Page 44 of Resurrection
He lets out a shaky breath, mumbling, "I ruined it."
Naomi stands up straight, her brows knitting together. "What’s he talking about?"
I shrug. "Not sure."
She sighs. "How does he keep his badge?"
"He doesn’t drink while on duty…right?"
"No. I haven’t heard anyone complain. But off-duty? Total town drunk." She heads toward the door slowly, a shadow of disappointment crossing her face. "Dad would've been let down," she adds softly, almost more to herself than to me.
I glance at Adri, once my best friend, and follow his sister, closing the bedroom door carefully behind me.
In the warm glow of the living room, I spot Naomi hunched over at the sink in the kitchen area. The soft light catches her face as she flicks on the faucet, and water rushes out with a steadyshhhthat fills the space. Her hands move expertly over each dish, suds frothing around her fingers. Without a word, I fall into rhythm beside her, placing the slippery dishes onto the drying rack.
When we finish, she wipes her damp hands on a towel, then digs into the pile of takeout boxes cluttering the counter.
"His sister owns a restaurant," she mutters, "And he still chooses to eat this junk."
With smooth movements, Naomi crams the boxes into a black trash bag that smells faintly of garlic and soy sauce, remnants of what appears to be last night's Panda Express feast.
"Want me to take it outside?" I offer casually.
"No," she replies with a hint of finality in her voice. "He'll handle it tomorrow." She drops the bulging bag by the door and nods toward me—a silent gesture telling me it's time to go.
Outside on the porch as she locks the front door with her copy of the key, she says, "Thanks for the help."
"Don't mention it."
We stand there for a moment in the heavy silence of the desert night. I want to ask her a lot of things, but the right words don't come.
"You should probably get me back to my car," she reminds me.
"Yeah." We start walking to my Audi, leaving Adri to his dreams and demons.
I'm not sure which are worse.
The car's silence presses in as we leave Adri's house behind, a thicker quiet than before. Winds rush against the windows like an urgent reminder of the space and emptiness out here. Naomi's reflection is a ghost against the glass, those dark, intense eyes lost in thought.
"He's been shutting me out ever since I came back," she says, her voice awhisper that cuts through the noise in my head. "At times, it pisses me off. But mostly, I’m just scared."
I grip the steering wheel tighter as we drive on. The old highway unfolds before us, a straight shot through memories and mistakes.
"You think he'll ever get help?" I ask.
"He won't even talk about what happened when he was overseas. How am I supposed to get through to him?"
"You keep trying." My voice cracks with something I don't want to name. "You never give up."
"Like you did, you mean?"
I flinch, the accusation hitting harder than I’d expect. "I didn't want you to miss your shot," I mumble out, sounding extremely unconvincing. "Cooking school, New York, your own restaurant. You had your dreams."
"Not the only dreams I had, you know." Pause. "Doesn't matter now anyway."
"It does to me."
The air feels heavy with everything we never said during the past seventeen years. Naomi's face is lost in the darkness, but I can feel her next to me, close yet impossibly distant.
