Alice looked around. ‘Kill what?’ she asked frantically.
‘Spider,’ Briar said, pointing. ‘Oh my god, Ally, kill that motherfucker right fucking now!’
Alice paused and laughed, kneeling and sticking her hand into the shower.
‘Don’t!’ Briar’s voice was high and shrill. ‘Don’ttouchit.’
‘Bri…’ Alice had the audacity to sound stern. She straightened, a daddy longlegs crawling across her index finger. ‘It’s harmless.’
‘It’s evil,’ Briar muttered. Alice walked out of the bathroom, the hand carrying the insect cradled against her torso.
‘It’s not even a real spider,’ Alice explained. ‘No venom, no pincers. It’s more afraid of you than you are of it.’
‘I seriously doubt that.’ Briar held the screen door open for Alice, then watched as she descended the porch steps. Alice put her hand against one of the nearby trees and waited patiently for the daddy longlegs to crawl off.
‘You were very brave,’ she teased. Briar rolled her eyes and took a bite of pizza to avoid having to respond. They settled on the porch swing, listening to the water drip off the leaves above them and onto the cabin’s tin roof. There was a cool breeze blowing, tickling the hairs on the back of Briar’s neck. The sun was down, and the receding light was a deep purple, casting everything in shadow.
‘I’m going to miss this.’ Briar sighed, surprised to hear the words come from her own mouth. Not because they were untrue, but because she’d sworn not to talk to Alice about any feelings concerning their arrangement.
Alice didn’t react at all, just stroking along Briar’s spine. A faint hum was the only confirmation that she’d even heard.
‘I’m not going to try to persuade you not to sell it,’ Alice said. Briar turned to look at her. Alice was gazing out at the forest, where fireflies were flitting around, glowing yellow-green. Leave it to Alice to be utterly oblivious to how Briar felt about her.
‘I’ve thought about keeping it,’ Briar admitted, trading one heartache for another. ‘I just can’t run this place. I’ll never be my mom.’ She felt tears prick at her eyes, and she scrubbed at them, frustrated that she still had tears to shed. ‘But letting it go also seems wrong.’
Alice slid closer, her hand drifting down to tuck Briar into her side. Briar let her head fall onto Alice’s shoulder. The tears kept coming, but for once she didn’t mind crying in front of someone else.
‘I just…’ she continued, ‘I don’t know why she made it my decision, as if I didn’t have enough to deal with. She didn’t trust me enough to tell me her cancer came back, but sure, I’ll know what to do with her entire legacy.’ She let out a humorless laugh. ‘It’s so typical of her: big ideas, leave the details to me. I’ll sort it out.’
‘It’s not fair,’ Alice murmured.
‘No, you know what’s not fair?’ She pulled away from Alice’s grip. ‘That she told you she was dying before she toldme. You know what’s not fair? Her cancer coming back after five fucking years and killing her in a matter of months. You know what’s not fair?’ Briar choked on her breath, gritting her teeth against the grief threatening to overwhelm her, needing to voice the thought that had been haunting her all summer. ‘That I didn’t do more to save her.’
‘Oh,’ Alice said. Her eyes were wide and searching as she reached up to grip Briar’s cheeks in both hands. ‘There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.’
Briar’s lower lip trembled. Her throat was dry, a large lump making breathing difficult. She wanted to close her eyes, to cut herself off from Alice’s gaze, but she couldn’t. ‘I just— I put my whole life on hold. I was right there. I was ready. And it didn’t matter. In the end, she didn’t even tell me what was happening.’
‘I know,’ Alice said, tucking Briar back into the crook of her shoulder and squeezing her arms around her tightly.
Briar wasn’t sure how long she cried, only that slowly she was able to focus on all the places she and Alice were pressed together, the soft touch of their knees, the heat of Alice’s skin under her cheek, Alice’s fingers digging into her waist. She felt calmer, her mind clearing.
The profound exhaustion that only came from a full-body cry threatened to overtake her. She raised her head, glancing at Alice and dreading any reaction from her. Briar couldn’t handle pity, or understanding, or grief. She had no more room for anyone else’s emotions.
Alice’s expression remained impassive, taking in Briar’s red, snotty appearance as if she were cataloguing changes in a petri dish. She rose, guiding Briar back to their bedroom. Alice stripped the tear-stained tank top over Briar’s head and replaced it with the ratty T-shirt Briar liked to sleep in. She gently pushed Briar onto their bed before shuffling around the room, turning off lights and closing drawers. Briar’s eyes slowly closed, comforted by the sound of Alice’s footsteps.
A warm, damp cloth was placed on her forehead, soothing the tension headache that was forming. Alice swiped the towel along her face, and down the sides of her neck. She scrubbed Briar’s left arm and then the right, the pressure of her fingertips releasing tension Briar didn’t even know she was holding. Alice moved onto her legs, cleaning her thighs and around her knees, kneading at her calves in a way that made Briar groan softly. Her moans turned to giggles as Alice reached her feet, dragging the washcloth between her toes before finally washing away the grime on the bottom of each foot.
She snuggled beside Briar, folding easily around her and drawing the top sheet over them.
Something important had shifted between them, but sleep claimed Briar before she could name it.
Chapter 24
Alice
The summer was ending.
It had always been like this. There would come a time when Alice would realize fall was impending, and her brain would flip to prematurely mourn the end of camp and the return to real life, counting the days as though she was facing the worst kind of sentence upon returning home.
