The People We Keep(58)
Carly laughs. “If someone saw you,” she says, “they’d think you were raised by wolves.”
“I wish,” I say, and she laughs even harder.
“Me too. Wolves take care of their own.”
I place the crown on her head. Her howl is a low, mournful song.
Eventually, we’re dry enough for tights, then shirts, then the rest of it. Then the fire fades enough that we need our jackets. Carly kicks dirt at the embers with the side of her boot. I copy her. Soon the glow is completely gone. And then it’s us in the moonlight, cold wind against our faces, and the sound of our boots on the road as we walk to the car. Instead of singing, I tell Carly about the motorhome and the spread of land and the house that never happened, and how my dad left me for Irene.
“Do you think,” she asks, “you were better off alone in the woods than with the wrong people?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and then we’re quiet. Our footsteps don’t sound like Cecilia this time.
“I guess,” Carly says, “what matters most is that they were the wrong people and we should have had the right ones.” She puts her arm around my waist. It makes us both walk slower, but I don’t mind.
* * *
Carly parks in front of Adam’s house. We have the heat cranked. My hair is still damp, and the back of my neck feels like a muggy afternoon in August. I don’t want to leave our warm bubble. I don’t want our night to end.
“You want to stay?” I ask. I know Adam wouldn’t mind.
She shakes her head. “I’m going to crash so hard in my own bed. I’m going to take up the whole damn thing. And then when I wake up, I’m going to eat cereal in my underwear and watch cartoons and laugh with my mouth full.”
I picture Carly and her octopus sleeping large and happy.
“The question is,” Carly says as I collect my bag from under the seat, “are we tough enough to do this in January?”
I laugh. “I will if you will.” My cheeks are dry and hot, my eyelids heavy.
“If there isn’t ice,” Carly says, “I think we’ll have to.”
She hugs me before I get out of the car, and waits for me to unlock the front door, flashing her lights before she drives away.
I climb the stairs, avoiding the squeaky spots, and open the door to Adam’s apartment, pulling the handle up as I push in to keep it from creaking. I shed my clothes in the bathroom and wrap my hair in a towel so I won’t get Adam’s pillows wet.
He wakes up when I climb into bed. “You smell like a campfire,” he says.
“We had a campfire,” I say.
He wraps his arms around me, and he is so warm, and my eyes are so tired, and when I close them I can still picture the water lapping at the shore, and the way we were wild. Nothing about me feels wrong.
— Chapter 28 —
I have the day off, so I go to Wegmans to get food for Christmas. My ears are still waterlogged from the lake and ringing from the concert. It makes everything a little surreal.
There’s a list to follow. Adam and I planned meals for the whole weekend over breakfast.
“Sweet potatoes!” I shouted.
“Marshmallows or no marshmallows?” Adam asked.
“Duh,” I said, laughing.
Adam wrote marshmallows on the list. “How do you feel about cranberry sauce?”
“I could take it or leave it.”
“I like the kind that comes out shaped like the can.”
“Write it down!”
I grab all of it—every last thing we want. Adam never lets me pay for anything, but I’ve been saving for our feast. Adam promised Billy he’d help with the Christmas Eve rush at the tree farm, and his plan was to pick up groceries on the way home. I swiped the list from his messenger bag when he was in the shower and when I get home I’ll call him at Billy’s to say it’s already done.
When the groceries are bagged and ready to go and the cashier tells me it will be ninety-seven dollars, I reach into my purse to grab my wallet and it isn’t anywhere. I’m calm for like five seconds because my stupid bag is huge and things get lost in there, but then I remember how everything ended up all over the bathroom floor at The Haunt and I start sweating. Like crazy sweating. Like I can’t get out of my coat fast enough and everyone is staring at me because instead of paying, I’m tearing my coat off in the middle of the store. And then I think about why everything ended up on the bathroom floor to begin with and I start crying. Big fat tears and my lip is shaking and it’s all so embarrassing I can’t even handle it.
“I’ll be back for it,” I say between sobs, looking at my hands, avoiding eye contact with the checker. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.” And I just walk out of the store.
I get in my car, shaking all over like I’m made of rubber bands. My wallet could have been lost in the bathroom. It might have skidded across the floor under one of the stalls, or to the far corner by the sink, under the radiator, or behind the garbage can. But I know that’s not what happened. I know where I have to go to get it back.
— Chapter 29 —
I pound on the door to Rosemary’s apartment hard with my fist and don’t stop even though my hands are freezing and every hit hurts. There’s a grey Saab in the driveway, and I’m sure it’s hers. I’m sure she’s home. I punch at the door like maybe I’ll just break it down. She still doesn’t answer. I start kicking.