“The internet,” he repeats. “You don’t go to counseling, but you go to the fucking internet for advice. Of course the internet’s going to tell you what you want to hear.”
“It’s real. It’s not in my head.” But it feels like it’sphysicallyin her head, with the deafening thrum that boomsfight or flight. “Just come get me. Please. Otherwise I’m stuck here for two weeks.”
“Jesus. I’m looking up Sweetside, and it’s over five hours away. Why don’t you call Ben? He’s closer. He’s a good guy. I know he loves you.”
Sarah’s stomach turns, and she takes a deep breath, ready to play her last card. Graham might not believe her relationship troubles, but he’ll understand the threat of strangers. “It’s over with Ben. Can youpleasecome get me? Everyone thinks I have the virus. They vandalized the motel I was staying at, and now I have to quarantine with a couple of local men.” Her eyes prick with tears, although they’re tears of frustration, not sadness. “I’m scared.”
She means she’s scared of being found, after what she did to Ben, but if Graham thinks she’s talking about the Vass brothers, that works too. Graham lets out a resigned grunt. “Okay. If I leave after my morning class tomorrow, I can be in Sweetside in the afternoon. Where are you exactly?”
She gives him the directions. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here. No one. Not even Ma-Ma and Ba-Ba. Please. I’ll explain when I see you.” She doesn’t know how she’s going to explain it, but she chokes out a final “Thanks” and slams down the receiver, her vision blurring with furious tears.
Elijah hands her a napkin. “Are you really scared of us? You don’t have to be.”
Sarah takes the napkin and dabs her eyes. “Not of you and Caleb. You’ve both been great.” A voice at the back of her head whispers,But what do they want? What do they want from you in exchange for kindness?“I’m scared because of Ben, my boyfriend.Ex-boyfriend. The one I left in Toronto.” In Toronto, howling with rage that she would dare leave him, as loud as winter wind through trees. The storm inside him, as Elijah had put it, unleashed with the savagery of a hurricane, threatening to drown her.
Until he’d seized her wrist hard enough to bruise, and she’d flailed in a panic, her fingers closing around the paring knife on the kitchen counter.
“He hurt you.” Elijah’s mouth is set, and at this moment, he doesn’t look like either of his parents.
“It’s not obvious. But he did. God, I wish hehadhit me. Then maybe Graham would believe he was abusive.” If her own brother doesn’t believe her, how will the authorities believe she’d acted under stress?
“No you don’t.”
Sarah’s lips part in chagrin. “Oh, Elijah. I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me.” She puts a hand on his arm. His forearm is smaller than Caleb’s, the muscles lean and wiry. His cheeks flush. She warms with compassion. Although Caleb might not have been touched by anyone other than family for months, it’s possible Elijah’s barely been touched at all, except in violence.
She withdraws her hand, but Elijah grabs it and squeezes gently. His paint-stained fingers are as cool as Caleb’s are hot. His hands must be perpetually cold if he’s always walking outside or in the unfinished sunroom. She almost regrets she’ll be leaving tomorrow, because he could use a friend, and so could she.
“Ibelieve you,” he says. “There are ways you can hurt people without hitting them.”
“Please don’t tell Caleb. He might not understand.”
“Of course I won’t. So is your brother coming to get you?”
“Yes, thank God.” She suspects Graham will try to convince her to go back to Toronto and stay with their parents, but that’s a battle for another day. She’ll borrow some money, rent a car, keep moving west to Calgary or Vancouver. Someplace with a high Asian population, where she can blend in.
Later, when Sarah returns to her room, she cuts herself as she stuffs the knife back in her bag. The washcloth shifted while in her pocket, and the exposed blade slices the pad of her thumb.
She finds a box of Band-Aids in the bathroom, wraps one around her thumb, and then settles on the recliner withMacbeth. She can’t help feeling that ghostly presence standing over her shoulder again, but she forces herself not to look. She’ll be leaving tomorrow, and Jacob Vass can have his room back.
When the windows begin to darken, a knock sounds on the door. “Room service,” Caleb says. Sarah closes the book and laughs at his joking tone, because it’s okay for him to be nice to her now. She’ll be leaving Sweetside soon and will never see him again.
“Come in,” she calls out.
Caleb tries the knob and opens the door. His eyes narrow above his mask. “You didn’t lock it?”
“I guess I forgot,” she says lightly.
His forehead scrunches as he lays the tray on the vanity. Sarah’s mouth waters at the smell of marinara sauce and garlic bread. “Elijah didn’t give you any trouble?” he asks.
“No, he’s really nice.”
The lines on Caleb’s forehead deepen.He has a storm inside him, Elijah had said, and she can see it struggling to get out as keenly as she can feel the weight of Jacob Vass’s legacy in the room.
He peers at Sarah’s hands. “What happened to your thumb?”
“Paper cut. Nothing to worry about.”
But when he leaves, saying, “Lock your door,” he looks very worried indeed.
