In a daze, I stagger into the house, my bad knee hurting more than usual, as if it remembers older times just as much as my mind does.
Mrs. Lowe, a voice is screaming in the back of my mind. Something happened to her. Or to Sebastian? He takes drugs, I’m damn sure of it. What if he overdosed? What if he was in an accident? What if she fell down the stairs?
So many scenarios. So many fucked-up possibilities.
The door is open a crack. I push it and enter the house, this house that it’s finally starting to feel vaguely familiar, not a home yet but maybe, given time, someday...
Hope. That sneaky, big fucking bastard.
I don’t see anyone in the hall. I check the living room, and the kitchen, but it’s all empty. Then I hear voices from upstairs, so I make my way up on shaky legs.
I see the paramedics first, and the stretcher, and then Sebastian. Someone is sobbing.
It’s Mrs. Lowe, sitting on the bed where her husband is lying.
He’s dead. I don’t need anyone to tell me. It’s in the stillness of his face, of his chest, the grief on his wife’s face. The blank faces
of the paramedics who are standing in uncomfortable silence, waiting to take the body away.
The body.
Mr. Lowe, teaching me to fix a car engine, treating me like his own, clapping me on the shoulder, asking me how my day had been. Trying to make me feel at ease, treating me like a son.
And all I can think of is that this is a fucking déjà vu. It can’t be happening.
Not again.
I’m still stuck on that, when Sebastian ambles over to me and unexpectedly puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he says.
The weight of his hand is crushing me, the weight of the whole world, and yet it keeps me there, an anchor, a line to the here and now. I’m adrift in my mind, in the past and all the bad stuff, and his hold is the only thing keeping me from sinking.
Who would’ve thought that he, of all people, would know what I need, that he’d care enough to comfort me when it’s his dad who died, not mine?
That’s fucking nuts.
So I stay there in a daze, watching as the paramedics eventually load Mr. Lowe on the stretcher and carry him downstairs, as Sebastian turns to his mother and holds her as she cries, and realize I want just one thing:
To hear Gigi’s voice.
But when I call her number, she doesn’t answer.
Chapter Fourteen
Gigi
In typical Gigi fashion, I avoid Jarett in the days after Mom dropped the bomb about us moving away. I’ve seen him around at school. But he hasn’t seen me. I’ve kept out of sight. Hey, he’s done it, too, from time to time. Why should I feel guilty for needing time?
We’re more similar than I care to admit to myself, Jarett and me. Hiding from ugly truths, preferring not to look reality in the face.
But yeah, I know I need to tell him. Sydney was right.
Not that I needed her to tell me that. Of course I’ll let him know. Only I hesitate because... honestly, I’m not even sure he’ll be upset like I am. If he isn’t as sad about it as I am, it will break my heart.
Crazy. I’m crazy. He shouldn’t have the power to break my heart, not so easily, not when we’re barely friends, let alone anything more. When we haven’t ever kissed, or held hands, or professed any feelings for each other.
Feelings he probably doesn’t have.
Feelings I shouldn’t have.