“How did you do it?”
They all turn to look at me.
“How did we do what?” Delia says slowly. But she’s watching me watch the fire, and I know that she knows what I’m asking.
“Who was burned in the shed?” Even now, through this haze of dark and smoke and wine, I’m surprised to hear myself sound so casual, to say these words like they’re nothing. For a long time everyone is silent.
And then, finally, Delia speaks. “I never found out her name.”
The wind is blowing and the fire flickers, but still it burns strong.
“She was around my size, around our age. She’d had cancer, I think. She was supposed to be cremated.”
“But how did you get . . .” It? Her?
“It was easy,” Delia says. But there’s something in her tone . . . I don’t think it was easy at all. “Connections at the morgue and a bribe. Oh, and a blow job.” I think maybe she’s kidding about the last part. But when I look at her face I have no idea. She is half smiling; then her smile is gone.
“Tell me more,” I say. “Please.”
“You really want to know all of it?”
“Delia,” Sebastian says. But she ignores him.
I nod.
“We went where we were told. A body was loaded into the back of the van. A girl. We dressed her up in my clothes and my jewelry. I put that titanium necklace around her neck, that one I always used to wear, because titanium won’t melt. I touched her skin. I thought it might be weird touching a dead body, but I didn’t feel anything. Nothing bad. I just felt grateful.”
“And then what?” I say. I am whispering now.
“Then there was a lot of gasoline, and the shed was already full of firewood, so the fire was pretty enormous . . . and by the time it was out, there wasn’t enough of her, enough of me, left for an autopsy.”
“What about dental records? DNA?” I say. All the questions I’ve been cooking up for days are tumbling out into this cold night air with the flames, the smoke. I barely know what dental records even are, except from TV.
Delia just shakes her head. “No one checks for those things unless they have reason to doubt,” Delia says. “And there was no reason for them to. I left a note . . .”
I watch the fire, the logs, crackling, slowly shrinking. Through the flames I can see Evan’s eyes shining in the dark. Ashling’s too.
“And all of you did something like this?” I ask. “What in your lives was so bad that you had to leave them and let everyone you’ve ever known believe you’re dead?”
And now I know I’ve gone too far.
“We did . . . different things,” Ashling says carefully. Then she is quiet.
Evan takes the wine bottle from between his knees, raises it to his lips, and takes a long swallow. “I shot myself in the head . . . supposedly.”
Sebastian stands. “Stop,” he says. “That’s enough now.” And then, “It’s not safe for her to know so much.”
I am drunk, but even drunk, I feel that shame again, that hurt. Her as in me. I’m not one of them. I turn back to Delia.
“I still don’t understand,” I say. My voice sounds funny now. Forced. “Why did you have to do it? Why couldn’t you just run away?” I am suddenly desperate and words are pouring out. “Maybe you can come back, say it was a prank. And then . . .” I know she can’t, she won’t. But for the fifteen seconds between when I ask and when she answers, I let myself believe she could. She could stay with me, she could stay forever and never leave me.
“And then what?” She shakes her head. “No, if you run away, they never stop looking for you. You still exist, trapped in your life. But if you die . . .” Her voice is soft and sweet. She turns toward me. She smiles. “Junie, you’re free.”
Chapter 44
June
I thought that fire would last forever, but eventually it shrank, and smoked and burned itself out. We’re back inside now, sprawled out on the couch in a row—Sebastian, then me, Delia, and Ashling, with Evan halfway on top of them. Some amount of time ago—an hour? A half hour? A hundred years?—Evan said, “I’m getting in on this,” and tried to squash himself into the space between their bodies. And that is where he now lies, eyes slowly closing. He is so small, he looks like a child.
We sit, watching some dumb movie on the giant TV. More wine. It slides so easily down our throats. And Sebastian is sitting far away from me on the couch. And I can’t stop thinking about what he said. It’s not safe. Like I am a danger, could be a danger to them. I turn. Delia is watching me watch Sebastian. I think she is drunk too. “You can have anything you want,” she says. “With us you can have all of this.”
There’s a soft snoring noise. We turn. Evan is asleep, curled up, leaning on Ashling, who is now sleeping too, her arm over his shoulder.
I smile at them, because of how cute they look. And I look over at Delia, expecting her to be smiling too, but her face is blank.
She reaches out and strokes Ashling’s hair—sleeping Ashling’s sleeping hair. Ashling makes a quiet “mmm.”
“Babe,” Delia says. “Baby, time to go to bed.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Evan says. He smiles, cheeks flushed. Then he stands up and stumbles off down the hallway. And I laugh, and Delia laughs. She leans in again.
“Anything you want,” she whispers.
Then she helps Ashling up. “Good night, kiddies,” Delia says louder. And she leads sleepy Ashling out of the room, and I sit there, looking out at the night sky through the dark windows. Sebastian is next to me on the couch, staring straight ahead.
My entire body is tingling. I turn toward him and look at his profile, his eyes, straight nose, his mouth, which hardly ever smiles. His lips almost unbearably beautiful. And suddenly I’m angry, angry that he thinks I would ever, could ever do anything to hurt any of them. I love Delia more than life, and the rest of them—I’m starting to love them, too. Is this true? Is this the wine in my brain? Or is this the boundaries of my brain melted by the wine. I could open my mouth; I could say any words at all. I want to tell him that he can trust me. I want to know him. To actually know who he actually is.
Sebastian takes the bottle off the table and holds it up to his beautiful mouth. He tips the bottle back for a long time. Then hands it to me. Our fingers brush. The room is hot, so hot all of a sudden. I put the bottle in my lap.
I open my mouth, I take a breath. Sebastian is staring straight ahead.
Finally, he turns and looks at me.
Chapter 45
Delia
I wanted them to do this. I set them up to do this. A gift to my Junie, something I knew she wanted and needed. I close my eyes. This is a good thing. It’s what I wanted. This is a good thing.
But now my insides are on fucking fire.
I close my eyes, and the backs of my eyelids are a portal to the world behind the door.
I don’t want to watch it. Please, fucking brain, don’t make me fucking watch it.
I can’t stop.
Sebastian and June are kissing, softly at first. Even drunk they are so gentle. A little shy, because of how badly they’ve been wanting this. She is thinking, I can’t believe this is happening; he is thinking just holy fuck. Lip against lip, soft and sweet, activating the lizard parts of their brain, circuits lighting the fuck up. This is what we are meant to do. This is how we survive. Without it we would all just up and fucking die.
Someone lets out a heavy breath, a tiny moan, and neither of them knows who did it. That sound is trapped like a small animal in the hot damp space formed between their open lips. It echoes, travels down to their guts. A jolt. His arms are stronger than she realized. His hands slide up the curve of her back under her dress. Her skin is hot and so smooth. She buries her face in his neck, inhales deeply. It is like a hit of a drug, that smell of his neck. Biology, science, art, m
agic, pow-pow-pow! Everything speeds up, their hearts, the blood through their veins, teeth and tongues, crashing together now. It hurts to want something this much, and it cannot be stopped. Clothes are melting off. Their bodies collide, the soft places and the hard places. Lights off, but moonlight coming in through the window, their skin glows. They are glowing, barely human, and they levitate and float over to the bed. A swirling storm starts around them, right there in that room. Clouds and thunder and lightning! The walls vanish—they are floating in space, rushing past stars into nothingness, tethered only to each other. He is on top of her. She is crying out. His fingers are around her throat. She sinks her teeth into his skin. They are wild animals. They are ravenous fucking beasts and they are going to devour each other. He will devour her and there will be nothing left.
I cannot breathe; I cannot stand this.
“Babe?” I am jolted out of my trance. I hear Ashling’s voice, sounding so small, calling me through the open door of our bedroom. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, she is a scared infant child. And I’m supposed to be getting her some water. I tiptoe into the kitchen, take a glass off the table, rinse it, fill it from the sink. I gulp the water down, cold and clear. But it doesn’t help. I am thirstier than I’ve ever been in my life. I drink glass after glass until my stomach is bursting with it, and only then can I go back to bed.
Chapter 46
June
Before I even open my eyes, the memories come rushing back—lips, hands, skin, sweat. But when I roll over, the bed is empty. I am alone, mouth dry, head pounding.
I go out into the hallway. I feel suddenly scared, and I don’t even know why.
“Seb?” I whisper. I don’t call him this, Delia calls him this. I feel strange now, saying his name at all. The clock on the microwave blinks 4:06. It is pure black velvet out the window. I see the glow of a laptop on the low table in front of the couch, a celestial screen saver, rushing through stars. It’s lighting up Sebastian’s face. His jaw, those lips.
He is curled onto his side. I sit down, my back against his belly, and put my hand on his warm bare skin. “Hey,” I whisper. But he doesn’t stir. Why is he out here? What was he doing? I reach out and tap his laptop’s track pad even though I know I shouldn’t. Maybe I’m still drunk. Maybe that’s an excuse. His computer wakes up to a website. At the top is a banner, a digital photo collage—there’s a row of kids at camp, a boy in a canoe, a baby and a mom, and a picture of . . . Sebastian? He has longish hair with green streaks and a skateboard. He’s a few years younger than he is now. He’s standing with his arm around a skinny girl with tan legs and a big smile. She looks like him.
We miss you Trevor, it says below the banner in a swirly green font.
And under it: Memorial Page for Trevor Emerson.
On May 21st the world got darker, and heaven gained an angel of light.
The rest of the page is messages people have posted for him. I start to scroll down.
I miss you buddy, always will. —FM
Don’t forget: Rainbow slippers.
Trev was the absolute best, everyone who met him loved him. He was gentle and funny and kind.
I miss this kid so much, but I know he’s up there. Say hi to my granny if you see her, pal.
The world makes no sense.
I first met T at a party where he was the DJ and I was a drunk girl flirting with the DJ . . .
And on and on, page after page of messages. There must be hundreds.
At the very bottom are the most recent ones. One from just last night.
It’s been almost two years, but not a day, not a minute goes by when we don’t think about you. Love you, Mom
I feel a stabbing in my chest and raise my hand to my lips. I look down at his sweet sleeping face. I think of all the people who miss him. Some have gone on with their lives. Some never will.
I shut the laptop and slide into the space between him and the couch, pressing my cheek against his back, holding on to him like he’s about to fly away. And this is how I fall back to sleep.
Chapter 47
Delia
Every day thousands and thousands of people die.
Some know it might be coming—they’re sick or old, or their lives are dangerous. Some don’t have any idea at all.
They wake up and don’t even bother to think, this is a day, because it is the same as the thousands that came before it and the thousands they think will come after.
None will come after.
Sparks fly, a fuse has been lit, it’s burning down the wick. Then kaboom.
I am not religious. I am not a spiritual person. But there is something sharp and beautiful about this. It feels like it means something. I close my eyes and say good-bye to those who know it is coming, and especially to those who don’t.
This is what I have to do. And I thought I might be scared, but I only feel excited.
And then I feel Ashling’s hand on my tit.
“Kiss,” she says, groggy, eyes puffy, half opened. Ashling is hungover. She nuzzles up against me. I close my eyes, imagining things. Then I kiss her hard on the mouth. “Later,” I say. Then I lean in, and I whisper into her neck. I remind her what happens now, what today means, all the things we have to do. And Ashling doesn’t mind, since half of it is a secret only we know about. She wants more secrets, just for us. “Secrets link you forever,” she said to me once, as though somehow it was possible I didn’t already know that.
Chapter 48
June
I’m alone again, in a bed this time. On the nightstand next to me are a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Someone has left them there for me. Who? Sebastian?
Last night.
Everything comes rushing back, slamming me in the face—gulping wine, the fire, the other fire, talking to Delia, Sebastian turning toward me, leaning in. Then just me there. Looking for him. The laptop. What I saw. Curling up behind him. His real name is Trevor.
The others have real names too.
Soon Delia won’t be Delia anymore.
The feelings rush in after the thoughts, one by one by one. This morning I feel absolutely everything.
I stand up. The room spins. I sit back down. Breathe, in out in out. I’m wearing someone else’s T-shirt. Big, gray, it reaches halfway down my thighs.
I hear a door slam. I walk out into the hallway, into the kitchen. Sebastian is in front of the stove, flipping pancakes. I watch him, heat climbing up my cheeks.
Our eyes meet.
“Last night,” I start. But I have no idea what I want to say, even. “It was . . .” Fun? Sexy? Strange, terrifying, amazing, sloppy, ridiculous.
“I think it was kind of everything,” he says. Which I realize, after he says it, is exactly right. “Listen,” he says. His voice is low. “There’s something I need to tell you. I shouldn’t tell you, but . . .”
The door from the hallway opens and Evan walks in, sleep rumpled, in a Superman T-shirt and a pair of red-and-blue plaid pajama pants. He glances at me, at Sebastian, at me again.
“Oh God. Really? Now you guys too? Yeesh!” But he’s grinning. “Where are the other lovahs?”
Lovahs. Delia’s word. I smile.
“Left early for some kind of errand,” Sebastian says. He shrugs, then flips the final pancake onto a stack. Then divides the enormous stack in two, gives half to Evan, and half to me.
“None for you?” I say.
Sebastian shakes his head. “Maybe later. I’m weirdly not that hungry.”
And for a little while, it is the three of us, me and Evan wolfing down pancakes, Sebastian sipping coffee. It’s just after eleven. If I were at school, I’d be in bio. I’d be in bio, closed off in a bubble, all alone. But this is bliss. Nothing outside of this moment matters. I look up and Sebastian is staring at me. I smile. He smiles back.
A car pul
ls into the driveway.
Chapter 49
Delia
Ashling parks and turns toward me. “You’re sure you’re okay,” she says. “No second thoughts?”
I shake my head and reach out for her hand. “None. We protect the people we love.”
“We do,” she says. And then she nods. I can tell she’s trying to keep her smile small, keep the full glow out of it, so I won’t be freaked by how easy this was for her. Thing is, I’m not freaked, I’m impressed.
We sit there for a minute, in out in out, breathing together, air in my lungs and her lungs and my lungs. I can feel her trying to suck me in, to absorb me. And then she brings my hand to her lips and kisses it. “And you definitely don’t want to tell her first?”
Love drains away. Hot anger, a sudden flash, deep in my gut like a lighter flicking fire. She knows the answer. She’s only asking because she’s jealous. She’s asking because she wants me to tell first, and she thinks Junie will say no, will flip out, and then she won’t come. And Ashling will have me all to herself.
I turn toward her. Don’t even try, I say with my eyes. Try, and you will regret it. But with my lips I say. “I’m sure, baby.” And then, “I love you.” Because I never say this, and I know it will shut her up.
Now her smile is the brightest thing I’ve ever seen—it hurts my eyes. It makes me sick.
“Baby,” she says. “I love you too.”
Ten minutes later, I’m inside the house telling June what I was planning on telling her, as she blink, blink, blinks her big bunny eyes. She is confused. She is scared. And that makes me nervous. “But for what? I thought the whole point of what we did was so that what needed to happen would happen. He would go to jail like he deserves.”