Page 142 of Here & There

But she’s already gone. I don’t move. Even from here, I can hear the sound of her engine revving a few minutes later. She never unloaded her bag from the car.

Maybe she knew that I’d do this, or maybe she never wanted to stay.

I sink to the ground, hitting my forehead with my fist for even thinking that.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, and my wallet. Then I call every local hotel, one by one, and book a room in her name. The inn, Widow’s Walk, the motel. I even call a few places in Swan River. The people who know me all ask if I’m okay, and I tell them yes, I’m fine. Totally fine.

When that’s all done, I stand up, reach for the beer bottle lying in the grass, and whip it as hard as I can down to the beach.

I fucking hate beach litter. I hate glass litter the most. I won’t leave it there. But as it smashes down below and I walk down after it, I hope I cut my hands to shit when I pick up all the pieces.

Chapter 34

Shelby

Dear Jessica,

I remember the moment. The doctor and nurses came in, their faces looking like we were already at a funeral. They spoke in these hushed tones, and Mom broke down. Dad’s sister was there. Do you remember? Dad wasn’t fucking there. He sent his mean sister to be there. Her face was like stone.

“Any moment now,” they said.

No, I guess you don’t remember the moment you died. They said you didn’t have any quality of life. That you were in a lot of pain. I know we said we’d never do drugs, but I’m glad you were doing drugs that day. You didn’t have to be there.

I fell asleep next to you. I was holding your hand. I told you all those things I didn’t want to forget to tellyou. I knew you couldn’t hear me, but I told them all to you anyway.

In my dream, we were playing together, like we did when we were really little. We were on the swings, and I felt so free, like we were flying together. The sun was in our eyes, and we were floating in the sky, and I remember feeling like I never wanted it to end.

But then I woke up. I swore I felt your hand move in mine. Just a little squeeze. But I didn’t. I couldn’t have, because you were already gone.

Some days I really, really fucking miss you, Jessica, and I’m not sorry for saying it like that.

—Shelby

“Night, Bry!” Deanie calls from my office door. She looks at me with worry, but she knows better than to tell me to go home. She stopped saying that last week, since I started staying late instead of going home. Being at home was too depressing. Too close to a liquor cabinet. And the memory of having Mac in my apartment.

Mac’s never been to my office. It’s safe here.

“Good night,” I say without looking up. I’m not working myself to the bone. I’m lying on the couch in my office, reading a book, but not reading it, the lines blurring like they have been every time I’ve picked this same one up.

The elevator bell dings, and then with a swish of the doors, I’m alone.

I pick up my phone to scroll through my food options. I’ve been getting food delivered here for dinner, then, when I’m too tired to stay awake, I go home, crash in bed, and do it all over again. Tonight I’m considering just sleeping here.

I hesitate before opening my food delivery app, running my finger over the red alert on my text messages. Mac’s sent at least a dozen texts since I left. Voicemails too. He’s sorry, in each one. He’s so fucking sorry. He loves me.

But not one of them says come back.

I haven’t answered him. I’m still too messed up to even think about writing him back.

But just when I get the app open, a call comes through.

My stomach takes a nosedive. But it’s not Mac.

It’s Mom. I texted her this number when I got back, because I felt too lost to have her cut off too. But this is the first time she’s called.

I hesitate a moment, debating whether or not to pick up.

“Hello?” I say. My voice is wobbly.

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