She waves me off like I’m bothering her. “Go away, Cam.”
“Not likely.” I bend down and scoop her up before she can fight me. Walking through the snow-filled parking lot with her in my arms like a little kid, she kicks her legs and smacks at my chest. “Stop it, Vee. It’s freezing out here. I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.” Her words are practically a scream.
“Fine. I’ll take you to my apartment,” I say, and she nods, leaning her head against my chest and closing her eyes. Once we reach the road, I deposit her on the passenger side of my car, which is running and warm.
Inside my apartment, I set her down on her feet, unzipping her jacket and pulling it off of her shoulders and down her arms. She kicks off her snow-covered shoes. Her whole lower body is caked in snow.
She stands stiffly as I try to brush snow from her hair, but it’s melting and wet. “Go in my room. Take off your clothes and get in bed.”
“Cam—” She gives me a glaring look and I can’t help but smile.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. Grab some clothes and wrap yourself up in the covers.” I kiss her on the forehead, and after weeks without touching her, she lets me. “Call me when you’re done.” She looks at me questioningly one more time, but makes her way into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later I hear my name.
The covers are twisted and tucked around her, but she’s still shaking. I lie next to her, pulling her as close as I can, with thecovers still between us. We lie, wrapped around each other, completely silent, until her shivering finally stops.
“You want to tell me what happened?” I say, brushing the damp hair away from her face and up onto the pillow. It’s torture being this close to her after so long. We still feel a million miles apart. “Something with your parents?”
A tiny gasp slips past her lips, and the tears follow. I kiss her head, draping a leg over her cocooned body. I wish I could absorb her. There’s no getting close enough.
“Nonni…” Vee lets out a jagged breath. “She had a st-stroke. It’s really bad.”
My stomach clenches, then drops, like one of those free-fall amusement park rides.
“I should have seen her more. I’ve been horrible. I mean, what—what if this is it?” She sucks in a long breath. “What if I don’t get to fix it?” She sobs and shakes against me and I hold her tighter. I’m not sure if it’s for her benefit or mine. “She’ll be fine. Right? She’ll be fine… she’s tough. Nonni’s the toughest old lady I know.” She’s rambling, like she needs to convince me it’s true, so she can believe it herself. Maybe she does.
I should say something.I should tell her it’s all going to be okay. Of course Nonni will be fine. Not to worry. I know I should say it, but I can’t. Even with my nose pressed up to her hair, all I can smell is the flowery scent of the funeral home, like a million cheap scented candles have been burned. My ears are filled with the soft classical songs that barely break through the bustling noise of people.Say something.
I feel hands on my back, arms around my shoulders. Instead of Vee’s cold skin, I feel the cold, smooth metal of the caskets under my fingertips. The soft drop of roses on dirt, the squeak of my crutches with each step I take toward my aunt and uncle’s car.Say something.I hear the slam of car doors, smell the unfamiliarscent of a home that isn’t mine. I feel the coldness from my sister, who has been silent; feel the gaze of her eyes, which are filled with tears. Eyes that won’t look at me. Cold blue eyes I haven’t seen in almost a year now.Say something.
I should be comforting Vee, telling her it will be okay, but all I can think about is how bad shit like this happens all the time. People die. It happens every day, to good people. Strong, tough people. And we can’t do anything about it. It doesn’t matter how much our families love us, or how many friends we have, or if we’re rich or poor. It’s not up to us. We’re helpless. There are so many things going through my head that I know I should say, but only one thing comes out of my mouth: “I’m going to take you home.”
She struggles to turn toward me, trapped by the blankets and my arms. Her breath is warm against my face. “What?”
“You should go home.” I can see it in her eyes; the moment she realizes I don’t want her here. It’s the same moment I realize that I can’t do this. I can’t be what she needs.
“O-okay.” She slowly slips out from under the covers and for just a second it feels like déjà vu, seeing her in my St. John’s sweatshirt, a pair of my pajama pants rolled down at the waist, so they stay on her hips. She stares at the door and not me. “Let’s go.”
***
My phone vibrates, buzzing across the nightstand. I ignore it, letting it buzz until it finally starts ringing.LOGANflashes across the screen. I let it ring, until it finally becomes impossible to sleep through the incessant sound.
“Hey—”
“I need you to come over here.” Logan sounds fully awake.
“It’s 1A.M.I’ll call you in the morning.”
“I don’t want to talk, idiot. Vee is here—”
I try to push away the question of why she’s at Logan’s. It’s none of my business.
“She’s crying and shit, and Cort can’t get here for a few hours.” His voice is a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what to do. Can you just come over? I need backup. I need help, man.” He sounds like he’s dealing with an active burglary taking place in his house, instead of a frantic girl.
“Call Anders.”
“Be serious.” He snorts. “I need tostopthe crying.”
