the rest of us.”