“And I guess your dad packed that one,” I say.
“They wanted to make sure I’d be safe,” Ethan says, pulling out a rolled up sleeping bag, and then a folded-up blanket. He puts everything else back and replaces the top. “If you need to shower, do it now,” he says. “I’m going to sleep in the tub.”
“No, don’t do that. You take the bed.” I reach for the sleeping bag and blanket. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”
I see him bristling, his jaw clenching slightly like he might argue, but his shoulders sag and he shoves the sleeping bag and blanket into my arms. “Suit yourself.” He swipes a pack of crackers from the table and sits on the edge of the bed. He turns on the TV and starts flipping through the channels.
I grab a bag of trail mix. “You think maybe you should call your mom and dad?”
He shrugs, staring at a fuzzy rerun ofMama’s Family.
“I guess you don’t need to right now.” I sit down at the table and eat some of the trail mix and drink some of the water. Wewatch the TV in silence for a time. Then I reach for my bag and take out the manila envelope with the photos and set it on the table by Ethan’s cigarettes and lighter.
“Gonna shower,” I tell him, and he barely acknowledges me.
Once I find the towels, and I’m under the hot—albeit weak—stream, I force myself to take a long, deep breath.
Today was stressful. And not just for Ethan. I’m used to taking care of other people and ignoring what’s going on inside of me. I’ll “skip over” myself if it’s a matter of doing something for someone else. Keeping them safe. Keeping them sane.
The hot water helps the strain of the day wash away, and I roll my head from side to side under the spray. Then I get out, towel off, and realize I didn’t bring my clothes in the bathroom with me, so I’ll have to go out into the room in just a towel. I hesitate and suddenly feel shy.
I’m pretty sure Ethan and I have been around each other like this before. We would go swimming in the river in the summer. But I feel funny about it now. I don’t know why. But I step out of the bathroom and rush over to my bag to get some clothes.
When I look over at the bed, I see Ethan sitting there, hugging his knees, rocking back and forth.
“Ethan?”
He peeks up at me over his arm and sniffs.
I go over to him. “Are you okay?”
He wipes the tears from his face where his eyeliner has smudged and rolls his eyes at me. “Do I look okay to you?”
In one of his hands, I notice he’s clutching that picture of us on the rocks at the river. I gently take it from his hand and set it on the bedside table. I sit beside him and place a pensive hand on his shoulder.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know why in the hell”—he sniffs again—“I thought I could just do this all alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I assure him.
“I know but…” He swallows. “I didn’t know you’d actually show up. So, I was just going to do this all by myself. And…” He shakes his head again. “I wouldn’t have been able to. I wouldn’t have made it.” Fresh tears stream down his eyeliner-stained cheeks. “I would’ve just turned around and gone back home. Like a fucking coward. And even with someone with me, I still can’t help but fuck things up. He has to spend the night in some strange old lady’s house because of me.”
“It’s my fault, Ethan,” I say gently. “It’s my fault we left his ashes, okay? I shouldn’t have brought up the past, like you said. It’s my fault.”
He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “No. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have taken them in.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “I mean, is there a guidebook? For what to do with your brother’s ashes?”
I gingerly put an arm around him. “This is new for me too. And I miss him. Everett. I really do.”
For a brief second, Ethan stiffens under my arm like he might argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he cries silently into his elbow, and I move closer to him, sitting behind him, and wrapping my arms around him. He lets me. He even relaxes against me a little.
I don’t want to say anything that’s going to upset him even more, so I just don’t say anything at all. Instead, I lean back against the headboard and take Ethan with me. He lays back against me, his back to my chest, and I let him cry it out because he needs that.
And maybe I do too.
But I can’t shed a tear while Ethan’s in my arms. Eventually, he stops crying and falls asleep.
When I next open my eyes, the motel room is dim except for a lamp and an outline of white daylight around the curtains.
I sit up on an elbow and find that I’m under the covers. The towel I had wrapped around me came undone from around my waist. And I’m alone in the bed.
