Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(89)

My heart leaps, and I hurry to tell him the song.

The DJ sighs, reaching for a CD among the stacks in front of him. “Write this down, because it’s a historic moment. I’m going to play ‘You Get What You Give’ by New Radicals. This one’s for you, Briana.”





THIRTY


The next day I find Saul in his office. There are papers in front of him, numbers and words typed across the white spaces, but he isn’t looking at them. Instead he’s staring at the container of pens next to his hand. Probably worrying or regretting something, as we’re prone to do. Entering without invitation, I set the gun down in front of him. “I stole this from your nightstand.”

My uncle takes it wordlessly, and we both study the angles and edges of the gun like it’s one of his maps. Something that, even after exploration and discovery, still doesn’t make sense. “I’m sorry,” I add. Still he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t tell me it’s okay or ask me why I took it—it isn’t, and maybe he’s afraid to know—so I find a lifeline for both of us and grab it with both hands. “I was wondering … do you think you could teach me? How to play piano, I mean?”

From behind the desk, Hope grins at me. As her hand settles on Saul’s shoulder I remember how she saved my life in the tunnels. I wonder if she has one more miracle to give.

“I can do that,” my uncle says after a breathless pause. He tucks the gun into a drawer and finally smiles.

I nod. “Good.”

We keep looking at each other like we’re people with a wonderful shared secret. Then Saul glances down at the papers, and I step away. “Okay, well, Missy is making spaghetti. So I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“I’ll bring the fire extinguisher.”

I leave him to those pieces of paper. They don’t seem so meaningless now. I weave through the pianos, aiming for the stairs that lead up into our apartment. Movement outside the window makes me pause. Angus. He sits on the bench, holding yet another jar. With my hand on the rail I watch him. My first instinct is to go out there and thank him for what he did that night. Something tells me, though, that Angus wants to be alone; the sounds of his parents’ latest argument drifts through the ceiling. Listening to them, I realize that some promises have to be broken … and some never should have been made in the first place.

Sunlight reflects off the glass in his hands. For the first time it occurs to me that maybe those jars were never empty. Maybe they hold all his invisible pain. Everyone has to put it somewhere. Someday Angus will have to break those jars and find a new place for it. Someday. Not now.

Missy is standing in front of the stove when I enter the kitchen. She’s watching the noodles bubble with rapt attention, and I wonder how long it’s been since she dared to blink. Just as I’m about to speak, brakes squeal outside. Missy doesn’t move. “Who is that?” she mumbles at the pot.

“It’s probably Mark. He’s coming over to tutor me, remember?” I go to the window. He’s getting out of his truck, shoes crunching on the gravel. As I watch, Mark wipes his palms off on his jeans. His gaze flicks up to the glass, but the sunlight must hide me from view. I hurry to grab a notebook and pen.

“Bring him up for supper!” Missy calls on my way out the door.

The stairs shudder beneath my weight. Hearing my approach, Mark lifts his head, already smiling. The sinking sun reaches for his eyes. Strange that I’ve never noticed how blue they are before. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you ready?” An Emotion fills the space beside him. There’s a pause, and I let my glance flick to her. Hope smiles at me.

I smile back. “Ready.”



Eggs pants in the passenger seat.

As we wind down Briana’s driveway, she raises her hind leg to scratch her neck. “You better not have fleas,” I tell her. She just leans out the window to watch our progress.

When we reach the house, I see that there are no other cars besides mine and my friend’s. “Stay here.” I shift gears and twist the key in the ignition. My dog snaps at the air, distracted by a fly, and I get out. The soft material of the dress I’m wearing whispers against my skin. Birdsong follows me to the door, which is propped wide open. “Hello?” I call. A fan purrs in the corner. Cautiously I step inside.

“Alex. Come and look.”

Francis. She’s in the living room, hunched over something resting on the windowsill. The floor creaks as I approach. She moves so I can see, and there, bursting from the soil, is a white flower. Alive and vibrant and growing. “It’s a Peace Lily,” Francis tells me, touching the white petal. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah, it is.” I study her and think of how many meanings that word has.

There’s a sound from the hall, and I glance up. Briana stands in the doorway, watching us. Her hair is damp from the shower. All my carefully rehearsed apologies about the kind of friend I’ve been fly away. I can almost hear wings flapping. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Briana inclines her head. I stand and join her. When I reach her side I start to utter those ridiculous words, since they’re all I have. “Briana, I just wanted to say that I’m—”

“What if it dies?” she interrupts, her voice sharp.