A Flicker in the Dark(62)

“Well, I’m fine,” I say, raising my arms in a shrug. “I don’t really know what to tell you.”

“How are you dealing with all this?”

“With what, Cooper?”

“Come on,” he says. “You know.”

I sigh, my eyes flickering over to the empty living room, to the couch that suddenly seems so comfortable, so inviting. I let my shoulders slouch a little; they’re so tight. I’m tight.

“It’s bringing back memories,” I say, taking another drink. “Obviously.”

“Yeah. For me, too.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to determine what’s real and what’s not.”

The words escape before I have a chance to reel them back in; I can still taste them on my tongue, that admission I had been trying so hard to just swallow down. Forget was ever there. I look down at my wineglass, suddenly half empty, then back up at Cooper.

“It’s just so familiar, I mean. There are so many similarities. Doesn’t it seem a little coincidental to you?”

Cooper eyes me, his lips parting gently.

“What kind of similarities, Chloe?”

“Forget it,” I say. “It’s nothing.”

“Chloe,” Cooper says, leaning toward me. “What are those?”

I follow his stare toward the bottle of Xanax still on the counter, that tiny orange bottle holding a mountain of pills inside. I look back down at my wineglass again, at the finger of liquid remaining.

“Have you been taking those?”

“What? No,” I say. “No, those aren’t mine—”

“Did Daniel give you those?”

“No, Daniel didn’t give me those. Why would you say that?”

“His name is on the bottle.”

“Because they’re his.”

“Then why are they open on the counter when he’s out of town?”

Silence settles between us. I glance out the window, at the sun beginning to set outside. The noises of the night are starting to emerge—the scream of the cicadas and chirping of crickets and all of the other animals that begin to come alive in the dark. Louisiana at night is a noisy place, but I prefer it to silence. Because when it’s silent, you can hear everything. Muffled breaths in the distance, footsteps digging deep into drying leaves. A shovel being dragged through the dirt.

“I’ve been worried about this.” Cooper exhales, pushing his hands through this hair. “It’s not safe for him to be bringing all those drugs into the house with your history.”

“What do you mean all those drugs?”

“He’s a pharmaceutical sales rep, Chloe. His briefcase is full of that shit.”

“So? I have access to drugs, too. I can prescribe them.”

“Not to yourself.”

I feel of a wave of tears pricking at my eyes. I hate that Daniel is taking the blame for this, but I can’t think of another explanation. Another way out without telling Cooper that I’ve been calling pills in for myself under Daniel’s name. So instead, I’m quiet. I let Cooper believe it. I let his distrust for my fiancé sink deeper, simmer louder.

“I’m not here to fight,” he says, standing up from the stool and walking toward me. He wraps my body in a deep hug, his arms thick and warm and familiar. “I love you, Chloe. And I know why you do it. I just wish you would stop. Get some help.”

I feel a tear escape, gliding down my cheek and leaving a trail of salt in its wake. It lands on Cooper’s leg, leaving a small, dark stain. I bite my lip, hard, trying to stop the rest from falling.

“I don’t need help,” I say, pushing down on my eyes with my palms. “I can help myself.”

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he says. “It’s just—this relationship you’re in. It doesn’t seem healthy.”

“It’s fine,” I say, lifting my head from his shoulder, wiping the back of my hand across my cheek. “But I think you should go.”

Cooper tilts his head. This is the second time in one week I’ve threatened to choose Daniel over my brother. I think back to the engagement party, standing on my back porch. That ultimatum I’d given him.

I want you in this wedding. But it’s happening, with or without you.

But I can see now, from the hurt in his eyes, that he hadn’t believed me.

“I can see that you’re trying,” I say. “And I get it, Cooper. I really do. You’re protective, you care. But no matter what I say, Daniel is never going to be good enough for you. He’s my fiancé. I’m marrying him next month. So if he’s not good enough for you, I guess I’m not, either.”

Cooper takes a step back, his fingers curling into his open palm.

“I am just trying to help you,” he says. “To look after you. That’s my job. I’m your brother.”

“It’s not your job,” I say. “Not anymore. And you need to leave.”

He stares at me for a second longer, his eyes darting back and forth from me to the pills on the counter. He extends his arm, and I think he’s going to grab them, take them, but instead, he hands me the key ring that holds my spare. The memory of me giving it to him flashes through my mind—years ago, when I had first moved in, I had wanted him to have it. You’re always welcome here, I had said as we sat cross-legged on the mattress in my bedroom, foreheads damp with sweat from assembling my headboard, Chinese takeout cartons spilling onto the floor. The oily noodles leaving greasy smears on the hardwood. Besides, I’m going to need someone to water my plants when I’m gone. I stare at the key now, dangling from his pointer finger. I can’t bring myself to take it back—because once I do, I know that it’s final. That it can’t be returned. So instead, he places it gently on the counter, turns around, and walks out the door.