With a cursory glance, I see Emma and Evie arguing on the front porch. I do quick calculus in my head—will they sell it for us? Would Trips’ father send someone to watch the house? Or did he already get everything he wanted?
Knowing I need to answer the door no matter how I’m feeling, I put on my mask, one that I promised I’d never use for Clara, but I’m still free to use on anyone else, and open it.
Evie pushes inside before I can even say hello, and Emma apologizes for her.
“So, how is he?” Evie demands.
“He’s sleeping finally,” I say, hiding all my agony from the two women in front of me, pretending I’m nothing but a concerned friend.
Because to Evie, Clara isn’t mine. She’s Jansen’s.
The way my heart is breaking can’t show without us knowing how Evie would take it. And Jansen kept it a secret, because according to him, when Evie goes into protective mode, everyone becomes a danger.
Case in point: she spins on her heel and rushes up the stairs, planning on either waking Jay up or sitting vigil at his side like some plague-times sickbed painting. I’m leaning toward the former. Emma has bags under her eyes as she watches the smaller blonde woman rush away from her. “Sorry, Walker. She’s worried sick about Jansen, but it’s Jansen, so I don’t really get it.”
I nod toward the kitchen, and with a sigh, she follows me.
“He’s going to wake up and start making jokes about all this, right?” she asks.
I open the fridge, not sure what to offer her. I didn’t pay attention to what she likes. Which is sucky of me, considering she’s Clara’s best friend. “Beer?” I ask, not caring that it’s 10 a.m. on a Friday.
“Sure,” she says, and I take out three bottles for when Evie comes rushing back in, annoyed that Jansen isn’t where she thinks he should be.
I pop the tops off two. “She’s right to be worried. Jansen, he’s—” I don’t even know how to explain it. “Sometimes, he struggles.”
“Like, depression?”
“Maybe? I’m not a doctor, but it’s bigger than what you’re thinking of. It’s like the battery that Jansen runs on gets electrocuted. He revs up. He’s up all night, he can’t concentrate except on whatever thing has thrown him, he forgets to eat, to exercise. And then, after weeks or months, he slides off the edge, and it’s like the battery has been obliterated. Only, he still can’t sleep. He can’t exercise, because he can hardly move. And he can’t concentrate on anything, because it’s like the juice in his brain just dried up.”
Emma looks shocked. “Jansen? Sunshine and rainbows Jansen?”
The door to the kitchen flies open, Evie coming through. “Where is he?”
“I told you, he’s sleeping. And we both know it’s what’s best for him.”
“But where—”
“Clara’s room. Leave him, Evie.”
She looks around the kitchen, as if there’s somebody there she could fight to make her brother better. Some boogeyman to vanquish.
But the problem is in his brain. And as this has only happened once before, none of us could convince him to go see someone about it.
Now, though? He’s been riding the edge of breakdown for months. And this was a shattering blow. He’s going to need more than the assumption that he’s fine.
I open Evie’s beer and slide it across the counter to her, and she takes it, her face grim. I’m about to offer them leftover mandu when RJ pushes into the kitchen, going straight tothe fridge and pulling out a Mountain Dew. He turns around, seemingly shocked by Emma and Evie standing there holding beers.
“You, I need to get you off my list,” he says, motioning with the bottle in his hand at Evie.
Her confusion is palpable, but he walks to the door to the hallway, not addressing it. “Where’s Jansen? He’s supposed to be doing this.”
“He’s sleeping. Let him.”
“Then come,” he says, pushing through.
Evie and Emma stare at me, and I pick up my bottle, hoisting it like the world’s stupidest toast. “He’s been trying to fix something for you, Evie. I’m pretty sure he’s been up all night, so he’s going to be a little...curt.” I take a swallow and lead the girls upstairs to RJ’s cave, the air already stale. Then I grab chairs from my room and Jansen’s room. And after a pause, I go into Trips’ room and grab his desk chair, too, the violation skittering along my skin as I tiptoe in and out.
Trips is protective of his spaces. And I don’t have permission. But he’s not here, and he won’t be for a while, so I swallow down the discomfort and bring the last chair into RJ’s room, taking it for myself as RJ mutters to Evie.
