THE TWO VERSIONS OF the living room in front of Keira vibrated like off-key tuning forks. It felt like her skull would crack from the pressure behind her eyes. Only Walker stayed steady. She focused on him as a whimper slipped between her lips.
Walker shook his head.
“Look at your mom,” he instructed her. His words were low and urgent, out of place amid the oceanic roar of the wind in Keira’s ears. His voice was a life raft, and without thinking—without questioning—she grabbed for it.
Keira turned to see the frown spilled across her mother’s face. Mrs. Brannon clutched the tray so tightly that the tendons in her hands stood out. She glanced between Keira and Walker, like she’d missed the crucial point of a tennis match. Like one of their faces would tell her who had won.
In an instant, the tree and the world that went with it disappeared. The real world went back to playing its solo.
Keira sat, trembling and exhausted, still clutching the pillow. The fabric was damp beneath her hand.
Walker pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. She could see him deciding what to do. Keira wasn’t used to seeing him have to think before he spoke. But then again, she’d never seen him this clearly.
“I mean, she’s standing there holding that heavy tray,” he said carefully. “And we’re just sitting here watching her.” He leapt up, taking the tray from Keira’s mom. She was too busy staring at Keira to notice, much less protest.
“Sweetie, you look terrible.”
At the sound of her mother’s familiar voice, the world tilted and nausea lurched through Keira. She bolted off the couch with one hand clamped over her mouth. She barely made it to the bathroom before her dinner made a sudden reappearance.
Keira flushed the toilet and shuffled to the sink, her hands shaking as she turned on the cold water.
She didn’t look in the mirror. She didn’t want to see what lurked in the glass.
“Keira? Are you okay?” Her mother knocked frantically.
“I’m fine,” Keira called back. Her voice rasped and broke, showing her for the liar that she was.
Her mother cracked open the door. “Oh, my God, you’re gray. Where did the two of you eat, anyway? You look like you have food poisoning. Or—you weren’t drinking, were you?”
“No!” Keira shook her head. “We went out to Kincaid’s. I had the chicken.” The word brought another stomach-wrenching spasm, and Keira stumbled back to the toilet, retching.
“You’re going straight to bed,” her mother declared.
“Keira?” She could hear Walker, standing at the end of the hall, the creaky floorboard complaining beneath him.
Keira sat up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I have to talk to Walker first,” she protested.
“Mrs. Brannon, if you could give us one minute—” Walker started.
Keira’s mother cut him off with a snort. “You two can talk tomorrow.” She turned back to Keira. “You. Go get in bed. I’ll see Walker out, and then I’m calling your father. He can pick up some saltines and ginger ale on his way home.”
Keira heard the front door open, the surprised tenor of her father’s voice and Walker’s baritone response. Keira wavered on her feet.
“Oh. Speak of the devil.” Keira’s mom frowned. “I mean it. I want you in bed.”
Her mother ducked out of the bathroom. Keira heard her parents ushering Walker out the door. Keira staggered toward the living room. Each step was terrifying. The floor didn’t feel solid beneath her feet, and she wasn’t sure that she’d still be looking at the dusty family photo at the end of the hall after her next blink. If the utterly foreign forest appeared in its place, she would start screaming.
She needed Walker. She needed to talk to him. To find out what the hell was going on and why, all of a sudden, it looked like crazy-land was a real place after all.
Her cell phone was in the living room. She just had to get to it.
Her mother intercepted her in the foyer, her coat half on, her face fury-clad.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “You need to be lying down. Why will no one in this house listen to me?”
While her father crept into the kitchen, Keira reached into the open coat closet and slipped her cell out of her coat pocket. “I was just getting something,” she said vaguely. “I’m going to bed now. Swear.”
The phone nestled in her hand like a lifeline.
Her mother reached out, tugged Keira’s fingers off the plastic case, and slipped the phone into her massive, many-pocketed mom purse. “I don’t think so. You’re to stay off the phone. It won’t kill you to wait until tomorrow to talk to Walker.” Her mother snapped her bag shut and stormed to the door. “I’ll be back with some ginger ale.”
Keira stared after her.
Her mom was wrong.
If she couldn’t talk to Walker, it might very well kill her.