Page 22 of Even After Sunset

“Alright, then… Well, I won’t bother Jackie on her first big night, but make sure you tell her I said hello and that Meryl and I send our love.”

“Sure thing.”

He doesn’t even glance in my direction. They say their goodbyes and end the call. And before I have a chance to say anything else, Silas is out the door and I’m left sitting there, deflated. Alone again.

It didn’t occur to me that he would go back out after the check-in call. I don’t know why it didn’t; it’s perfectly in line with the way he’s acted the rest of the day. He can’t stand to be around me.

I know I should probably go check out the festival, too; at least watch the last band for a while. But I just can’t bring myself to leave the safety of Trudy’s cozy belly. What if I run into one of my irate customers? That would just be more embarrassment than I’m up for handling right now.

So I brush my teeth and get into my pajamas, then get under the covers. I can hear a steady drumbeat thudding through Trudy’s thin walls. The riffs from the guitar rise and fall along with the increasing enthusiasm of the crowd, and I recognize a couple of the songs.

I read in bed for a while, trying to take my brain off things until Silas gets back again. It hasn’t been the first night I’d hoped for, but that’s okay. This is what I wanted: to deal with this kind of stuff on my own and not crumble at the first sign of failure. And here I am; doing it.

I didn’t crumble.

Silas didn’t come back. It’s past one in the morning and there’s still no sign of him and I’m starting to worry. I’ve tried texting and calling, but he’s not answering. And based on the little insight I’ve gleaned over the past twenty-four hours, getting drunk and passing out are obviously pretty commonplace occurrences for him.

But what if he passed out in the back of someoneelse’scamper and they called the police? He’ll get thrown right back in juvie if he gets arrested again, because I’m pretty sure he’s more than used up any more free chances.

The later it gets, the more I worry. And at about two thirty, when the bands have long-stopped and the crowds have left, I climb out of bed. I’m not going to get any sleep until I find him, so I shove my feet into my converses, throw a jacket over my sleep tee and head out to find him.

There’s hardly anyone up; just a few vendors sitting in lawn chairs outside their vehicles, smoking weed and chatting quietly under the stars. I go up to a few of them and ask if they’ve seen someone who looks like Silas. But no luck.

Eventually, I run out of places to look. I don’t know where he could even be at this point. It’s not like any bars or restaurants or anything are still open. And he’s underage, anyway. So where would he even go?

And now I’mreallyworried.

I can’t help thinking that it could just as easily have beenmeout there—if Silas had been the one who lucked out and got adopted by a loving couple who looked out for him and paid for therapists, while I got the crap end of the stick.Imight be the one out there trying to fill whatever hole it is Silas is so hell-bent on trying to drown in liquor and denial and anger. It could have been me determined to shut everybody out the way he is, because circumstances have made him mistrust every single person who claims they’re on his side. And this is why I’m not to going to give up on him.

It’s close to three-thirty by the time I finally stumble back into the camper, exhausted and stressed and wishing I didn’t feel so utterly clueless about how to handle this. I come close to calling Richard. I know Ishouldcall him. But that feels like I’m ratting Silas out. And anyway, I’m probably just being paranoid. He’s probably fine.

I barely get any sleep. Instead, I lie on my mattress, staring up at the scratches scarred across the ceiling, remembering all the times Silas stood up for me when other kids teased me about how shy I was back then, and the way his face would light up every time I showed up at his door, eager to explore and just happy that I was a willing partner on whatever adventure he had dreamed up that day.

It’s bad enough knowing that his adventures now are so much darker than any of those carefree pursuits from our childhood. But what breaks my heart even more is the fact that he is so intent now on pursuing them alone.

Chapter Eight

Silas

Iwake up to a shrill ringing that feels like it’s drilling a hole straight through my skull. I roll onto my other side, hoping I’ll fall back to sleep. The sound doesn’t let up though, and now that I’m half-awake, it’s impossible to ignore. As the realization slowly registers that the noise is coming from my back pocket, I shift enough to reach around and retrieve my cell phone. I squint at the screen: eleven missed calls from Jackie Delaney. And just as many texts, which I notice have gone from sweet and worried, to all caps:

It doesn’t escape my attention that she doesn’tactuallyuse the word‘fuck’—that it’s only implied. And there’s something about this that’s so Jackie: always in control. Never really losing her cool.

I glance at the time as I slide the ringer to mute. 10:24am.

Then let my head fall back against the pillow.

Ow…Shit. Not a pillow.

Sand.

I roll my neck just enough to take in more of my surroundings, and even that small movement feels like a full-on workout.

I’m on a beach. Alone. There are the remnants of a bonfire a few feet away. No wood left, though; just embers. A few empty beer cans have rolled along the edges of the dugout fire pit, and a couple of largerliquor bottles, too.

I sit up to get a better look around, but there isn’t a soul in sight. In front of me, waves lap against the powder-fine sand, and about twenty feet behind me is a long rock wall bordering a small forest. It’s split about a third of the way along by a set of stairs and a footpath. I have no idea where the path leads. A road, I guess? Or maybe someone’s back yard, because this is definitely a private beach. No public beach this sheltered and this beautiful would be empty at ten thirty on a summer morning.

Here’s what I remember from last night: listening to a couple of bands and hanging out with a bunch of kids at the festival; rich vacationers with money to spend on booze and food and a pile of neon bracelets that some of the girls were spiraling up their arms. One of them bought me a couple of hot dogs, and liquor was passed around like it was cheaper than tap water.

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