by Haley Jenner
“Get her address and we’ll send her a phone today.”
Letting go of a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, I hug her. “I love you.”
“I know, babyface. I love you, too.”
She leaves me in peace, my fingers wanting to go nuts on the keyboard and send her every thought coursing through my brain.
Squirrel,
I’ve been so fucking worried. Derrick told me Jacinta had taken you, but nothing more. He’s a stubborn asshole.
Henley, I’m so fucking sorry. You told me something bad was going to happen. You fucking told me. We should have run away and started our life of wanderlust now.
Mom is going to send you a phone, so send me the address of where you’re staying. Until then, I'll check my email every day. Write as often as you can, okay? I need to know you’re okay.
How is this shit legal? We’ll work it out. We have to. There’s no other option.
I miss you too.
B.
I stare at the screen, hitting refresh almost immediately.
Oh my God, Brooks. I’m so happy to hear from you. I’ve been waiting every day. (But I know you don’t check your emails, so you’re forgiven.)
Not much has changed. She lets me leave the house now. She’s even enrolled me in school. Everything is different here, and I want to come home. It’s like she’s been planning this all her life. She didn’t even put him on my birth certificate. Apparently, he had no idea. So some stupid paternity test and the fact he was never legally recorded as my dad. . . means she can do whatever she wants. She has a job here already. Her friend was some guy she used to date. She’s been using Derrick for his money, biding her time until this guy she’s with now was available again.
I don’t think I’m ever coming home, Brooks. Not until I’m eighteen and can leave on my own.
Tell your Mom I said THANK YOU. I can’t wait to hear your voice.
It rains here all the time, and we’re in the city. There are no rivers or forests for me to get lost in, which means I feel lost. I’m panicking, Brooks. How do I survive two years of this?
Address below. Henley x
“Mom!” I yell, scribbling down the address and running from my room. “I have the address. Let’s go.”
HENLEY
AGE 17
Derrick washed his hands of me as soon as he realized I wasn’t his biological child. At first, I was angry, but only because he was my ticket home. I was counting on him to fight for me as he’d done all my life—even if it was in the wrong way. But he didn’t. Not even a little bit.
I begged. I cried. In the end, he just stopped taking my calls. A man who I thought was my father was now nothing more than a stranger. One who couldn’t get away from me soon enough.
It all just proved my point, though. In the end, I was a commodity, and I became worthless to him the moment he couldn’t use me to barter.
The only good thing to happen from all this is I don’t have to hear them arguing anymore. The fighting, the hate, it just disappeared overnight. A snap of the fingers and all their animosity lives only as a memory and a reminder of the clusterfuck that is my life.
It’s just Mom and me now. . . and her douchecanoe of a boyfriend she has us living with. I have more quiet than I know what to do with. A complete one-eighty when I was only searching for a middle ground.
I don’t miss Lake Geneva. Not in a way I long for. I miss Brooks, and I miss my forest. But that’s about it.
There’s no forest for me to escape to here. The city is boxed in quite heavily. But I’ve learned how to remain alone in a crowd. It may have taken me nearly twelve months, but I did. I searched hard enough, and I found my place.
My secret spot is now the Thames River bus. I sit in the back where I can see the water and the sky. There’s no dirt under my feet or the damp smell of the forest in my nostrils, but it rains here a lot, so I’ve come to love the smell of the rain. The scent of the droplets when they hit the ground; like a freshly cut core into the earth. I’ve learned to welcome the tears of the sky on my skin.
School isn’t much different here in regards to school-aged politics. I keep my distance from it all, as I’ve always done. I’m just sad I don’t have Brooks or Addy. Initially, I stayed away from everyone for fear I’d just be uprooted once again in the blink of an eye. Why get close to people when you’re just going to leave them? By the time I realized I was here to stay, I’d solidified my place as the quiet loner.
Brooks and I call one another every week. That’s my agreement with Jacinta. I keep the peace, and she keeps the phone stocked with enough minutes to call my best friend.
“Taking any photos?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs down the line. “Council let me shoot some of the town for their website.”
“What?” I smile down the line. “Brooks, that’s amazing.”
He groans in discomfort at the praise. “I think it helps that Gran holds some sway in town.”
“How is she doing?”
A sigh. “Not great. She spent a few days in the hospital this week. She’s getting sick more and more often. I know it sounds morbid, but we’re grateful we got this amount of time with her, you know? We moved back with the expectation that she’d pass soon after. She’s been going strong for eighteen months so far. It’s been nice.”
“Still,” I sympathize.
“Yeah.”
“Last year of school.” I change the subject. “Prom planning must be in full swing.”
He barks out an unimpressed laugh. “Oh, yeah, I’m running point on organization.”
“Smart-ass. Have you got a date?”
The soft sound of him clearing his throat sounds distinctly down the line. “Evelyn asked me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to ask her?”
“She obviously got tired of waiting.”
It’s turned awkward. “Well, you always did like her tits.”
He snorts. “I did.”
I fall back onto my bed, staring at the white ceiling.
“I wish you were here,” he says quietly. “We could just go together.”
Closing my eyes, I imagine Brooks in a tux and me in a dress. Us dancing and laughing.
“That’d be nice.”
“Do they do anything like prom over there?”
I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yeah, a school formal. They did one at the end of last year for year eleven. I think they do another one at the end of sixth form.”
“D’you go?”
“No,” I declare strongly. “Of course not. I told you. I’m literally the weirdo loner of the school. I’m like a pariah.”
“You just need to put yourself out there, Squirrel. I hate the thought of you being alone.”
“I like being alone,” I defend.
“There’s nothing wrong with that, but one friend wouldn’t hurt.”
“I have one friend,” I argue. “You.”
“One who you can see, Henley. One who you can spend time with. One who you can think with.”
“I didn’t call you to be lectured, Brooks.”
I know he’s right, and I hate it. I hate that he can see through my words and hear my loneliness.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I promise.”
“What have I told you about promises? Don’t ever make me one, Squirrel. I might find myself believing you.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You’ll break my heart when I find out you’ve broken it.”
“I should go.” I swallow against the lump in my throat.
Silence meets my declaration, and I wait for him to speak.
“Give me a minute?” he asks eventually.
“For what?”
I hear the sound of his steady breath down the line. “I hate saying goodbye. Just sit quietly on the line until I’m ready.”
So we do. We sit in silence, the sound of our breathing echoing back and forth before he finds it in himself to hang up.
Brooks: Gran died.
He doesn’t answer my call or reply to any of my texts or emails. Brooks speak for I’m hurting and I don’t want to discuss it.
“Mom,” I test hesitantly.
“Hmm.” She looks up from the TV.
“I need to ask you something, and I need you to hear me out before you say no.”
Narrowing her eyes, she lifts the remote and turns the TV off to offer me her full attention.
“I need to go back to Lake Geneva.”
“No.”
“Mom, please,” I plead. “Just for a few days. Moira Riley died.”
She looks down, a cast of sadness touching her features.
“Mom, Brooks needs me. I have nothing there anymore. I’ll be home within a week. I promise. I just want to be there for my only friend.”
“You could have friends here,” she argues weakly.
I don’t speak.
“I’m sorry, Henley. With Derrick. . .”
“Derrick wants nothing to do with me,” I spit. “And quite frankly, I want nothing to do with him.”
“Your home is here.”
“I know that.” My tongue feels heavy with the lie. The truth is, no one place feels like home to me anymore. I belong nowhere.
She stares at me, and I hate that I don’t know what she’s thinking. I want her thoughts to be read out. Her excuses and her lies ready for me to combat. Instead, I sit as quietly as she does, pleading with my eyes.
“When’s the funeral?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracks, and I cough to clear it. “Brooks won’t answer my call. He’s hurting, Mom. I need to be there.”
I’m not above begging. I’m not above dropping to my hands and knees and pleading with her to let me do this.
“I’ve not asked you for anything. I’ve settled in without issue or argument. Please, Mom.”
“Okay,” she finally agrees, and my eyes bulge in surprise.
“I’m not a monster, Henley.” She shields her hurt. “I told you, everything I do is because I love you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and she looks at me expectantly. “I love you,” I add, hoping like hell she accepts my lie.
Smiling triumphantly, she pushes her shoulders back. “This actually works out well. Dylan was wanting us to take a few days away, and I was hesitant to leave you.”
And there we have it. Her decision has nothing to do with her letting me go and everything to do with needing me out of her hair to relieve her guilt about running off with her boyfriend.
“I'll be sure to thank Moira Riley’s corpse for you.”
She laughs, and I force one out myself. Best to keep the peace until my ass is on that plane.
“I’d like to leave as soon as possible if it’s okay. To make sure I don’t miss the funeral.”
She nods, her face already in her phone. No doubt texting Dylan.
I got what I wanted.
I’m going to Lake Geneva.
To the only place that has ever offered me a semblance of what home should be.
I’m going to see Brooks after eighteen long months.
Reunite with the most important person in my life.
I don’t read into the burst of nerves and excitement that thought fires in my belly.
10
BROOKS
Age 17
I haven’t answered her texts or her calls.
I don’t know what to say.
That I’m devastated. That I don’t know how to manage my grief. That Gran’s passing has hit me harder than I ever imagined it would. Shit, I had two years to prepare for this.
Twenty-four fucking months and I still want to cry when reality hits that I’ll never see her again.
“That’s my rock.”
I bolt upright, slipping down the mossy rock.
It’s like a fucking dream. Henley, standing right in front of me. Close enough that I can feel her breath as she talks. Close enough that I could reach out and touch her.
Toeing her shoes off, she climbs onto the rock, hugging me tightly.
She smells like soap and mint and not the freshly planted flower bed I was used to. Still, I hug her back just as hard.
“You’re here.”
She moves to pull back, but I hold her tightly. “Give me a minute.”
She stays without argument, but I find myself telling her, “I’m not ready to let you go,” anyway.
Eventually, we pull apart, and I can’t help but just stare at her. My hand itches to reach out and touch her face if only to convince myself that she’s real. That she’s not a dream I’ve conjured up to deal with my grief.
Her freckles don’t seem as bright. The lack of sun during her eighteen months abroad has pulled parts of her away. Her hair is longer than I remember, falling well past her elbows when she sits. Bags hang heavily under her eyes, and I want to reach out and push the pillows of her tiredness down.
Even more broken than before, she’s prettier than I’ve ever seen her.
“You look good,” I tell her honestly.
Reaching up to run her hand over the scruff of hair I haven’t bothered to shave off around my mouth, she smiles. “You’re growing into yourself nicely.”
Again, always so strange.
“I missed you,” she tells me.
“How are you here?”
She shrugs. “I asked, and Mom said yes. I think it had more to do with the fact she wanted a romantic weekend with her boyfriend.”
I grimace. “Jesus, Squirrel, hold the overshare.”
She laughs quietly, the sound both tired and sad.
“I missed you, too,” I tell her.
“How’s your mom? Your dad? How are you?”
“Shit,” I answer honestly. “We’re all shit.”
I rub at my eyes, worsening the dry, itchy feeling.
“Stop.” She reaches out to pull my hand away. “They’re already red.”
My breath catches, and I shake my head in annoyance. “I knew this was coming, Henley.”
“It probably makes it worse. You’ve been grieving her slowly for over two years. Now that you’re finally allowed to grieve openly, it’s hitting you all at once. Bottled-up feelings are like Mentos in Diet Coke.”
Maybe it’s my grief, but I want to touch her again. I want her to wrap her arms around me and soothe my soul.
“How did you know I was here?” I move my thoughts away from the confusing and ill-timed thoughts of my overzealous mind.
“When I dropped my stuff off at your house and you weren’t there, I took an educated guess.”
I pull her into my body, my arm resting over her shoulder as I bring her in close.
“Your mom thought you might’ve been with Evelyn,” she tests quietly.
Fuck.
“You’re staying with me, yeah?”
She nods, letting me ignore her statement. “Yeah.”
“We’re just seeing each other,” I confess. “It’s nothing serious.”
I feel guilt like I’ve never felt before. Like I’ve broken her trust.
“It’s not my business.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “Everything to do with me is your business.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her voice is small and wounded, and I hate myself for it.
“It seemed irrelevant then.”
“And now?” she murmurs.
She breathes in, and I exhale.
I exhale, and she inhales heavily.
“I don’t know.” I finally answer.
I want to beg her to stay. Her home is here with me. But I’m petrified because I know she has to say no.
11
HENLEY
It’s different.
Not different, weird. Just . . . different.
I had to expect it. We’ve changed as individuals, so it makes sense that our friendship couldn’t have remained as it was.
Brooks holds my hand as we walk back to his house. A simple show of intimacy we’ve never shared. It feels like a declaration, an effortless show of possessiveness that, even after so much time apart, brings us closer.
He squeezes my hand, and I do it back.
Is it noticeable to him too? That change? Or am I reading into something that isn’t there to distract myself from my awkward loneliness?
“When’s the funeral?” I steer myself away from my own thoughts.
“Day after tomorrow.”
My free hand slides into the crook of his elbow, bringing me flush against his side as we walk. I hope he reads the gesture for what it is. A promise that I’m here. A show of support that I know he needs.
He leans down, dropping a kiss to the top of my head as we meander back toward his house. “Thank you for being here,” he whispers.
“For always.”
My hand feels clammy. I don’t know if it’s him or me. Whether it’s just what happens when you hold hands with someone, or if my nerves, or his, are getting the better of us. Whatever the reason, I can’t bring myself to untangle. Sweaty hands be damned, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to touch him like this.
“How often do you go to the rock?”
“Every day,” he tells the trees we’re passing.
I smile. “Do you think of me while you’re there?”
He looks down at me quizzically. “Why do you think I go there, Squirrel?”
His pretty black lashes flutter against his cheeks when he blinks. I hadn’t noticed how long they were before. How thick and dark and prominent they were on his face.
“What?” he asks.
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
Turning away, I shrug. “I’ve never noticed how long your eyelashes are.”
I wonder if it’s common to notice small details about someone’s appearance when you’ve been separated from them for a prolonged length of time.
Have his eyelashes always been that long, and I just never took the time to notice? Or have they grown in my absence?