Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

C lover lay in her new bed with her eyes squeezed shut. It had been a long day, and her body was sore in ways it hadn’t been for a while. They’d moved quite a bit of her things, and she was confident they would be able to get the rest tomorrow.

Her new home was beautiful. Whit had done a wonderful job of restoring it. The rooms were cozy though not too small. But it was cold here, like living in a museum. Everything was just so. There was no life, just memories.

Clover recalled the sideboard in the dining room—an ancestral altar to Whit’s family. There were pictures on the walls of those who’d passed with trinkets and offerings on the table. It was a very winter faction thing to do—having the eyes of dead relatives watching while the living ate.

The summer faction was pretty Oregon Trail about death. It was a thing that happened to everyone. But when someone died, they were buried and the rest sort of moved on. Different summer sorcerers and witches had different responses to where the dead go once they were gone based on their personal traditions and pantheons, but overall, the summer faction was all about living in the present above all else.

A chill ran over Clover’s skin as if something unseen was breathing on her neck. She squeaked a muffled yelp and sat up in her bed. That was the last straw. She’d heard all manner of bumps and creaks since she’d lain down to sleep, and nothing would convince her that this was natural.

She jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, her bare feet padding heavily on the wood floor. Once there, she hesitated. But as she glanced back over her shoulder, she felt that same heavy looming presence she’d felt since she’d walked over the threshold for the first time. She tapped on the door to Whit’s bedroom.

“Huh?” Clover heard a confused question from the other side of the door.

“Um…Whit? Do you mind if I come in?”

“Clover? Yeah, sure.”

Clover opened the door and rushed in before he even had the chance to finish his short sentence.

As she ran across the room, Whit turned on the bedside lamp, blinking his tired eyes against the sudden light. Clover leapt onto the bed beside him as if some horrible, grasping creature would grab her ankle.

She felt immediate relief to have him beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

Now that she felt calmer, she was a little embarrassed to admit what had brought her here. Clover glanced over at him. Whit—to her surprise—wore proper pajamas: long-sleeved blue plaid with white piping.

She felt improperly dressed in her old holey concert tee and mismatched bottoms that looked like seventies gym shorts.

She dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap, her legs folded atop his bedspread. “I think there’s something in my room…” she mumbled.

Clover winced, waiting for Whit to mock her fearful imaginings.

“Do you want me to have a look?” he asked.

Clover shook her head. “No, can I just stay here for a little while? Maybe talking will help ease my mind.”

Whit sat up straighter, scooting back to lean against the headboard. “Sure, what do you want to talk about?”

Clover shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Anything. Tell me more about you. What do you like? What are your goals?”

Whit frowned, but Clover didn’t know why a question like that should upset him. He didn’t answer for a long time.

“I’m a simple man,” Whit said finally. “I want a quiet, honest life. I like history and working with my hands. I like to fix things, and I like to learn about the objects that come into my shop.”

He met her gaze, and Clover thought she saw some anxiety in his eyes. She smiled easily at him, lifting up her leg to rest her cheek on her knee.

“That sounds nice—a quiet, easy life. No drama. No hustle to get to some imagined finish line that’s forever out of reach.”

The tension in his eyes eased, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“That’s kind of why I left social media,” Clover continued.

Whit tilted his head. “You don’t have social media?”

“Nope. I used to. I mean, of course, I did. That’s where all my friends were. That’s how you stayed informed.” She shook her head. “But not anymore. I found myself wasting hours of my time scrolling, and I was angry at people I barely knew or didn’t know at all. I still stay informed about the news and stuff, but I pick my sources better than some post on a friend’s uncle’s page. Also…”

Clover analyzed Whit’s expression. Is he interested? Should I go this far into it? But he seemed to be listening attentively, his eyes unwavering on her face.

“I’ve started to notice that social media, and maybe the internet in general, is taking something from us.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Clover pursed her lips, casting her mind for the right words to describe feelings she’d never expressed. “Do you remember when we were younger and we would go to the grocery or something with our parents before everyone had cellphones? I remember my mom talking to people in line, people she didn’t even know. It was usually just pleasantries and stuff, but now, people don’t talk to each other at all. It’s almost discouraged. It’s like we forgot how. I also remember when I was in my early twenties getting into deep discussions with people about anything and everything. But now, it’s like the world has turned into the worst of internet forums. We don’t know how to disagree; we don’t have nuance. We don’t want to listen. We hear a trigger word and pile on, discussion over. Maybe I’m just getting old, but that truly scares me. Humans are social creatures. If we don’t know how to even talk to each other or interact with each other, how are we going to survive? And even if we do survive, it won’t be in a healthy way.”

“So you’re saying…it’s like human culture—not language or race or nationality culture, but the thing that makes us all human—is dying?” Whit asked seriously.

“Yes! Yes! That’s it! Human culture is dying. What happens when there’s no one left who remembers?”

Whit was silent for a while. “That is scary.”

“Right! So I canceled all my social media accounts. I still use the internet, of course, when I can’t avoid it. I still live in a digital age, after all. But I try to get my information from books whenever I can—bloggers don’t seem to have any responsibility to truth or facts these days. They never cite their sources. I have a dumbphone, and I only check my email twice a day. When I left social media, I said anyone who wants to be my friend in real life can send me their phone numbers.”

“And did they?”

Clover nodded. “A few did. I can’t believe how much more time I have in my day. And I’m less angry overall. I even branched out and made some new in-person friends. I joined a knitting group. We meet on Monday nights. They’re ordinaries, but they’re nice ladies. I do miss out on some events I probably would like because I don’t hear about them. And I recognize that social media is very useful in some ways—like giving voice to people and issues that regular media wouldn’t give any air time, but overall, I’m happier. In any case, your quiet, honest life sounds perfectly lovely to me.”