The Cabin at the End of the World(40)

She whispers, “No,” to make herself look away from the deck and Redmond. She crawls on all fours to the end table pushed up against the wall next to the bathroom. The yellow lamp looks black, like it’s its own shadow. She reaches up and tries to turn it on. Two, three clicks of the spinning switch, and it doesn’t work.

“Hey, Wen.” It’s Leonard. “What’s up?”

He sounds like he’s right behind her, and his shadow is heavier than a lead blanket, the kind they put over her chest for when she had x-rays, and she freezes with her hand on the lamp, willing herself to fade into the darkness of the night room.

Leonard is not right behind her. He sits up on the couch. The springs groan under his weight. He asks, “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

Wen shakes her head.

He says, “It’s okay.”

Nothing is okay. She knows this. Wen shouldn’t say anything to him; she knows this, too, but she can’t help it. She whispers, “I want a light. I always go to sleep with a light on.”

He says, “Come back to bed, and I’ll tell you why we didn’t leave one on for you.”

There’s an echo inside of her, coming from far enough away that the speaker cannot be identified. It might be her voice, it might be one or both of her dads, or a mix, or someone else entirely. This voice repeats what Daddy Andrew said to her earlier. The voice tells her to run, to go onto the deck and never mind about Redmond because he’s not getting up ever again. Run now. Go outside and run and hide. Don’t be afraid of the dark out there. Be afraid of what’s happening inside and what will happen inside. It says, This is your only chance now now now now.

She can’t, and in her head, she tells the voice she’s sorry.

Wen stands up, moving like a sunrise. She considers sitting with one of her dads but they are both asleep, their heads slumped forward. She walks the short distance back to her mattress and disappears under the blankets, remaining with her head covered. Her pillow is cold against her face.

Leonard says, “We didn’t leave any lights on because it’s better for Eric’s head. He needs sleep and he needs it dark for his head to get better.”

Why do adults keep telling her that dark makes heads better? She thinks they’re lying and that they lie way more than any kid ever does. Wen flips over and faces Leonard. He has his blanket pulled up to his chin so he’s only a big head. She says, “How do you know?”

“Sabrina told me and she’s a nurse. The light hurts his head so after he sleeps in the dark he’ll feel much better in the morning.”

“He will?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Another lie, but it’s one she wants to believe.

She says, “Then you’ll make us choose again.”

“I won’t make you, but I will ask. I have to.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry. But I have to.”

“I can’t be friends with you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I have no choice.”

“Who is making you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who is making you do this to us?”

“God.” Leonard says the one-syllable word sheepishly and he has a strange look on his face. Speaking the word aloud brings him both great relief and terror.

There’s a boy at Wen’s school who talked about God all the time and insisted that his god was a he. That boy was annoying and Wen avoided playing with him whenever she could. Daddy Andrew makes it a point to tell her about all kinds of religions and gods from around the world. There are so many it’s confusing, but she enjoys listening to the different stories even if some of them frighten her. She knows that Daddy Eric believes in a god and that he even goes to church by himself sometimes on Sunday mornings. He doesn’t invite Wen or Daddy Andrew to go with him and he doesn’t seem to like to talk about his god or religion so she doesn’t ever ask him. It’s almost like it’s this secret Daddy Eric keeps under his bed instead of the old pictures. Wen isn’t sure what she believes in and sometimes that fills her with anxiety and a desire to simply choose a random religion like someone might choose to become a fan of a sports team because of the mascot or the color of the uniform.

She says, “I don’t believe you. Why do you keep lying to me?”

“It’s the truth.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I wish I was. I wish more than anything.”

“Why would God make you do this?”

Leonard sighs and shifts around under his blanket. “I’m not sure. I’m not. That’s the truth, Wen. It’s something I’ve thought a lot about, but I can’t do anything to change it, if that makes sense.”

Wen blinks, and sudden and surprising tears fall from her eyes. She says, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to. We’re not supposed to make sense of it. We’re just supposed to do.”

“Your god is a killer then.”

“Wen, no. It’s not like—”

“And if we don’t choose, then something else bad is going to happen, like another terrible earthquake?”

“Not another earthquake, but yes, something very bad.”