Open House(20)

I laugh. “You know what I mean,” I say, but it sounds too hollow in the mostly empty lobby.

“I don’t,” she says, and I realize she really wants me to explain it. Haley’s way smarter than me when it comes to academic stuff, but sometimes the day-to-day life stuff she doesn’t get as quickly.

“Haven’t you ever been with a bunch of people, and you still feel really lonely?” I ask.

“Yeah, all the time,” Haley says.

“Well, that’s what I mean.”

She considers this. “I got it,” she says. We stand there eating cookies together for a bit, not really needing to talk, just able to be with each other. For a while now I’ve wanted to tell Haley that I’m sleeping with Noah, but I want to wait until he’s officially my boyfriend because she’ll worry less.

“So see you tonight?” I ask. “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” she says. We lock eyes, and all the years we have together fill in the spaces between our words. When we embrace again, she feels like home.





ELEVEN

Haley

Haley’s head rested against Dean’s chest. It was nearly seven, and they were back home in their bedroom in the 1950s bungalow Josie and Noah found them to rent. The walls of the house were mostly bare, and the rooms had minimal furnishings. It gave the bungalow a desolate feeling that wore on Haley, but the house was temporary, a placeholder, somewhere they could stay before their real life started. She snuggled closer to Dean. “And then Chris just passed me the brochures and left the library,” she said, “which doesn’t even make sense because we already have the list of places we’re seeing this weekend.”

“Maybe they’re private listings,” Dean said. They’d kicked aside the pillows and lay on the layers of winter blankets that dressed the bed.

“They’re not,” Haley said.

Dean shrugged. “He’s a weird dude,” he said. “And the three of them act like real estate is the most important thing. They’re obsessed.”

“So are we lately,” Haley said. “And it’s their job.”

“I guess,” Dean said. He was so warm beside her.

“Don’t you think about our life in each of these houses?” she asked. “All the things we could be, all the things that could go wrong?”

“I don’t think about it like that,” Dean said, shifting his weight farther away from her.

“Why not?” Haley asked.

“Because it’s not helpful,” Dean said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

They were quiet for a moment. “Chris came to find me in the library because he wanted to talk about Emma,” Haley said. “I swear I didn’t misinterpret things. It had nothing to do with the brochures.” Dean rested his hand on her bare shoulder, and even though he wasn’t saying anything, it was better with him there.

“I’m sorry, Haley,” he finally said, and she melted into him. She was exhausted, but it was too early to sleep.

“Do you think my dad’s going to be okay?” she asked softly.

“I do,” Dean said. He slung one of his long legs over hers. It was pitch-black outside, no stars, and the only light in the room came from a desk lamp that cast eerie shadows over the cream walls and made the writing utensils look like weapons.

“He’s so close to the edge,” Haley said. “We all are, I think. But he seems the most likely to fall off it. It was like he lost Emma again tonight, in some way.”

“And for you?” Dean asked.

Haley tilted her chin to see his features drawn. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m not thinking straight. I keep thinking about Susie, actually.”

“Who’s Susie?”

“My cadaver at school, I’ve told you that,” Haley said, trying to keep the snap out of her voice. “She looks like Emma, remember?”

Dean nodded, adjusted his body on the blankets. He would remember that part.

“I don’t know how Susie died yet,” Haley said. “But I’ll likely find out over the next few months. And I keep thinking about bodies and evidence, and not just evidence that leads to someone dying, but even the evidence of how they’ve lived. It’s all there in the body in some way, bad stuff like trauma, but happy scars, too—the cadaver next to mine has a cesarean scar. And ever since I started med school, I have these recurring thoughts about Emma’s body, that if I could just see her again, I would know what happened to her.” Dean was quiet. Haley swore she could hear rushing water, but it must have been a passing car or trick of the ear; they didn’t live close enough to the river for it to be real. She propped herself onto her elbow. “Do you have any memories of my sister at Yarrow?” She’d only asked this question once or twice, because Dean and Emma weren’t even acquaintances, let alone friends.

“I’m sorry, Haley,” he said, a pained look on his face. “I really don’t.”

“You must have seen her from time to time,” Haley said, her voice harder than she meant it to be.

“Sure, yeah,” Dean said quickly, clearly trying to appease her, “around campus.” His eyes cut away from hers like he didn’t want to see her cry. At work Dean was so incredibly successful, so powerful, and part of that was his ability to sense and give his high-powered clients what they needed on a moment-to-moment basis. But he couldn’t do that for Haley, and he knew it. At least not when it came to Emma.