All We Left Behind (30 page)

“Marion, wait!”

Abe jogs out of his house as I unlatch my car door. He skips on one foot when he gets to the grass, his feet bare, responding to the ground that's damp. After a moment, he gives up on keeping his feet dry, and speeds through the grass.

“What's going on?” He puts a hand on my car. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm not here,” I say, letting the wind fray my hair. I stare at the woods beyond my car and think about climbing a tree, wrapping myself in its tar shadows and climbing up so high the thin branches won't be able to hold me.

“You
are
here.” He frowns, and I notice his curls are wet, freshly showered.

“It's nothing. I just—” Over his shoulder, Mr. Doyle is standing in the open doorway. Abe follows my gaze and waves off his father.

“It's fine,” he hollers, but it takes a minute for Mr. Doyle to retreat into the glow of the house. “What's wrong?” Abe rests a hand on my shoulder and I feel the warmth of him through my shirt.

“Why does something have to be wrong?” Wet pricks my eyes and I turn into the wind. He's not allowed to see this broken part of me, it will ruin everything. His hand falters, a nervous finger fluttering at the hem of my skin.

“Okay, what's
not
wrong?” He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “What's . . . what do you . . .” His arms drop to his sides. He looks at me—plainly.

Heat stretches through, under, and in, and I'm dizzy with it. I can do this. I can. Everything with Kurt is secrets and messiness, mud and shame, but with Abe, Abe will be lighter. Easier. Clean.

Abe won't bring the creek water.

“Can we get out of here?” I ask, eyeing the windows.
He looks over his shoulder and I step in close, wanting his nearness, wanting his heat and his smell of freshness and soap. When he turns back, he's startled by how close I am.

“I, um . . .” His breath hits my lashes and he swallows. His eyes dip down my neck to the cotton that barely hides what's beneath. “I might have to—”

“Get in,” I say, tugging open the car door and stepping away from him. His body follows me unconsciously.

“Wait, I should—” His eyes dart to the house.

“Get in.” I drop into the driver's seat and turn the ignition.

“Hold on, let me—” He looks back, about to cross the lawn for permission.

“Abe.”

He looks at the seat beside me and shoots around the car, taking the passenger seat. His toes curl against the sand on the floor, his feet wet and bare. The dirt sticking.

“Where are we going?” he asks, and I pull into the road.

“You'll see.”

I roll down my window and air rushes over me. Air rushes over my neck and under the cotton of my shirt. My hair whips around me like ocean waves crashing, and Abe smiles, getting wind drunk with me.

This is possible. I can feel it. It's already lighter.

More joy. More surface. More wind.

I press my foot to the gas and drive us past the seashore, and the firefly fields, and the apple orchards—

To the forest—

To the turn where the trees part and the dirt road winds up to the ridge. To the place where people go, to do, what you do, in cars like this one.

I put Josie in an
oversized sweater and hat. We go outside and she's so thin she starts to shiver. I wrap an arm around her and there's so little of her under that sweater, I can grab a whole fistful of the sleeve before I find her arm.

My foot hits something. That
thing
on her ankle. I shake my head, because I haven't got the key.

“Do you need a coat?” I ask Josie, knowing the second we leave the property Dad's going to know something's up. He'll be pissed. But that's something I'll have to deal with later.

“Where's the—” Josie inhales sharply, and I look up to see what she sees.

“Fuck!” I kick the ground.

The driveway's empty. I took Marion's car here. Not mine.

“Hold on,” I say, pulling Josie close to get her to settle. “Give me a minute, I'll solve this.”

I take out my cell and dial. I smell old yarn as Josie burrows
her head into my shoulder. It's the hat. Something Mom bought at a yard sale when we were kids. I want to forget the phone and just hold her, but Conner picks up.

“What do you want?” he snaps, still pissed.

“Con, look, I've been an ass,” I say, rubbing Josie's back. “I get it. But I'm in a bind. Can you pick me up at my house?”

“For what?”

“I need a ride.”

“You have your own car. Drive it.”

“It's at school. Look—” Josie shivers next to me and I know the only way this will work is if I tell him the truth. “It's Josie.” I hear him suck in a breath. “She's here at the house. I need to take her somewhere, but my car is at school.”

There's a long silence and I see headlights through the trees.

“Josie's there?” Conner asks, unsure.

“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “You know I wouldn't joke about this.”

“Conner, is that you?” Josie leans into the receiver, speaking in a voice I don't think he'd even recognize. I watch the headlights come closer to our house and hope it's not Dad.

“Conner, please.”

The headlights shoot past.

“Okay,” he says. “I'll be there in ten.”

*  *  *

Conner can't hide his shock when he gets out of his SUV and sees Josie. Even all bundled up he can see her sunken face. The lesions. That missing tooth.

“Hey, Josie,” he says uncomfortably.

“Conner!” Josie skips up to him, fake-happy and putting on a show. She pulls him into a hug. “Thanks for helping.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, not touching her. Instead Josie hangs on him awkwardly. He looks over her shoulder at me, and I can tell he didn't even recognize her.

“I know,” I mouth to him, stepping up and pulling Josie back. “My car's at school in the lot,” I say, noting Conner's face, which is almost as pale as my sister's. “You can drop us—”

“No.” Conner shakes his head and opens the backseat door. “Where are
we
taking her?” His expression is firm and I know there's no talking him out of this. Not that I want to. I squeeze his shoulder to say thanks.

“Okay,” I say, helping Josie into the backseat and asking her for the address.

“Thirteen Five Bishop Street,” she says, wiping her nose with her knitted sleeve.

“There isn't a Bishop Street in Emerson,” Conner says after climbing into the driver's seat and punching the address into the GPS. “Are you sure it's not—”

“It's in Stoneham,” Josie says, interrupting him. “Not Emerson.”

“Stoneham!” Conner looks at me. “That's an hour away.”

“I said my car's in the lot. You don't have to—”

“No, it's just—” Conner frowns. “Are you sure about this?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Conner steals a glance at Josie. His body is angled away from her like he doesn't want to see behind the shadow that's swallowed her eyes.

“Still,” I say, wrapping an arm over Josie. “Gotta do this.”

“All right, Stoneham it is.” Conner turns the ignition and pulls into the street.

Josie kicks off her shoe and starts to mess with the tracker on her ankle, revealing dark scrapes where the skin has rubbed raw.

“Hey,” I whisper, taking her hand in mine. “Stop.”

She grunts in frustration, but then leans into my chest. I kiss the top of her head, and it feels good to be getting her out of the house. To be the one helping her for once. Conner turns onto the highway and I look down to see the green light on the device has stopped blinking.

It's changed to red.

*  *  *

We turn onto Bishop Street and that good feeling in my stomach crumples to ash. Bishop is packed with telephone wires and narrow two-story houses. The streetlamps flicker, revealing abandoned porches, and one house has particle board nailed over the windows. The rest have metal bars and grates.

House 1305 has a throw blanket over the front window instead of a curtain. It doesn't work very well, light poking through the tiny openings of thread.

“This is it?” I ask.

Josie nods, unhooking her seat belt, and I exchange a glance with Conner. This is bad. We both know it. But Josie is already getting out of the car.

“Hey, Josie, hold up,” I say as she hobbles through the lopsided gate toward the steps. A shadow moves over the blanket in the window and Josie speeds up. “Hey, wait!”

Conner and I race out of the car after her, barely reaching her side when the front door opens. A shirtless man stands in the doorway sucking on two cigarettes. Bags of skin hang from his face and uneven whiskers cover his chin. He inhales deeply and his two cigarette embers glow.

“Josie.” He smiles, wrapping a bony arm around my sister. “We missed you.” His eyes narrow at Conner and me over her shoulder. “Tina missed you.”

I taste blood in my throat.

“That's my brother and his friend,” Josie says, as Cigarette Guy ignores us and walks Josie into the house.

“And you are?” I ask, following them into a living room that smells of pot and rotten eggs.

“A friend of your sister.” He flicks ash at me, his bruised arm still hooked over Josie's neck.

I ball up my fists. I could take this guy. Conner and I could. No problem. But he's not the only one in the room.
Someone sleeps on the floor to our right on a bare mattress. And I hear two voices down a hall with no windows. Conner grabs my elbow. He wants me to be cool right now, but I don't think that's possible.

“Tina's in her room,” the guy says, rolling his arm off Josie in a grotesque motion that makes it look like he dislocates his shoulder. She ducks under his arm and turns down the hall.

“Hey, Josie!” I call after her, and she looks back at me, her eyes bright in the dark.

“It's fine, Kurt,” she says, her voice solid, like she doesn't need me. “We're just gonna catch up, okay? Give me ten.”

I move to follow her, but Cigarette Guy rams a hand into my chest.

“Tina doesn't know you.”

I shake him off. “I don't care.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head and blocks the hall. “That's not how this works.”

Conner tightens his grip on me.

“I don't get to meet Tina?” I snap.

Cigarette Guy blows smoke in my face. “Nope.”

Conner steps in front of me before I have a chance to punch this guy.

“How
does
this work then?” Conner asks, holding me back with his weight. Cigarette Guy glares at both of us. He grabs a metal chair and drags it in front of the hallway. Black bruises run down the inside of his arm and I
remember seeing something like that on Josie's legs, when she was getting into strange cars. Going to parties.

“You wait here,” Cigarette Guy says, taking a seat. “Or you wait in your car. She'll be back in ten.”

“There's no way we're—”

“We'll stay here, thanks,” Conner says, cutting me off, gripping me with both hands.

“This is bullshit,” I say, but Conner shoots me a look. He's scared and I know it. I shouldn't have dragged him into this. Who knows what's at the end of that hall.

It was stupid to come here. I know that. But I was tired of ignoring Josie's eyes. And maybe that's who Tina is for Josie, the one who stood by her, when Dad and I were gone. Even if Tina does lives in a shit hole like this. Maybe that's what real families do. They get down in the shit with each other. See these places. Walk through it. The thought tightens my gut and I can't help but think about Marion. Walking out my door. Pushing me away. Like maybe she's caught in one of these places you're not supposed to find your way out of alone. And I let her leave.

I look to where the shadow has already swallowed Josie and there's a small red light near the floor, where her feet would be. It's the first time I'm thankful for that tracker. Only she's another red light walking away from me.

How do you know when what you're doing is going to help? How do you know it's not going to send them further into the dark? Like dumping out Mom's bottles? Like ignoring Josie?
How far am I supposed to walk into the shit with them? How far before they have to turn around and choose to walk back to me?

I look up to call after my sister, but that red light—

It's already gone.

My headlights carve a small
tunnel through the trees. Ahead of me is the dirt road with a foot of saplings running along each side. Somewhere in the dark, beyond what I can see, is the ridge.

Abe sits quietly beside me, his thumb tapping on the door frame, and I have to remind myself that he always does that. That he's not nervous. That he wants to be here with me. I drive slowly because the road is pitted, and there's no more wind. No more laughter and speed. The heater hisses between us, coughing out thick air, and it seems like forever before the trees open up to reveal the cliff.

My stomach tenses, remembering Kurt and this ridge, remembering only hours ago Kurt in his bed. But Kurt brings out the worst in me. He doesn't know my favorite color or my favorite book. He only knows my skin.

I pull into the clearing and cut the engine, wondering if Abe has ever been up here before. Probably not. He doesn't do things like Kurt does. Abe is a gentleman.

I look out at the view and there's no moon. No landscape below bathed in soft light and stars. Only a spray of clouds dotting an otherwise blackened sky.

“My dad is going to be pissed,” he says as I unbuckle my seat belt.

“You can call him,” I suggest, and he fidgets in his pockets.

“I don't have my phone. I don't have anything.”