Page 60 of Poinsettia Lane

Then everything comes crashing down again, because if it’s not something with her, or them, then it’s something else. What could keep him from contacting her? It must be serious, and Everly’s mind starts spiraling in a whole new direction. She jumps up from her seat and spears her fingers into her hair, still damp from the shower.

“Oh my god. Do you think he’s okay? What if he’s hurt? He could be in the hospital!” Everly’s voice rises frantically, her pitch increasing and Frankie claps their hands over their ears.

“Ugh, Everly. Stop. My head.” Frankie ignores her crisis and grabs their coffee, then stumbles to the couch in the adjoining room and curls up with a blanket.

Everly follows and rips it off, causing Frankie to growl and curl into a tighter ball.

“I’m serious, Frankie. You said it. Something happened. What if he’s…” Everly can’t say the words. She hasn’t heard from him in days. What if he can’t answer, or even worse, what if he’s not answering because he’s not around to do so anymore. Everly can’t even think the words she’s afraid of.

She flashes back to when she received the news her parents had been in an accident. It was the worst phone call of her life, and she still has nightmares about the voice, the words. Sometimes it’s just a phone ringing and ringing and ringing and she knows what will be on the other end of it. She can almost hear it again now, and she stumbles, her back hitting the wall. She slides down it and her legs tangle in the stolen blanket puddled around her feet.

Everly doesn’t know how long she sits there, eyes blank, staring into the void of her parents’ funeral and the loneliness that took over in the days, weeks, months following. She isn’t aware of anything, not her breathing, or her empty thoughts, or Frankie crouched in front of her gripping her hand.

It’s just darkness, and ringing, and emptiness.

Gradually, she becomes aware of a hand stroking her arm. Everly blinks, takes a gasping breath.

“Hey, I’m here, you’re okay," Frankie says, their hand tightening around hers. “Just breathe.”

Everly breathes, sucking air into lungs that feel starved and panting it back out again. Her mind feels like it went from empty to overdrive, and she can’t pick one single thought apart from the others.

“You told me once it helps to focus on one thing," Frankie says, their voice quiet and slow, eyes steady on hers. “How about you focus just on my voice for a sec, okay?”

Everly nods. Frankie’s voice, she can do that.

“I’ll just talk to you for a minute. You can focus on my voice, my words, and just listen. You don’t have to do anything else.” They speak slow and calm, and Everly’s eyes start to refocus. “You’re okay, we’re here in your living room, with a blanket, sitting on the floor. You have a surprisingly plush rug, I’ve learned. We should sit down here more often.”

Everly’s lips twitch at the wry note in Frankie’s voice.

“I know that was scary, but we don’t know anything for sure. Don’t get stuck in what if’s. What would Carrie tell you right now?” Frankie asks.

“She’d say…” Everly thinks for a moment about Carrie, and her thoughts start to slow and coalesce. “She’d tell meto use my senses.”

“Your senses, okay," Frankie looks around. “Like, what you see?”

Everly nods. “I see you. The blanket.” She reaches her free hand out and strokes the blanket, noticing how soft it is under her fingers. “It has a textured pattern on it. I see the hard floor, and the rug.” She blinks up at Frankie.

“It’s a nice rug.”

Everly exhales sharply through her nose, almost a laugh.

“What else?” Frankie says.

Instead of answering, Everly leans forward and pulls them into a hug.

“Thank you," she mutters, cherishing Frankie’s arms around her and their hand rubbing comforting circles on her back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

WHEN SHE FEELS like she can move again, Everly and Frankie clean up from the night before, finding empty glasses and bottles scattered throughout the kitchen, living room, and patio. Everly snags her phone off the charger, avoiding the fact that there are no missed calls or messages, and offers to drive Frankie back to their place across town.

Everly pulls into the driveway and shifts the car to park, sitting back in her seat with a sigh.

“What are you going to do?” Frankie asks.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe I’ll go to the greenhouse?” Everly’s voice tips up at the end, not entirely sure if that’s the right choice.

“I mean, stalking worked once, right?”

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