Cackle(77)

Maybe my time in Rowan was just a weird, short chapter in my life that I can close and never open again. Never have to think about the people in town arguing about whether or not I’m a threat. Never have to worry about Sophie, about random ghost attacks, or curses, or tripping on mushroom tea. I could just forget it. Leave and not look back.

I’m here, I text Sam. You can call me anytime.

Like now?

Yes.

I get up and lock the door to the bedroom. I stuff a sweater in the gap between the bottom of the door and the floorboards so Ralph doesn’t come crawling in.

For an increased sense of privacy, I sit inside my closet in the narrow space between my suitcase and my dirty clothes. I close the closet door and sit in darkness, waiting for Sam to call.

What if he doesn’t call? What if I just locked myself in my own closet for nothing?

The fear doesn’t have time to marinate. My phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Annie,” he says. His voice reaches through the phone and takes my heart in its fist. It hurts. It really hurts.

“Hey, Sam.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good.” I search for something cute and clever to say but come up short. “I . . . I cut my hair.”

“You did?”

“Yep.”

“How short?”

“Pretty short. It’s at my shoulders now.”

“I bet it looks good,” he says.

“Yeah? How much you want to bet?”

“Seventy thousand dollars.”

“Yes, but how much in gold?”

“Bars or doubloons?”

“Pfft. Doubloons, Sam. Don’t you know me at all? Always doubloons.”

He laughs. “I know you, Annie. I know you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “So, what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I miss you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, and I miss you.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you since you moved out.”

“When I first moved here, I told you that I missed you and you didn’t say it back.”

“I didn’t know it then. It took me a while to realize.”

“Okay. What about Shannon?”

“This isn’t about her,” he says. “It’s about us.”

The smell of my dirty socks is fairly potent, and it contributes significantly to how surreal this moment is. Is this really happening? Does he really miss me? Do my feet really smell that bad?

“I want to see you,” he says. “I want to talk in person. Can I come see you?”

“Come here?” I ask, trying to angle toward my suitcase.

“I think it would help give us both clarity if we saw each other again.”

“Clarity on what?”

“Annie.”

“Clarity on what?”

“If we made the right choice.”

I’ve been waiting for this since the moment he broke up with me. I’ve wanted it so badly. But now that it’s here, now that it’s happening, I’m surprisingly salty. Why did it take him so long?

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t come,” he says.

“No,” I hear myself say, “I want you to. I want you to come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” It’s his voice. It’s unraveling me. I picture chaos inside my skin. Muscles dissolving. Bones crumbling into dust. I’m spineless. “I miss you so much.”

I hear a faint tapping. Ralph is awake. He’s at my bedroom door.

“Next weekend?” Sam asks. “Saturday?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, Saturday. You have my address?”

Ralph’s whining now.

“Somewhere. Actually, can you send it to me?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go. I’ll text you my address. Let me know what time Saturday, okay?”

“Probably later,” he says. “I have to rent a car. It’s a long drive.”

“Okay,” I say. “We’ll talk soon.”

“Annie,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“If I come, I’ll probably have to stay over. I don’t think I can make it there and back in one day.”

“Okay,” I say. Ralph is going nuts, wailing away.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I really have to go. Bye.”

I hang up and stumble out of the closet. It’s hard to walk with no spine.

I move the sweater and open the bedroom door.

Ralph is standing there wearing a giant frown. I can see it in his eyes. He’s suspicious.

“Sorry,” I say, faking a yawn. “I was asleep. Must have dropped my sweater.”

He marches past me into the room. Fortunately, he’s too sleep-drunk to do any investigating. He climbs up the nightstand to his bed. He turns his back to me and resumes his snoozing.

I take my phone into the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub. I send Sam my address and then delete my text and call history.

I set my phone down and curl up in the tub. It feels safe. Quiet and safe.

I used to think that if Sam ever came back, I would be ecstatic, I would be instantly freed of any and all sadness, but right now I can’t shake this sudden, indomitable dread.