Page 31 of Even After Sunset

He doesn’t say anything.

“What is so bad about that?” I push. “Why does wanting to help you make me such a horrible person?”

“It doesn’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s just…”

The corners of his eyes crease a little. I can’t tell if it’s from confusion or anger this time.Everythingnow seems to make him angry.

“It’s just what?” I insist. “Please, tell me. What is it?”

“It’s…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

He turns and stalks toward the exit with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Then, just as he gets to the doorway that leads out back toward the parking lot, he slams his fist into the paneled wall.

“FUCK!”

And now everyone reallyisstaring. At Silas, as he strides out of sight. At me, standing with my mouth agape, clutching two unused carousel tickets. And at the dent in the wall where his fist just connected.

The entire space is covered in old barn wood, so it isn’t that noticeable. I doubt his knuckles fared as well, though.

It’s the most emotion I’ve seen from Silas in two days, and what hurts the most is the fact that it’s my concern for him that provoked it. I don’t understand how he manages to make it sound like any act of kindness—my friendship even, is somehow self-serving or controlling in some way? Hestoletwo chocolate bars. I covered for him. And nowI’mthe bad guy? How does that even make sense?

And why is caring about him such a bad thing, anyway? Everything that happened to him—because of the denial everyone had about my mother’s condition—was a bad thing. The way he got left behind, with an aunt and uncle who didn’t like him—theunfairnessof it all was definitely a bad thing. But me wanting to help him find some way to crawl out from beneath the rubble of it all is agoodthing. It’s the only way I know of bringing about even a small amount of balance after all these years.

And I won’t stop. Even if I’m confused or intimidated by the guy he’s turned in to. Even if I can barely stand the guy he’s turned in to, I won’t just be another person who walks away out of frustration and dismisses him. Because heisbroken. Hedoesneed fixing, and he’s obviously got no one else who’s willing to do it.

I glance around. A few people are still darting looks in my direction, but mostly peoples’ attention is focused on the large four-wide carousel that stands majestically in the center of the space.

It’s even more magnificent than I imagined.

I walk slowly toward it, taking in every hand-crafted detail, then I make my way around its perimeter once, then again, then a third time. I stand for a while after that, just staring at it. Except I’m really just using the time to collect my thoughts; reigning in my emotions as my mind keeps wondering back to Silas and our fight. I have no desire to ride the carousel anymore. The whimsical music is just making me sad.

Eventually, I wind my way through the crowd toward the same exit Silas stormed out of ten minutes ago, slowing down just long enough to toss the two tickets into the garbage can along the wall.

Chapter Ten

Silas

Ipeer out of the passenger window toward the carousel exit, but there’s still no sign of Jackie. I hate that she still doesn’t get it. She thinks she knows me. She thinks she knows what I deserve and how I need to change. Hell, she thinks it’sherjob to change me.

And I get she feels she has to do the “right thing”, because that’s who she is. Just like I’m hard-wired to always do the wrong thing. She gives in to her conscience while I try to ignore mine. We’re like water and vinegar. I have no idea why we ever got along so well, to be honest.

I flex and unflex my fist. My knuckles are bashed even worse than they were before. It doesn’t help that the interior of the camper is hot as hell, even with the windows open. I can barely stand it anymore. I glance back at the exit again, but there’s still no sign of Jackie.

I think of her riding that carousel all by herself, and I feel like a total asshole. Not that I would have gone on that thing with her, but still—at least her fun wouldn’t be completely ruined if we hadn’t had that fight. She’d be smiling while she was going around, chasing whatever high it is she gets from ticking kitschy roadside attractions off some invisible bucket list.

I shove the door open and the air that hits me is cooler than in the camper, which is a sweet relief. It’s still hot, but at least I can breathe. I close the door and lean against Trudy’s side. When I stuff my hands in my pockets, my right hand presses against something warm and slimy. And when I pull it out, my fingers are covered in melted chocolate.

And the day just keeps getting better and better…

I wipe my hand off on my pants, then let my head fall back against the camper. It makes a satisfying banging sound and I do it again—a little harder this time, then blow out a long breath. The metal starts scorching my skin though, even through my T-shirt, so I pull away and step inside to change.

I remove the one relatively intact chocolate bar and place it on the counter, then strip down to my briefs, tossing my dirty clothes in a bag underneath the bench where Jackie stashed the comforter she bought for me. I rummage through the bin with the rest of the stuff she insisted on getting until I find a pair of cargo shorts, label still attached and everything. A bargain at twelve dollars and forty-nine cents.

Before putting them on, I grab the remaining chocolate bar from the counter and carefully tear it open. The chocolate is so melted it’s like eating pudding: awkward and messy, but still the best thing I’ve tasted in days.

“What the heck are youdoing?”

I whirl around to find Jackie staring up at me from the step in the open doorway. Her eyes are oreo-cookie round.

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