Page 178 of Soul So Dark

I know what she’s implying, what she’s been trying to avoid for the last six years. All of us are gone, in one way or another, and our bedrooms only exist as time capsules. But this isn’t about mine or Colson’s room, it’s about the one that stays shut, sealed like a sacred sarcophagus to preserve the fading enchantment still trapped inside.

If Evie’s belongings aren’t there, then comes the stark and dreadful reality that neither is she.

I take a deep breath, acutely aware that only a couple of months ago, I never would’ve asked what I’m about to. Because up until now, I was also able to set aside my grief, only slightly diluted with the passage of time. Now, I no longer have that luxury.

“Do you want me to help you?”

Relief washes over my mom’s face and remains there until I follow her upstairs. Evie’s room hasn’t actually been sealed shut since she drove to Canaan and never came back. I came in here once to look for my spare headphones and another time for a sweatshirt that Evie borrowed. It’s eerie, but not in a frightening way. It kind of feels like she’s still here…hanging out.

“Scott said you’re welcome to have anything you’d like or anything that has special meaning to you,” my mom says as she surveys the task before us. “I know he doesn’t want to get rid of anything, but I think it bothers him just as much for her things to be sitting here, untouched.”

“I’d offer to take her clothes because she had good style, but that would be a lost cause.”

There’s no way my giant hips and ass would come close to fitting in Evie’s jeans. And even if they did, they would be miles long on my short legs. The best I could hope for would be her tops only because my tits are tiny compared to hers.

That one draws a laugh from my mom. “Tell me about it. When I was your age, they didn’t put elastic in denim. My waist was in proportion, but I needed the jaws of life to button my pants and hope the bottoms didn’t rip by lunchtime.”

“And now you know why I wore leggings and running shorts all the time,” I grin.

I take a seat on the edge of Evie’s bed and gaze around the room, wondering where we’re even going to start.

“Did you know this is the first thing Evie ever brought to our house?” my mom asks, taking a seat next to me.

I follow her eyes to the quilt laid across the end of the bed, still a vibrant shade of green even though its edges are worn from use.

“Really?”

She nods. “Her grandmother made it for her and this was the quilt that was always on her bed at her mom’s house. But the first weekend she came here from Canaan, she brought this quilt because she said this house would start to feel like home faster. Evie was always ready for the next adventure and she never had the patience forfirst days.” She smiles with fondness. “Quilts are priceless. There’s so much history and emotion sewn into each one.” She runs her fingers over the stitching. “I should pack this up for Lena.”

But the longer I gaze at the bright green leaves and white flowers swirling across the fabric, the more I begin to think about the past, about memories packed away in my own room on campus, secreted away for my eyes only. I stand up and wander across the room to Evie’s bookshelves. Scanning the rows, I come to a black leather photo album with a tufted cover.

When I open it, the first thing I see is a photo of Evie sitting in a classroom next to a tall boy with short platinum blonde hair. Her arm is slung around his shoulders and they’re both smiling at the camera. Tucked into the plastic sleeves among the photos are small pencil drawings, movie tickets, and other memorabilia with no apparent pattern or significance.

“Who’s this?” I ask, turning the page toward my mom.

“Oh,” she arches her brow with interest and then immediately deflates again as she crosses the room. “That’s Evie’s friend who lives in Canada. He came to Canaan in the foreign exchange program,” she glances up in thought, “maybe her junior year? He was a year older, but they had art together and became such great friends—absolutely inseparable.” Then she lets out a faint laugh, “But he wasnother boyfriend, she made that very clear. She was actually supposed to visit him in Vancouver.”

So, this is the guy she didn’t tell Colson about.

I run my fingers over the dimpled leather, chewing my lip as I flip through the pages.

Suddenly, I feel my mom’s hand on my arm. “I need to apologize to you,” she says firmly.

“For what?”

“For what happened—toyou—on the day Colson found Evie.And then what happened that night, with Colson.”

Even though all of this has been simmering beneath the surface for the past few weeks, I am not prepared for my mom to bring it up while we’re standing in the middle of Evie’s bedroom looking through the remains of her life.

“I was talking to your aunt last week after your cousin was in that car accident. He’s home now, thank God, but she mentioned having to go fetch the children and keeping them while his wife was with him at the hospital. And after that, we got to talking about Evie.” She pauses, the silence hanging heavy between us. “I realized that no one came and got you. I don’t think you even went to school, did you?”

“No,” I murmur, gripping the album tighter.

“I’m just—” she knits her brow, “I’m so sorry, Dallas.”

What do I say?It’s OK?Because it’s still not OK.

“And after that night…now, I think I should’ve said something to Colson and taken him to a doctor. I can’t imagine him living with what happened.”