The phrases roll through my head and I keep breathing steadily until I see Alex cross in front of the car and open the driver’s door. I take one last deep inhale and pull the seat belt around my hips to secure it. Alex drops heavily into the seat, one leg still dangling out of the car and onto the dirt. I close my eyes and wait for him to start the engine, ready to get home and take a scalding shower to burn away this whole night.
Images of Charlie and Girl filter in and out and I feel my chest tightening again.
“Can we go please?” I ask, an unintentional edge to my voice. Still, Alex doesn’t notice, doesn’t move. I glance over at him. He still has a leg in the parking lot, his gaze turned toward the lake. “Alex?”
Nothing.
“Alex!”
He startles and jerks his head toward me. “Um . . . sorry.”
“You okay?”
Dragging his leg into the car, he closes the door and slides his hands over the steering wheel. Even in the dark, I can see him blinking rapidly, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
“Alex, what—”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just . . . nothing. It’s fine.”
“Did you find Owen?”
“Yeah. He’s fine. He’s fine, he’s with Hannah.”
“Okay.”
He laughs and rubs his eyes. “God, I’m more tired than I thought. It’s been a crappy week. Senior year sucks so far.”
“I agree, so let’s get the hell out of here and sleep all weekend, shall we?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sounds like a plan.”
He jabs the key into his ignition and the engine rumbles to life. Music rushes into the space, some strings-driven bluegrass song I’ve never heard before. Without thinking, I glance toward the lake one more time, looking for Charlie.
Always looking for Charlie. Except this time, I don’t find her.
Chapter Three
THE REST OF THE WEEKEND passes in a haze of sleep, binge watching shows on Netflix, and subsisting on bowl after bowl of cereal. My phone hasn’t made a peep. I figured Alex would’ve told Owen why we left early and then Owen would’ve told Hannah and she’d at least text and try to coax me out of my carefully controlled cave, but nope. Not a word. And call me naive, but I really expected Charlie to call and explain the Girl. Again, a colossal nope. On top of that, my parents were busy with the furniture store they own downtown and I’m pretty sure Owen was sleeping off a legendary hangover, so I caught only glimpses of anyone on my way to and from the kitchen until Monday morning.
“How are you, my daughter?” Mom asks as I drag myself to the refrigerator for some yogurt.
“Grunt.”
“What’s new? Your dad and I haven’t seen you all weekend.”
“Grunt and groan.”
She laughs and hands me a spoon. I peel back the foil lid on a Greek blueberry.
“How are things with Charlie?” she asks.
“Grumble grumble.”
“Mara Lynn.”
“They’re fine, Mom. Just . . . still weird.”
She pushes a stray curl behind my ear. “I’m sorry, honey.”
