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Ethan, don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!
SEVEN
Once darkness has settled over Hemlock Circle like a funeral shroud, I reach for my phone. Even though I’m not supposed to, I feel the need to tell Claudia about Billy. More than anyone, she understands how much what happened to him has affected me.
The phone rings five times before going to voicemail. Rather than making me miss her, the sound of her voice telling me to leave a message at the tone is soothing. It feels like old times.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say, knowing there’s no need to clarify. “Um, I just got some news about Billy.”
I tell her about Billy’s remains being found and how he’s been dead this entire time and why the police think it’s murder. I get so lost in the telling that I drone on for too long, not stopping until her phone decides I’ve talked enough and cuts me off with an abrupt beep.
I’m about to call back and continue, but decide against it and FaceTime my parents instead. A simple phone call would suffice, but lately my mother prefers video calls, even though she has yet to master the nuances of them. When she answers, she holds the phone at a too-close angle that cuts off both her chin and the bulk of her forehead.
“Hey, honey,” she says. “Is something wrong with the house?”
The question, delivered with both urgency and resignation, tells me two things—that I get my anxiety from her and that she doesn’t think too highly of my adulting skills. Both of which I have neither the time nor the headspace to think about right now.
“No,” I say. “I just—”
The image on my phone shakes when my father enters the room wearing a turquoise polo and a white visor. I wonder if, as a former professor of sociology, he realizes it’s taken him only a week to turn into the clichéd Florida retiree.
“Hey, sport,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“You look tired,” my mother adds. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
I don’t know what to say because I’m not sure why I called. I can’t tell them about Billy, like I did with Claudia. My parents have connections here, and they’ll surely spread the word if they find out. It’s best to stay quiet for now.
“I just wanted to see how you were settling in,” I say. “People around here have been asking.”
“Great,” my father says. “Everything’s unpacked.”
My mother nods proudly. “And we met some of the neighbors.”
She jostles the phone, giving me a glimpse of the giant Monet print that had once hung in the living room. Seeing it now grace the walls of a different location is a surreal reminder of how much things have changed recently. Too much. I suddenly long to reach into the phone, yank my parents through the screen, and have them hold me the way they did when I was ten and Billy first vanished.
The feeling pulls me to the edge of confessing the forbidden.They found Billy.
I even get the first word out.
“They—”
The sound of the doorbell prevents me from saying the rest. Perfect timing.
“Someone’s at the door,” I say. “But things are great here. That’s why I called. To say you don’t need to worry about me.”
I end the call and answer the door, finding Russ on the front steps carrying a bottle of bourbon. “We’re getting trashed,” he announces.
Having no reason to disagree, I invite him inside. We sit at the kitchen island, the place where I used to eat lunch, scarfing down grilled cheese sandwiches or burning the roof of my mouth on Chef Boyardee ravioli fresh out of the microwave. Now I set out a pair of rocks glasses and let Russ dole out two generous pours. Because the news about Billy left me with zero appetite, I also grab some Chex Mix so I’m not drinking on an empty stomach.
“Here ya go,” Russ says as he slides a glass toward me, the bourbon inside sloshing to the rim. He lifts his in a toast. “To Billy.”
“To Billy,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his.
Then we both drink, Russ downing half his glass in a single gulp. I take only a sip, relishing the soothing warmth it brings to my chest.
“Did you break the rules and tell anyone yet?” Russ says.
“No,” I lie, thinking it best to leave out my call to Claudia.