44
I fill every room inthe house with candles, from cellar to attic, though I can’t light them or I’ll have a house fire on my hands in minutes. Then I retrieve my art supplies and begin to paint. I’ve been working on a custom set of tarot cards for weeks now. Over time, the theme has morphed from an idyllic nature setting to one specific to the lake house. Right now I can’t get that night out of my head. I start with the lake in rich, sapphire blue, the boat on top framed by a velvet sky. Anxiety begins to build up in my chest as I look for a place to paint Ryan. Because I don’tknowwhere he was. I add Kennedy and try to imagine once more, but my mother is right about me. I see nothing. I paint thick, ruby red over the water in turbulent waves, add violent stitches into the sky, all the unfairness of not knowing, of the worst that could be. And then I paint a card for Chelsea—who didn’t go out on the boat either, but came back with the others—on the dock, watching.She came back with the others.I scrawl an inscription at the bottom of each and set them neatly in a corner to dry, then wait up in the attic for the others in a circle of candles, Mila’s lighter in my pocket, a single candle lit to light the rest. After everyone has gathered in the circle, I walk the perimeter and light each one.
“Should we join hands?” Mila asks. She snaps her gum. Nerves maybe. Or maybe she’s just bored.
Kennedy glares at her, a scolding, motherly look.
“Yes. Unbroken circle.” I’ve placed myself between Kennedy and Chelsea so that I don’t have to deal with Chase. I can’t even wrap my head around the fact that we just slept together and he has a date here with him. He’s been avoiding my eyes. I think that’s the worst part. He owes me a real explanation. More than that. But at the very least he owes me the truth.
I try to wipe it all out of my head. This is more important.
“So, what’s next? We chant or burn a goat or what?” Mila bounces her knees up and down.
I remember hating her, but I don’t remember her being this obnoxious. “No, we don’t burn a fucking goat. Do you see any goats?”
She shrugs. “I don’t see any ghosts, either.”
This close. I’m this close to punching her. But I don’t. “Why don’t you start?”
That wipes the smirk off her face. “What?”
“Call to Ryan. Ask him to come back and speak to us.”
She pulls her knees into her chest. “I didn’t really know him.” Her voice is small now; she is small.
“But you saw him the night he disappeared. If he died, you saw him closer to his last moments than I did. Right?” I hand my candle to her.
“He didn’t die.” The words snap off Chase’s tongue like a rubber band. Reflexive. That doesn’t mean much.
Mila stares down at the flame, and her face lights up and darkens in the flickering glow. “Ryan, will you please come talkto us?” she mumbles. She shoves the candle into Chase’s hand.
He holds it far away from his body like a stick of dynamite in a cartoon. “Hey, buddy. I’m here. Speak up if you want to. We all miss you.”
He nudges Kennedy with his elbow and she takes the candle, holding one hand underneath to catch any dripping wax. “Ryan, sweetie, we’re all here waiting for you to come back. Whenever you’re ready, you know the door is open.” She passes the candle to me, then casts her eyes down to the floor.
“Ryan, I know you’re out there. I feel it. At home, at school, everywhere I go. I feel it stronger in this house, and I won’t leave until I hear from you. Talk to me.” I wait. But nothing happens. I reluctantly hand the candle to Chelsea.
She heaves a big sigh and concentrates on the flames. She is so fake. Chelsea and her sight. Instead of saying anything coherent, though, she whispers something so softly it’s impossible to make out, her lips barely moving, her eyes narrowed, so focused on the candle it looks like she’s intent on moving it with her mind or something. I try to read her lips, but I can’t.
“Share it with the class,” Mila finally says.
Chelsea startles. “Sorry. I can’t really think of anything good.” She hands the candle back to me.
She did, though. She thought of something good. It just wasn’t something she felt like sharing. Just like Chelsea to keep her precious little Ryan secrets from me, even now, after she’s played her part in silencing him, maybe forever.
I place the candle back in the center of the circle, and we join hands again.
“Now what?” Chase whispers.
“We wait. Open your mind and wait.” I know that if the worst did happen, Ryan will speak to me. I may not have been the favorite in life. Chelsea may have been his chosen one while I was left to gather clues and put on a show of knowing, of twin closeness. But it’s my turn now. I’m all he has left.
He wasn’t the perfect brother. The favorite child doesn’t have to be. He can think mostly of himself and his wants, and Ryan had many, and toss around little kindnesses like favors. I was always running after him for approval somehow, ever since we were little, because if he approved, so did Mom and Dad. It was the opposite with our friends. I was the one everyone liked. It was a confusing balancing act. The portrait of the unbreakable bond for all our friends, because if I faltered, he would be alone. And if I lost his approval, my parents would be relentless. Why couldn’t I be practical like Ryan? Play sports. Focus on school instead of art. Stop dressing like a hooker and talking like a truck driver. Be a lady. They were such hypocrites. They hated the Hartfords, but they wanted us to become them.
But I’m getting distracted.
Clear my mind. Clear as crystal. I picture running water. Pure, untainted, fresh water. It pools and stills and I see Ryan reflected in it, underneath the surface. Eyes open, mouth open, smiling. Speaking.
“Come out,” I whisper.