Page 41 of The Art of Drowning

I unpacked my suitcase, started a load of laundry, and then lay on top of my covers and stared at my ceiling. My hands rested on my chest and my phone sat nearby, just in case. I’d fallen asleep like that and woke when my phone started buzzing with incoming messages.

Callum

I hate it here

I miss you

I’m leaving in the morning

I told Mom I have to go. She looked weird when I told her. Relieved? Maybe? I don’t know.

I miss you

Shit, I already said that. Sorry. My brain feels like runny pancake batter

The three little dots started to bounce, indicating that he was in the process of sending another message.

I know texting is all the rage, but I need to hear your voice

I called him then and there without hesitation. Reading Callum’s texts made me as giddy as a kid with a crush. Callum had filled out spectacularly well and even if we’d just met, he’d still be my exact type. There wasn’t a single thing about him that didn’t appeal to me. From his slightly crooked nose, to the way his front tooth crossed over the other just a little, to the thickness of his eyelashes and his soft, deep voice.

“Damien,” Callum said, his voice quiet and tight. He sounded like he was choking on his emotions.

“I’m here,” I said, my heart swooning despite my silent urge to be cool. I was anything but cool and casual where Callum was concerned. I was the opposite. Nervous. Determined. Anxious. “What do you need?”

“Nothing now.” He sighed. In the background, a door clicked shut.

“I’m sorry I had to leave.”

“Me too. My parents send their love.” Callum’s voice sounded strange.

“Is everything okay?” I knew the answer was no. Everything wasn’t okay. Callum had just lost his brother. He was stuck back home dealing with his parents’ grief, and I hadn’t even offered to stick around and help him through it. I’d tucked tail and run back home. But that town made my skin itch. Everything fit wrong. The sights. The smells. The sounds. The people. It had been like stepping into a bad movie set.

“They’re being weird, D. Even for them.”

“Weird how?”

“I get the impression that they don’t want me to open the letter.”

That made me sit up. “Why wouldn’t they want you to? What did they say?”

“They asked if I opened the envelope, and I explained that I hadn’t. That Sam and I weren’t very friendly or close and had only continued to grow apart over the years. They looked relieved that I hadn’t looked but also still scared. Like did they want me to read it? Did they want me to not read it and let whatever it is be buried with Sam?”

“You could try asking?”

He laughed. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer.”

“Bowie offered to open mine and prepare me for it. I declined, but I could do the same for you, if you’d like. I still haven’t opened mine either.

“I know we should get it over with, but I can’t bring myself to think seriously about it. Not yet.”

“I understand completely.” Maybe in five or ten years, after I’d run off and married Callum, I’d open the envelope and read what Sam had to say. Until then, fuck Sam Weeks and his stupid envelope.

TWENTY-ONE

callum

NOW