Don't Fail Me Now(36)

As I run water for Denny’s bath, I try to wrap my sluggish brain around the fact that twenty-four hours ago the most rebellious thing I was doing was testing my aunt’s beauty products. I hadn’t even found Leah’s Instagram, and now she’s in the next room, trying to sell Cass on watching a Pretty Little Liars marathon instead of Iron Chef.

“Ow!” Denny cries suddenly. I’m spacing out, and I let the water get too hot.

“Sorry, meatball.” I adjust the temperature and fight the urge to rub his hair. I probably shouldn’t even hang out while he bathes at this age, but it seems like he wants the company, plus I don’t really know what to say to any of the others right now. First-grade-level conversation is exactly what I need.

“Can I have more bubbles?” Denny asks, and I nod, letting him squeeze the little complimentary container of lavender body wash until it wheezes and crumples in on itself. I’m relieved I can afford not to be stingy about this one simple luxury when it feels like all I’ve said this week is no.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” I ask, drawing my knees up under my chin so I’m perched on the toilet like a gargoyle. I look away from Denny’s naked torso and catch a glimpse of myself in a magnified makeup mirror, my eyes puffy and red, my chin starting to break out in gravelly little bumps. One of my mother’s favorite self-esteem boosters—“If you can’t feel good, you might as well look good!”—runs through my head, and I hide my face in my jeans, feeling tears climb the back of my throat. I’m so tired of being so worried about everything. I’m so tired of being so angry at her that she left me to deal with the mess of her life.

“Are you doing okay?” I look up to see Denny staring at me nervously, a beard of bubbles clinging to his chin.

“Yeah, sorry.” I swallow hard and force a smile, because Denny already has enough caretakers in his life who can’t keep their shit together. “I’m just tired.”

“No you’re not; you’re sad,” he says. “And mad.” He turns the faucet up so high the water thunders down into the tub, splashing droplets onto the floor. At home I’d yell at him for that, but here I decide to let it go, even though I cringe inwardly knowing that someone is going to have to come in here tomorrow and pick up the sopping wet bathmat, clean up after us for the promise of a crappy, crumpled one-dollar tip.

“Sometimes being really tired can make me act mad, but I’m not mad at you,” I say.

“Max says you’re mad at Mom.”

“I didn’t realize Max was in the bath with you.”

Denny rolls his eyes. “He’s over there,” he says, pointing to the sink like I’m blind. “Shaving.”

“Max has a beard?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. Denny ignores me.

“I miss Mom,” he says. “Why don’t you miss her? Why are you mad at her?”

“I do miss her.” I miss half of her, anyway, the half that’d suddenly wake us up with kisses and scrambled eggs when for the past twenty-four hours she’d been an empty shell, like she’d had to go away for a while but left her body with us so she could move more freely. I clear my throat, shoving the tears back down. “You can miss someone and be mad at them, too,” I say.

“Yeah,” Denny says, like he already knows. Maybe he’s not as naive as I like to think he is.

“You know, she’s coming back,” I say. “When we get back from California we’ll get her out, and then everything will be . . .” I can’t bring myself to say “fine,” so I settle for “back to normal,” which is probably true and really, really depressing.

“I wanna watch TV,” Denny says, abruptly switching his own channel. I leave so that he can towel off and put his clothes back on, and I bump into Tim, who’s hovering on the other side of the door.

He puts a finger to his lips and nods at Cass and Leah, who are lying on their stomachs side by side on the far bed, propped up on their elbows.

“That’s Aria,” Leah says, as a pretty actress’s face fills the screen. “In season one, she was dating her English teacher, but then his son got kidnapped by the people covering up her friend’s murder.”

“Damn,” Cass says, watching with rapt attention.

Tim raises his eyebrows. “Should we hold our breaths?” he whispers.

“Knowing Cass? Probably not.”

“Yeah, knowing Leah, same,” he says. “Still, you have to admit this is better than the car.”

“Of course it’s better,” I say. “I just don’t think it’s smart. There’s a difference.” His face falls, and I instantly feel bad. This is an act of kindness, after all, no matter how self-serving. So I force a smile. “It’s really nice, though.” To underscore my point, a half-naked Denny shoots between us and leaps headfirst onto the nearest bed.

“Hey,” Tim says, “why don’t you let me do some of the driving tomorrow, to give you a rest?”

“Nah, that’s okay.”

“Please? I really want to.” He gives me an apologetic smile, and I notice for the first time an almost imperceptible sprinkling of freckles across his nose. “Listen, you’re still the captain,” he says. “I’ll just be your deputy.”