“For as long as I can remember, yeah.” Gavin stood and they made their way into the dining room, where he pulled a pad of paper from a stack near the door. “I think I’ll draw you in here, by Piano,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. “This room has the best light.”
Delilah had to focus on not becoming distracted by the sight of him with his sketchbook, the way his fingers looked with the dark piece of charcoal clenched between them. He sat down next to her again and flipped to a blank page. “Look at me,” he said, voice quiet and a little scratchy, sounding like his short fingernails might feel if he dragged them slowly down her bare back.
Blinking up to his face, Delilah felt her heart squeeze, wringing tightly.
“You’re so pretty,” he said to her mouth, and then he looked down, starting his drawing with the simple bow of her bottom lip.
Her “Thanks” came out tight and nearly silent.
“Wonder how I got such a pretty girlfriend,” he murmured, looking up to study her again before starting to draw the heart-shaped outline of her face.
The room cooled in a silent rush, but Gavin didn’t seem to notice, and Delilah had to wonder whether it was her imagination. Stop it, she told herself. Don’t be a baby.
“I know you had a friend over that one time, when we were eleven. Just before I was sent away. But how many people have you had over here your whole life?” she asked, looking out the kitchen window. She felt like the trees were all leaning in close to get a look inside. Purple figs and red cherries blocked the late-afternoon sun.
Gavin shrugged, scratching his cheek with a charcoal-covered fingertip. It left a soft bruise of black on his skin, and Delilah reached forward, wiping it away just as he said, “Maybe two other people.”
“And it was weird?” She could see how it would be weird now. She could barely see how it would feel normal. For a tight pulse, Delilah wanted the delirious, giddy thrill to return. She wanted to be enamored with the house again.
But Gavin didn’t answer aloud. He just nodded, lost in drawing the determined point of her chin.
“And you’re never lonely?”
This time she knew it wasn’t her imagination when the room grew cold. Even Gavin looked up at the ceiling, at the walls, saying with quiet emphasis, “Sometimes for people but not for company.”
The room warmed again. But it was as if her brain were on a roll and her mouth couldn’t slow down the momentum: “So what does happen when you leave?”
Gavin stopped with a cookie perched at the edge of his mouth. “Leave?”
She nodded, wary of the way the walls seemed to be slowly pressing in. But it was as if she’d loosened a boulder and no longer had control over the course it would take crashing down the hill. She felt a little reckless, a little angry. Maybe her mother was right after all.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes widening slightly as if to warn her.
“Well, this is our last year of high school,” she said. Delilah blinked up to the window and swallowed, gathering courage to finish her thought. There was some tightness inside her, an itch to make the point. Maybe to provoke and see if she really was imagining things. Even though the itch was chased with an uneasy chill, she couldn’t help herself: “What happens next year? Where will you live when you’re at college or when you get married or whatever?”
This time the room cooled so quickly her breath puffed out like a cloud of smoke in front of her.
Gavin’s brows drew together, and he looked up toward the ceiling again, his eyes narrowing at the chandelier that had started to sway above their heads. Abruptly, a great crack sounded through the entire house, and the walls of the kitchen began to pulse and throb, the house shaking so violently that Delilah braced a hand over each of her ears to muffle the sound.
“What’s happening?” she shouted, looking around wildly.
“I. . . I’m not sure!” Gavin stood from his chair, and it toppled over behind him. “Stop it,” he yelled. “She didn’t mean anything!”