Page 1 of Limbo

Small moments easily reshape our lives. They carry the potential to send us in a completely different direction without us ever being aware of the other possibilities. But sometimes, we can identify such occurrences as they happen. Maybe even sense them beforehand. If we’re lucky, we can make a conscious choice about which path we want to travel.

My fears lie in the moments on the other side of that coin. The ones where we know a certain event will change everything for the worse, and we can’t do shit about it. Even when a part of us deep inside screams out a warning, we’re forced to just sit by, watching it all unfold around us.

Helpless against it.

As soon as the T-shirt lands in the suitcase, I snatch it up and toss it back on the bed. Pete shakes his head, placing the next one in without missing a beat. I pick that one out, too, and fling it across the room. I can keep it up all night, week, summer. Whatever it takes, as long as he stays.

His eyes never leave the pile of clothes, but when I reach for the shirt in his hand, he grabs me around the waist and throws me onto the suitcase.

“There,” Pete says, smashing the lid down on top of me. “Done packing.”

I flip it open and pull him down with me. “If we break the suitcase, you can’t go.”

“No.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I’ll still have to go. I’ll just show up with garbage bags.”

His amber eyes gaze at me with the same soft look he’s given me since we were four. The look I will suffer without for almost an entire summer when the eyes and their owner go away, taking with them one of the few decent parts of my shitty life.

And I can’t stop it from happening.

“You know I’d stay if I could, Cal.”

He rolls us out of the suitcase, and now I stare down at him. I study him, worried two months away will cause me to forget the details I’ve spent almost ten years memorizing. A faded scar across his jaw from his accident when we were ten. Sandy hair that lightens drastically in the sun. The way one side of his mouth always turns up a little more than the other—especially when he’s up to something.

A throat clears as the door creaks open. “Door open, Peter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, neither of us moving.

“You leaving soon, dear?” his grandmother asks. “It’s after ten.”

I wink before I climb off him and the bed. “Yes, Mrs. Davies. I was just on my way out.”

“Bye.” Pete grins, the right side a little higher. “I’ll see you in a few months.”

“Bye, Pete,” I say. “Enjoy your summer.”

His grandmother accompanies me downstairs and through the living room where his grandfather waves a goodbye. Luckily, I make it out of the house without either of them asking how I plan on getting home. A few days ago, I told them I would walk the five miles to town, and they insisted on giving me a ride. But tonight, I’m free to sneak around the old farmhouse to the large oak tree outside of Pete’s bedroom.

He nailed in a small board on the backside a few months ago to provide an extra handhold and make my climb easier. After wiggling out on the limb, I hop off onto the slanted roof and balance the last few steps to the window. When I crawl in, he’s waiting on the bed, the closed door the only evidence he’s even moved since I left.

“Took you long enough.” He stretches out, arms behind his head.

I wrinkle my nose at him and grab his phone from the nightstand. My first call goes to my cousin, Trey, reminding him to pick me up in the morning. The last time he forgot, and I actually ended up hiking the entire five miles. He also serves as cover for me if my parents call. Not that they’ve ever cared enough about my well-being to check on me.

The second call goes to them—as well as a third and fourth when neither answer.

On the fifth try, Graham finally barks a, “What?” into the phone while Lauren’s dramatic sobs play in the background.

So, they’restillfighting. On hour five at least. I consider climbing back out the window, down the tree, and knocking on the front door for a ride home to check on my little brother and baby sister, but Pete smiles and makes up my mind for me. No chance I’ll miss spending one last night with him.

“I’m staying at Trey’s,” I say.

The call ends without a response.

I shove the not-even-remotely packed suitcase to the floor along with the pile of no-longer-folded clothes and crawl into the bed. Pete’s arms close around me. He holds me tight against him, and I bury my nose in his shirt, breathing him in while I can. A life lacking in security makes me cling to anything dependable, and the feeling that everything will change when he goes away nags at me more than before. Call it foresight, intuition, or whatever, but some part of me knows nothing will be the same when he comes back.

Especially not me.

Now…

---