Page 22 of Spicy or Sweet
“Since the accident,” Shay replies, her voice barely louder than a whisper. The accident. Her sister.
I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t need to talk about it, but she continues, “Nico was driving. Georgie was in the front—she always called shotgun, even when we were too old to be doing it. We were going to meet our parents for dinner, and it was stormy, like it is today, but worse. It was windy, and we’d had a lot of bad storms, so the roads were a mess. Nico’s a great driver, but it happened so quickly, there was nothing he could do. A rockfall. It would’ve been okay if the barrier at the edge of the road hadn’t been damaged in the storms, but we went over the side and fell down a ravine. Eleven hours, we were trapped there.”
Horror curdles my stomach, but Shay seems to calm down as she talks about it. Her breathing slowly evens out, her fingers still a statue against my chest.
“The car hit front first,” she continues. “I got so lucky; I wasn’t even knocked unconscious. But Nico and Georgie were. I can’t explain it, but I knew. I knew Nico was alive, and I knew Georgie wasn’t. They said she probably died instantly, but they had no way of knowing for sure. I did, though. I knew. I felt it. Nico didn’t wake up, and I couldn’t move to get help, so I just screamed until I lost my voice. He wasn’t conscious, but he swears he heard me—that he remembers me screaming, begging, praying.”
“How did they find you?” I ask. I think Shay is shaking again, until I realize it’s me.
“A runner spotted the car the next morning. Nico was in a coma for a few days, and I wasn’t as lucky as I thought. I had a tear in my spleen and was slowly bleeding out. If they’d found us even two hours later, I probably would’ve died. But I didn’t.”
The words “Georgie did” are unspoken, but so loud.
“I’m so sorry, Shay.”
She sniffs, and I can’t put into words how much the soft laugh that spills from her calms my pounding heart.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you. Just distracting myself, I guess.”
Her spine tenses, like she suddenly remembers where we are.
“I can distract you,” I say, quickly following it up with, “That sounded a lot more suggestive than I meant it to.”
She huffs a long breath, but at least she’s breathing better. “Will you tell me about your family? How you all ended up obsessed with Christmas?”
“Yeah. I can do that,” I say, holding her tight. She doesn’t seem to mind, and I’m not sure I can let go of her.
11
SHAY
The storm has settled a little by the time Rora and Henry unlock the pantry door. I’ve settled too. I’m not surprised Noelle is so good at calming people down, but I am surprised she was willing to do it for me.
She insists on walking me home, ignoring my protests when I try to stay to put everything away. We didn’t get very far. Rora and Henry offer to stay and help—Sunny is asleep in her car seat, ironically soothed by the storm that’s the opposite of her namesake.
Noelle holds my arm as we cross the street. There’s no one around; everyone is probably hiding out after the storm. I hope this doesn’t set filming back.
Something has shifted between me and Noelle tonight. We’re not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe working together will be a little less… fraught. I don’t know what came over me. I never open up to anyone about the accident. The last person I told was Philippe, and he admitted that talking about it made him uncomfortable, so I just stopped bringing it up. Noelle just listened. It was oddly refreshing.
She walks me up the stairs, watching until I open my front door. Cat is nowhere to be seen. I hope he’s curled up inside, and not out in the storm.
“Do you have food?” Noelle asks, hovering by the door.
“Yeah. I already ate, though.”
“Right. Well, rest up. And if you need anything…” She trails off, short of offering. Understandably so—we’re in uncharted waters here. Noelle clears her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
She starts down the stairs but pauses when I call her name. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for today.”
Her expression softens for a split second, then it’s gone. She nods, turning and running across the street. I watch her go, a blur of lilac in the blue night.
I find Cat curled up like a croissant on my bed. I quickly get ready for bed, leaving a trail of mess behind me—I’m too tired to tidy—and lie beside him, pulling him closer, and kissing the top of his head. He meows, either in greeting or in indignation at me waking him up, and rubs his face against mine.
He falls asleep in my arms while I toss and turn. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the howl of the wind. The impact of the rocks. The crunch of the car. Georgie’s scream, suddenly silenced. I smell the smoke. The blood. The salt from the tears that poured down my cheeks until they ran out.
