Page 33 of Fire Island
Nothing gives.
Nothing floods back in.
I’m coddled. Wrapped in fucking cotton wool and set up high on the shelf with the rest of the precious, breakable things.
Fuck this shit six ways to Sunday.
Four hours later, the squeal of wheels on the street outside has me off the bed and standing by the window in a heartbeat. TheJeep pulls up, but nobody gets out. It idles by the curb in its parking spot. Intrigued, I lean on the wall and fold my arms...
And wait.
Finally, the engine dies out, and Iris steps out. She rounds the vehicle and opens the passenger door. A woman steps out. With her long dark hair messy around her shoulders, she sways as she holds Irry’s hand. Iris folds her into her embrace, and I lean into the glass, forehead pressing onto the cool pane.
This must be the friend she was upset about.
As they part, Iris palms her face, talking to her.
The woman nods before glancing up.
I jerk back a little from the window when I recognize her face.
The woman from the paper, the twentysomething author. She looks a little worse for wear, but that’s her, I’m sure of it. When did my sister become friends with a fantasy author? Must have developed in the last three years. The woman is hugging herself as Iris slides a small bag from the car that looks like it’s from the eye place on Main Street, and guides her inside.
I close the door and stand by it, listening, feeling like the world’s biggest perv.
But something has me frozen to the spot.
It’s . . . curiosity?
She must have been through some kind of ordeal to have Iris this wound up over it.
Footsteps move up the internal stairs. I should move. I should act fucking normal. My blood hammers through me like it understands something I don’t. I grab the doorknob.
I won’t turn it.
I won’t.
It—she’s none of my business.
Murmuring fills the hallway, and Iris’s bedroom door opens, then shuts. I pull my door open an inch. Heart in my throat, I stare into the empty hallway. Closing the door softly so itmakes not a sound, I spin back and lean on it. My head thumps backward onto the hardwood. I try to rein in the thrumming in my body.
What in hell’s handbasket’s got me riled up over some woman I don’t know?
A soft knock lands on the other side of the door, and I jolt away from the sound. With a good distance between me and the door, I shake out my hands, trying to coax feeling back into my body.
“Cal?”
Iris.
I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yep.”
I sit on the bed and try not to look as fucked up as I feel. Iris opens the door and comes in before closing it behind her. “How are you feeling?”
She looks much happier than when she left this morning.
