The Companion

by Katie Alender

  “What . . . um . . . do you mind if I . . . no, sorry. Never mind.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I can tell you about it.”

  “I don’t want to make things worse by making you think about it.”

  “Barrett,” I said. “It’s like ninety percent of what I think about. It’s not worse to talk about it. Besides, I don’t remember that much. There’s a bunch that’s just . . . gone.”

  So then I described the accident—what I remembered. He held my hand the whole time, and when I got to the part about crawling onto the shore and simply waiting to freeze to death, I felt his grip tighten and saw his jaw clench.

  “I’m sorry, Margot,” he said breathlessly when I had finished. “It’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t say It’s okay because it wasn’t okay. It would probably never be okay.

  But it was better . . . because he was there.

  He leaned over and gently kissed my forehead.

  In a weird way, I was happy to have this conversation. Happy to return to familiar territory. Sadness about my family was like a well-fitting old sweater. I knew how to wrap myself in it.

  “Is Agatha okay?” I asked. “Can you check on her and make sure she’s back in bed?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said. He got up and went out to the big room, then returned a few seconds later. “She’s fine.”

  “Okay, good.”

  “It’s so sweet,” he said. “How you look out for her.”

  “She came to help me,” I said. “So it goes both ways.”

  His smile was weirdly uneasy. “I think . . . I’m not a good brother.”

  “Barrett, there’s a limit to what a person can do. You have school, you have—”

  “No,” he said. “I mean, I could leave school—maybe I should leave school—but even before this, I never connected with her. We were more like acquaintances. I thought she was annoying. Shallow.”

  I didn’t interrupt him. It seemed like there was more he needed to say.

  “And now I’m stealing her inheritance,” he said. “Mom is acting like it’s all decided.”

  “Well, she can’t exactly run this place the way she is.”

  “She was never going to run it,” he said. “And Mom knew that. Sometimes I think Mom is relieved Agatha got sick, because it keeps her from having to break tradition.”

  That was a horrific idea.

  “Not happy,” he said quickly. “But relieved.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “But I don’t want to live here, either.” He spoke the words as if they left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m not going to spend my life trapped here.” He looked at me. “Dad feels the same way. But he can’t do anything, since Agatha’s so sick. They used to argue about it. He wanted to move to Chicago. Or at least into town.”

  I imagined them buying a regular house somewhere more ordinary. Someplace I could get outside and walk around and see other people. It seemed too good to be true.

  “To be honest, I think that’s why he works so much. He doesn’t have to. Before Agatha got sick, I thought they were going to get a divorce. That’s why he spends so much time at the office and in the city. Sometimes he’ll be gone for a week at a time. Mom pretends it’s because he’s a legal superstar, but it’s because he feels like an animal in a zoo when he’s here.”

  I thought about John’s wiry tension, the way he never, ever seemed relaxed or happy. And suddenly his long stretches away from home—which Laura never even mentioned—made sense.

  He let out a huge sigh. “When I inherit this place—if I do—which I hope I don’t—but if I do—I’m going to sell it as fast as I can. I’ll use the money to make sure Agatha’s taken care of, and then I’ll go live my life for real somewhere else.”

  “You can’t tell your mom that,” I said.

  “I know.” After a long pause, he asked, “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “I don’t even know what it means to be a bad person. People definitely do bad things, but maybe it’s because they’re scared or sad or hurt.”

  “But I’m not those things.”

  I looked at him, and wanted to ask: Are you sure? “But it’s not bad to want to live your own life. If this place isn’t right for you, then it’s not right for you. Your mom should want you to be happy.”

  “I’m not sure she knows very much about happiness.”

  “You make her happy,” I said. Although even as I said it, I wasn’t sure it was true. I thought about the way my parents used to talk to my sisters and me. They liked us. They thought we were fun. But Laura seemed to see her kids as part of a preplanned existence. Her version of happiness looked more like being satisfied by a job well done.

  “I don’t want to leave you here,” Barrett whispered.

  “I can hide in your suitcase,” I said.

  He sat up. “I’ll talk to Dad. They can send you to Camden. They have plenty of money, and—”

  “I can’t,” I said. “I can’t leave Agatha.”

  His shoulders sank.

  A huge yawn shook my body.

  “You should go back to sleep,” Barrett said. “Do you think you can?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s not the problem. The problem is more bad dreams.”

  “I can stay here. Wake you up if you seem to be having a hard time.”

  I pulled his hand to my cheek and rested it there. “Imagine if you fell asleep in here,” I said. “What would your mother say?”

  “She’d implode,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “But I can stay for a little while. Until you fall asleep again—if you want.”

  His fingers gently combed the hair out of my face.

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Then he leaned down and kissed my lips—a sweet, sad, concerned, protective kiss. The kind of kiss that says more than words. That speaks of regrets and fears and hopes that we would never be able to verbalize. I wanted it to go on forever, but of course that was impossible.

  He sat up, placed the covers over my shoulders, and then sighed. “I wish I could make things easier for you.”

  I was growing so sleepy I almost didn’t answer. But after a few seconds, my brain matched up the words to the thoughts, and I said, “You do.”

  * * *

  I WOKE WITH the soft morning light. I turned and stretched, and then opened my eyes.

  Barrett was still in my room, asleep in the chair in the corner, his chin touching his chest.

  I scrambled out of bed. “Barrett!” I whispered. “Barrett, wake up!”

  His eyes opened, and as soon as he realized where he was, they went wide in panic. “Oh, God,” he said. “Is Mom out there?”

  “I don’t think so.” I went to the door and pressed my ear against it. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t have my phone,” he said, so I reached over and looked at mine, flashing the screen at him.

  It was 5:59 a.m.

  “What time does she come in?” Barrett asked.

  “Six o’clock.”

  He seemed to turn to stone.

  “Come on,” I said. “You can’t stay in here. If she finds you in the hall, you can say you woke up early.”

  He nodded.

  I pulled the door open, looking out into the nursery. Agatha was asleep. The door to the hall was ten feet away.

  I turned to Barrett. “I’ll go downstairs. If she finds me, I’ll keep her talking. You only need fifteen seconds, right?”

  “Right.”

  If he’d just left immediately, we would have been fine. “Okay, no problem. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Don’t come into the hall until I’m downstairs.”


  He nodded.

  I turned around and gave him a kiss—a quick one—and then slipped out the door and into the hall. It was quiet, and for a second I felt foolish. All he had to do was walk to his bedroom. That wasn’t a huge deal. It wasn’t worth acting like we were spies in enemy territory.

  But as soon as I started down the stairs, I realized how close we’d come to being caught.

  Laura was approaching. I could hear her humming softly to herself.

  I rushed down the stairs—too fast. She stopped short and looked at me in surprise.

  “Margot,” she said. “Is everything all right? Is Agatha—”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, yes. Everything is fine. I just—I was wondering—do you have anything I could take for a headache?”

  “A headache?” Her eyes narrowed in concern. “Oh, goodness. It must be a bad one for you to come down so early.”

  “Um.” I closed my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s just . . . I just woke up with it.”

  “Oh, dear. Come with me.”

  She led the way to the kitchen and then pulled a small key ring from her pocket and unlocked a cabinet in the corner.

  I tried to hide my surprise—she basically had a full-fledged pharmacy. Every shelf was lined with neatly organized clusters of medicines: pill bottles, liquid bottles, even some syringes.

  “It looks like a lot,” she said, smiling. “But most of it is basic stuff—for colds, allergies—because it’s hard to find those things in town sometimes.”

  That made sense, although I kind of wondered what the rest of it was. I knew Agatha took a lot of pills, but this couldn’t all be for her.

  She pulled down a simple white bottle and shook a couple of small brown tablets out of it, then held them out to me.

  I stared at her open palm.

  “It’s ibuprofen,” she said. “I buy generic. Would you rather take just one? If it’s a bad headache, you should take two.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I said, handing one back. Then I got myself a cup of water and, because Laura was watching me, swallowed the pill.

  “Why don’t you go back to bed?” she asked, locking the cabinet. “Get some more sleep and come down when you feel better.”

  I’d gotten plenty of sleep, so obeying her would mean staring at the ceiling until enough time had passed that I could pretend to feel better.

  But it was too late to back out now, so upstairs I went.

  Agatha sat up and looked at me in alarm as I came in.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Your mom will be up in a minute. I’m just going to rest for a while.”

  She kept watching me.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  I walked closer to her bed. “Ags, are you all right? Are you worried about something?”

  Her gaze remained intent on my face.

  “About me? Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  “You were trying to talk last night,” I said. “You said I. I what?”

  Behind me, the sound of the door being decisively opened.

  Then, sharply, Laura said, “Margot, get away from her!”

  I was too confused not to jump back, and then I stared at Laura, thinking something was wrong.

  Something was wrong. It was me.

  Laura stared me down. “Did I, or did I not, ask you to come upstairs and get in bed?”

  “Yes, but Agatha seemed—”

  “Please don’t talk back to me,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment as if I’d physically pained her. “I cannot abide it. I am very disappointed that, being ill, you would risk Agatha’s health by putting yourself in such close proximity.”

  Inwardly, I rebelled—I wasn’t even actually sick—but of course, I couldn’t say that to Laura.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I would never risk her health—”

  “To bed, please,” she said coolly. “I think you’d better rest for the whole morning.”

  My cheeks felt like fire as I slinked into my room and closed the door (which I was tempted to slam—but who, besides Agatha, would dare slam a door with Laura in the vicinity?). I had to stay in bed the whole morning? Because I stood too close to Agatha when I had a headache?

  I flounced onto my bed and sat there stewing until I heard them leave, and then I went to the bathroom and took a shower (if she commented, I could say it helped my headache).

  When I came out, I found a stack of books on my bed, as well as a handwritten note on Laura’s fancy stationery.

  I’m sorry I was short with you. Please rest and I’ll see you at lunch. Here’s some reading if you can’t sleep.

  I appreciated the gesture, even though her note made it clear that she expected me to stay quarantined up here for the whole first half of the day.

  At least Barrett got out safely.

  I didn’t even want to think about what her reaction would have been if she’d found him in my room.

  CHAPTER

  19

  THE DAY PLODDED along. I nearly died of boredom—the books Laura had left me ended up being punishingly dull. Barrett was at lunch, but I felt Laura’s eyes on me and avoided talking to him. I could sense his confusion after my first snub, but by a few minutes in, he seemed to understand. He made small talk with Laura about the upcoming school year, while I listened and felt bitterly jealous of everyone who got to be around him. As soon as the meal was over, I escaped to the garden so she couldn’t send me back to bed.

  He was mysteriously missing at dinner, but I thought asking about him would give me away somehow. Then, halfway through, I thought not asking about him might be worse, so I asked Laura if she knew where he was.

  It was a mistake—she caught on immediately, even though she didn’t say anything. And by the end of dinner, I was more than ready to go to bed just to have an excuse to stop trying to look innocent (while trying not to look like I was trying to look innocent). I didn’t get an answer about Barrett’s whereabouts until later, when she came to say good night.

  I’d pulled a more interesting book from the library and was in bed reading when Laura came in with our tea. She smiled apologetically and apologized again for being snippy with me that morning—that was how she described it, being snippy.

  She sat down and handed me my cup, and I drank some.

  “Maybe you’ll sleep better tonight,” she said.

  I took another few sips.

  I’d been replaying my conversations with Laura in my head all day . . .

  And I couldn’t remember telling her that I hadn’t slept well.

  Why would she think that? Why would she even suspect it?

  “I hope so,” I said, because one didn’t not answer Laura.

  She gave me a smile and then slowly stood. “See you in the morning? Sleep in. No reason to risk another headache.”

  I nodded.

  She glanced down. “Finish your tea. It’ll help you relax.”

  * * *

  I AWOKE WITH a jerk, vaguely aware of being coated in a light layer of sweat.

  What had woken me?

  I pushed my blanket off and stood up, but as I got to my feet, a rush of dizziness forced me back down. I took a few deep breaths and rubbed my eyes to clear the blur, then tried again.

  My feet were still unsteady beneath me as I walked to the door, but by the time I reached the bathroom, I felt better. I gulped a few handfuls of water and used a washcloth to wipe down my face, neck, and arms. Now that I was out of bed, I was getting chilly. I draped the washcloth over the faucet and started back for my room.

  As I was stepping out of the bathroom, I saw a figure standing in the middle of the room.

  “Agatha?” I asked.

  She was so perfectly still that even if I hadn’t been in a state of dizzy confu
sion, it would have been unnerving. But now I found it downright creepy.

  She stepped toward me, and I reared back. But her hand caught my wrist, and then she started walking, pulling me behind her.

  What was I going to do, fight her? She seemed to know exactly where she was headed.

  I didn’t even have time to put on my shoes. We hurried down the hall, and then down to the first floor.

  “Where are we going?” I whispered.

  Out the back door. Past the parking area.

  Toward the garden.

  As we entered the garden, she slowed. I glanced down and saw my distorted reflection in the gazing ball, then almost giggled. But Agatha gave me a hard tug, and the buoyant feeling disappeared back under the confusion.

  “Agatha, slow down!” I hissed, trying to rush but feeling another wave of dizziness overtake me. I dragged her to a stop and put my hand on her shoulder to keep from toppling over. She gave me a moment to get my bearings and then we were off again.

  I’d never seen her move so quickly. There was none of the usual wooden stiffness in her body, none of the passive slowness. She didn’t even seem like the same person. I had the surreal thought that we’d switched roles, that I was the sick one and she was the steadfast companion.

  Finally, we made our way down the barren stretch of path that led to the graveyard.

  The gates ahead of us were wide open.

  We weren’t going in there, were we? After my nightmare, I wasn’t exactly eager to visit Lily’s grave. Any grave, really.

  “I don’t—” I began to protest, but she spun on me, silencing me with an intense stare.

  Oh, she’s mad, I thought. She’s upset that I planted flowers for her mother.