Page 29 of If You Go
“Will I see you there?”
“No, m’sweet girl, not yet. We won’t be comin’ just now—we’ll make for th’ island house, it’s nearer t’ th’ hospital. Keep them boys wi’ ye, an’ bring Alisha, Hazel, an’ Richie, an’ whoever else’s needin’ shelter. I’ll ring ye later, aye? Love ye, m’sweet Surry. Yer mam’s sendin’ all her love.”
“Okay, Papa. I love you too.”
The line clicks.
Joshua blinks. “Okay, so what the fuck doeswherethe sky meets the seamean?”
I smile, a small stubborn thing that doesn’t belong in the wreckage but insists on existing anyway. Memory surges: an island ferry riding whitecaps, the tang of kelp, the house with windows that face nothing but horizon. I can feel the sun on my face, smell the evergreen.
“We’re going home.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WHAT THE FUCK, Surry, you didn’t say we were going to be driving this long!”
Josh hasn’t stopped complaining since Tacoma. The highway unspools in a gray ribbon, rain spitting on the windshield, wipers ticking a steady metronome against my nerves. The silence that is emanating off Brenden is heavier than the constant whining from the back seat.
“I know, it’s nearly a six-hour drive. I’m sorry.” I keep my gaze on the window, where firs and maples smear into a watercolor of green and slate. “But nobody outside my family—and now you two—knows about this place. So will you just shut up and deal?” I am, in fact, not sorry at all. And he is getting on my nerves at this point.
He huffs behind me. Brenden’s fingers rest lightly on the wheel, his presence heavy. Mountains drift in and out between low clouds—Rainier a ghosted crown, St. Helen’s a scab ofhistory, Hood distant and clean. Being surrounded by the twenty four active volcanoes actually lowers my nerves, and brings me peace. The farther south we go, the more the world loosens—traffic drops, shoulders widen, trees thicken until the highway feels tunneled by pine.
Brenden doesn't talk much. He hums sometimes, a low vibration that seems to come from somewhere deeper than his throat. His knuckles rest loosely on the steering wheel, tanned skin stretched over bone. He's got the kind of quiet that fills a car like water filling a glass—complete, without bubbles or gaps. The center display glows cobalt blue against the darkness of the dashboard, illuminating the lower half of his face. WhenTake Me To The Beachby Imagine Dragons pops up, the entire cabin transforms around us. Not because of the lyrics—I don't even need them. Just the pulse of it, something yearning and salt-tanged, tugging the ribcage open like an insistent tide pulling at a dock.
I feel my shoulders drop, breath deepen into my belly. I grew up following winding coastal roads that eventually surrendered to dunes and sand, the asphalt giving way to something less certain. I learned to read the choppy whitecaps and shifting wind patterns before I could solve for x or grasp long division. The song isn't ours, not yet, but the want inside it feels as familiar as my own heartbeat—like sun-browned hands outstretched toward cool, beckoning water. Before I know it, I’m signing along to the words as if they’re carved into my soul.
The phone rings, silencing the music as Corver’s name floods the screen. I lean forward, tapping the green circle to answer.
“Where is this place again, Surry?” His voice comes through the speakers before I can even say hello, clipped. I swear these men look really tough, but are the most impatient whining babies I have ever met. “Hard to navigate when the address is some state secret.”
“Not a secret,” I say, then sigh. “Okay, it’s a secret. We don’t say it over lines. Ever. My dad is strict. I watched him kill a guy for breaking that rule.” I glance at the rain-gritted window. “Do you want to be next?”
Silence. A cough on their end that sounds suspiciously like Richie covering up a laugh. Even the song takes a breath.
“We’ll meet at the gas station I sent you in Eugene,” I add, softer. “Then you guys follow us for the last leg. Don’t worry – I’m not leaving you lost.”
“Alright then, I’ll trust you, see you in Eugene,” Corver replies.
“Good,” Brenden cuts in, voice like gravel over heat. “See you soon, brother.” The call ends. His hand slides down to my knee.
I should pull away. I do, kind of—turning to the window so his hand falls. I’m already melting, and I can’t afford melting. Not when the calculus of everyone I love being alive keeps rearranging itself in my head. He just puts it back, palm warm against the inside of my thigh, and leans in enough that his breath ghosts my neck.
“You’re mine, Siren,” he says, low and certain. “You’ll see. Hades himself couldn’t keep you from me.”
I swallow. He doesn’t squeeze—just anchors. I tell myself I hate it. My body calls me a liar. Behind us, Josh mutters something about getting a room. I roll my eyes and keep watching the trees race north as we go south, and I pretend my pulse isn’t syncing to the song.
Eugene smells like wet asphalt and diesel. We pull into the gas station—a squat rectangle of buzzing lights and old coffee. I hop out, the air sharp with rain and petroleum, and call my father. I need Selene’s voice. I need to know she’s still threaded to this world with something more than stitches.
He answers on the second beat. “Hello, my sweet Surry. Are ye home yet?”
“No, Papa. Eugene. We’re waiting for the others. Thank you for trusting them.”
“They make ye happy, mo chroí. And I’ve vetted ’em. Nothin’ in their closets I can’t live with.” A pause. “You didn’t give the address over the line, did ye now?”
I laugh despite everything. “No, Papa. I wrote it for Brenden on paper, he unfolded just enough to read it, then we burned it. Like you taught me.”
“That’s my girl.” I hear a shuffle. Voices. “Ye want to speak to yer sister?”
