***
Bryn shifted next to me, my arm numb and tingling and still curled under her head. I clenched my fist, trying not to stir her as I slipped it free. But she was perfectly still, staring up at the screen, though her face was hidden, and I thought if this is what it looks like when she’s sleeping—soft, small, serene—I wouldn’t mind spending most of my life waiting for her to wake up.
Because she made things and wrote things down and saved every detail like it was the most important thing in the world. Because she was strange and beautiful and even more than this place, she was the thing that haunted me. The thing I couldn’t figure out. Because she made me feel real.
The film clicked off, static transitioning into another one of Bryn’s favorite movies.
“Please tell me it’s not another documentary on Siberian tigers,” I said.
She smiled. “I watch a lot of Netflix.”
“When you’re busy not sleeping?”
She nodded, sitting up. “I do a lot of boring things when I’m busy not sleeping.”
“Like?”
“I eat a lot,” she said. “There’s this great little restaurant by my house—Nacho’s Tacos.” She narrowed her gaze. “Do you like Tacos?”
Tacos. Mexican food. Universally revered, right?
“Yes?”
“You don’t remember tacos?”
“I remember tacos I just don’t remember if I like them or not.”
“Well, you will.”
“What else do you do?” I asked.
She toyed with one of the quilt’s loose seams. “I like to make things.”
“Like your sculptures.”
“Right. I was working on something for a scholarship contest—sunflowers like the ones around the farmhouse.”
“Was,” I said, watching her face. “Past tense?”
She ripped the thread free, unraveling one of the squares. “I like to pretend I’m normal sometimes.”
She threw that word around a lot. Detached, like she didn’t care. But even when she shrugged it off, I could still hear something sad in her voice.
“What do you mean, normal?” I asked.
“Like college is an option for me. Like I’ll get better.”
And there it was again. She’d talked about her disease so many times before. My entire existence felt like it had been spent within the confines of her symptoms. But this time she looked defeated. She looked afraid.
“Could you? Get better, I mean?” I tried to keep the words flat, like she wasn’t making me afraid too. But I was. Because what if losing her meant I’d lose more than just a way out?
“Maybe.”
I looked at her. “Maybe?”
“Some people grow out of it but not soon enough. I don’t want to go to school when I’m thirty.”
“Who cares how old you are?”
“You sound like my uncle.”
“The one who’s hot for your mom?”
“What?”
“Sorry. Your diary—”
She shook her head. “He is. He totally is.” She sighed, raking a hand down her face. “You know I caught them kissing. Recently. And I…I don’t know I was mad but then I wasn’t. It was weird.”
“Is it weird that he’s not your dad?”
“No. It’s a relief. I think I’m just so used to my mom being alone. Even though she hasn’t been. Not really. My uncle’s always been around. I guess I should have known.” She grew quiet, holding her knees.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Something happened,” she said.
“Something…”
“I told my doctor about you.”
I sat up. “What did she say?”
“Nothing at first.”
“But then?”
“But then I went back to her office to grab my mom’s bag and I overheard two other doctors through the door. They said they’d have to keep an eye on me. They said it wouldn’t happen again.”
“What wouldn’t happen again?”
“I don’t know.”
We both just sat there, quiet, and I could sense her trying to stifle the panic. Again. What did they mean, again?
“But whatever it is it can’t be good,” she finally added.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know what I’ve seen.” She looked down “I saw it again.”
“The…” I stopped. I wasn’t sure what it was.
“It was watching me sleep.”
I reached for her hand. “Did it hurt you?”
“No. But…”
“What?”
She met my eyes. “I know it wants to.”
“It seems like it wants both of us.” I swallowed. “Do you think it has something to do with why I’m here?”
“I hope not.” Bryn stiffened, her gaze flashing to something between the trees. “Do you see that?” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“What?” I scanned the trees, waiting for the shadow, but they were empty.
“There…it almost looks like…deer,” she said, squinting.
“I don’t see anything,” I said.
She crouched on her knees and I turned to follow her gaze but the lingering sunrise suddenly ignited a pulse within the blank screen.
“What…?”
Bryn turned, the screen flickering. The tape rolled, frames sticking and shuddering out.
“What is that?” she asked.
I saw grass and a small white fence. Clouds pooled at the top of the frame and then the images started to race, the tape on fast-forward. There was a red plastic lawnmower, a kid in a diaper pushing it around the yard and igniting a stream of bubbles. A shadow spilled over his shoulder and onto the grass. Then hands were tucking themselves under his arms. Lifting him.
“I don’t remember this,” Bryn said.
As the man’s face slid into frame, five o’clock shadow stark against his skin, wide mouth opened in a smile, I said, “This one’s not yours. It’s mine.”
Chapter 24
Bryn