True Places(43)

She laughed a little and sipped her wine. “‘The Iris deal.’ I like that.”

“She didn’t have to do it.”

Her face became serious, her blue eyes shading to navy. “She absolutely did.”

“Why?”

“Damned if I know.” She picked up her fork and stared at her plate as if seeing it for the first time. Typical Mia, she’d eaten the shrimp off the risotto and left the rest. “I’m not sure she knows.”

The conversation seemed like a riddle. He was becoming impatient. “I don’t get it. I don’t. Suzanne has so much going on already.”

“Don’t we all? That’s the point, Whit.” She stabbed the air with her fork. “It’s not a whim. It’s not a fluke. I don’t know what’s up with Suzanne and Iris, but it’s something.”

“Something?”

“Yes, something. And God knows we all need something.”

Whit looked across the table at Suzanne. She was listening to Robert describe a recent vacation in the Maldives. She wasn’t a fan of beaches, but you wouldn’t know that from her expression. He was struck by how skilled she was at not appearing exhausted, at not giving away that she’d thrown herself together in ten minutes and was probably bored out of her mind by this guy she had to pretend interested her. Maybe he did interest her; Robert was all right. That was the thing. It was so hard to tell with Suzanne, even if he asked. His wife accommodated everyone—the kids, him, her parents—keeping them together, keeping things running. Duty. Suzanne wore it like a cloak.

Suzanne caught his eye and her smile sent an uneasy ripple through his stomach, the tail flip of a fish. “We all need something,” Mia had said. Whit had tried to give Suzanne everything, to prove himself, and tonight, before Mia spoke, he’d felt he had succeeded. He was worthy.

But now, as he returned his wife’s smile, doubt settled on him like a fine mist. What if what Suzanne needed wasn’t something he could give?





CHAPTER 20

Reid was relieved the three of them had managed to clean the kitchen without fighting or, rather, without Brynn picking a fight. It helped that Iris loved washing dishes. “It’s the warm water,” she said.

He had retreated to his room to finish his calculus homework, saving his reading for AP English until after he had meditated. It was only nine o’clock, so he texted Alex to see if he wanted to come over, but Alex had blown off his work for days and was in catch-up mode. Reid couldn’t understand why Alex created stress for himself, especially now, with all the teachers cutting him slack, telling him not to worry about deadlines too much. As if what had happened on New Year’s Eve had anything to do with schoolwork. Adults assumed a kid who did that was depressed, but the truth was kids—even smart kids, especially smart kids—did stupid shit all the time for no other reason than to experiment, to see how it felt, as Alex had said. For some kids it was cutting. For other kids it was bashing the shit out of someone on the field, or being an asshole on social media. It was all the same. Everyone felt too much and not enough at the same time. Reid did, too, which was why he meditated. It flattened things out, if only for a while. Getting balanced was impossible. High school was a wild ride, and sometimes the sane response was to jump off, even if it meant getting hurt.

If only Alex would meditate. He would argue the fine points of religious theory for hours, but he wouldn’t sit still with himself. Reid didn’t press him, though. He respected Alex too much.

Reid closed his book, left his room, and went to Iris’s door, which was partly open. She was talking softly. He couldn’t make out the words, but the rhythm of her speech sounded like a conversation. Confusing, because the phone she used to listen to music wasn’t activated for calls, messaging, or browsing. His mom didn’t want Iris exposed to too much at once. Reid felt awkward about interrupting, even though he knew she couldn’t really be talking to anyone. He had turned away to go back to his room when Iris spoke clearly.

“Someone there?”

He stuck his head inside. She was sitting on the floor in profile to him, her back against the bed, facing the window. She faced a window whenever possible. As she turned toward him, she pushed something under the bed, but it was hard to see what since only the bedside lamp was on. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something scuttle along the darkened baseboard. “Did you see that?”

“A mouse.”

“Oh.” There were mice in the basement—everyone had mice in the basement—and once in a while, one would turn up in the kitchen. “Do you have food up here? Maybe my mom didn’t tell you about not bringing food upstairs.”

She dipped her chin. “She told me. But I . . .”

She motioned for him to come closer and lifted the bed skirt. He bent down. It took a moment for his eyes to adapt. Boxes of crackers and cookies, a pile of energy bars, a few apples, a bag of something, nuts maybe. A lot of food.

“Why?”

She shrugged. He noticed it was a habit she’d adopted in the last week or so, no doubt copied from Brynn—or maybe him.

“Are you planning to run away?”

She shrugged again.

Reid let it drop. At least she was trusting him enough to show him the food stash. He stood up. “Well, the mouse is a problem.”