My shoes squeak on the floor, so I rush to a pew and take a seat. The last time I was in a church was at Luke’s funeral, and this cathedral is nothing like the little Methodist church in Eaton. The ceiling is domed; there are huge, white columns lined through the pews, and at the front, where I assume the priest stands, there’s a huge painting of Jesus hanging on the cross.
I run my hand along the pew in front of me, leaving water along the wood. It’s just cool enough for goose bumps to sprout along my arms, just light enough for me to see the raindrops still puddling up along my fingers. I focus on these things to drown out the sound of the rain on the domed roof. To drown out my own thoughts.
I gasp when someone drops into the seat next to me, and for one unbelievable second, I think it’s a priest, like someone who works here, works for the Lord, has seen my pain and come to intervene. But then I remember that this isn’t It’s a Wonderful Life.
It’s Wes.
His eyes stay glued to the painting at the front of the building for a long while. He’s just as wet as I am, his fingers laced together in his lap. And then his head falls forward, meeting his crossed thumbs.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, whispering so as not to disturb the few other people in the church. I don’t know how I feel about him being here, sitting so close when seconds ago, I couldn’t stand even Cade’s hands on me. I don’t think I want attention or comfort. I think I just want to disappear.
Wes cracks one eye and looks over at me. “I’m praying.”
We stare at each other for a second.
“Why?”
Wes shrugs. “What else am I supposed to do right now?” He watches me for a beat and then he lowers his head again. I haven’t said a prayer since I was a little girl, visiting church with a friend from school and doing what everyone else did. My parents have never believed in God or any other high power. They’re members of the Church of Don’t Kill Anyone.
My hands are still trembling, and I tuck them against my body, trying to push away whatever tried to destroy me outside. I’m okay. I’m okay. Maybe if I keep thinking it, it’ll make it true.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do or what I’m supposed to say to him, but before I’ve decided, his head comes back up, his eyes opening and focusing on me. His voice is low when he speaks. “Do you remember when Luke went away to that church camp? He was gone for a month.”
I squint over at him, thinking. We’ve switched gears so fast, I feel a little disoriented.
“It was the summer before our freshman year. The summer before you started middle school? My parents wouldn’t let me go with him because they’re atheists.”
“Right.” I remember now. I’m not sure how I ever could have forgotten. Luke spent the majority of his summer at the church, where there was always something to do. I remember Luke telling me about it with a laugh. “Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” he would say, in a nasally voice that always cracked me up. “He said he went because the girls at the church were the hottest.”
I expect Wes to laugh at this, but he doesn’t. His jaw is firm, his fingers still laced together. Why are we talking about this right now, when my heart is still pounding, when the storm is still raging outside?
“Yeah,” Wes says, “he joined to meet girls. He came back from church camp with Court Rodick as his girlfriend. I was so damn jealous.” He flinches and looks around quick. “Jealous. I was just plain old jealous.”
He reaches out and drums his finger on the pew in front of us, and I notice that his arms, at least up to the elbow, have dried in the cool air.
“I remember.”
“Right before he left, he told me to watch over you. He told me I had to be your big brother for the summer because he wouldn’t be there to do it himself.”
I just stare at him. I’ve never heard any of this before. That was years ago. “Really?”
Wes nods. “He was worried about you. Scary things happen to kids in middle school, and you were hanging out with Ava Jennings, and she was always getting you in trouble, and I think he was just really freaked out about leaving. So the day he went, he came to my house, and he told me I had to be your big brother for the summer.”
My skin goes hot when I hear all of this. I remember that summer. I remember Luke dating Court Rodick. I remember him dumping her at the end of the summer. I remember him dropping the youth group when he started high school. I remember walking to get ice cream with Ava and having my first kiss at a party with her cousin and getting grounded for being out past curfew. But now it all looks so different.
Wes glances sideways at me, but I ignore the look. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.” He says it loudly, and a woman in the first row looks at us over her shoulder. Wes lowers his voice before speaking again. “Because when he left last year, I should have stayed with you, Ellie. I shouldn’t have not called you and not checked in on you. It was a jackass thing to do, leaving you to handle it all yourself.”
I feel a weird ache in my bones, a tightness that I can’t identify. “You’re not responsible for me.”
He makes an incredulous sound in his throat. “I wanted to be. I loved being your big brother, Ellie. I loved having you as my little sister. I loved being defensive over you and making sure you got on the bus and talking you into eating your vegetables. You were my little sister, too. When Luke left, I did, too, and that was a fucked-up thing to do.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished. It isn’t his job to look out for me. It was never his job. It was … Luke’s.
“Luke was supposed to look out for me. He was my big brother. He was supposed to be there for me, and he’s the one who left.” The words sound empty coming out of me. I’m like Cade, reciting facts from a textbook, and I feel sick again. I think of Luke in the living room, yelling at our mom. A week later he was gone. He left. He left. And he never came back. I hold my stomach. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Wes squeezes his eyes shut. “I get that.” He sighs and runs his hands over his face. “I’m telling you this because when I turned around at that party on Friday, and you were gone, I panicked. And then I found out you were upstairs with Cade, and I panicked harder. I was scared out of my mind because I’d fucked up all over again, and I knew that if you were hurt, I’d never be able to fix it. I’d never be able to take it back.”
This is about the party. This is about him and me. There’s so much messed-up shit in my life that I can’t even keep it all straight anymore. I forgot all about the party. I forgot that we yelled at each other outside the door. I forgot that, for a second, I let the beast inside me run free, let it scream and be mean and get angry.
Angry at Wes for something that isn’t even his fault. And the beast wants to be free again. It claws at me. It tells me I have a right, but that can’t be true. I can’t be angry. I can only be numb. I can only miss Luke with every part of me.
Wes is rubbing at his index finger with his thumb. “You’re my family, Ellie. And I can’t let anything happen to you.” His voice goes raspy, so I look away from him. I can’t see him cry. Wes has always been that guy who never cared too much about anything, and I don’t think I can take seeing him this way. So I press my forehead into his shoulder and close my eyes.
“I’m sorry for what I said at the party,” I say it to him, but only because he can’t see my eyes, can’t see my face, pressed against his shirt. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t you?” he asks, the words vibrating through his body and through mine. “He left. What else are we supposed to believe but that he didn’t give a shit about us?”
He’s right, of course. I was right. But I don’t want to believe that. I don’t want to hear him questioning it. I start to argue, to take back what I said when the monster was in control. But before I can say anything, he opens his mouth, and I’m silenced.
“I have to tell you something.”
I do
n’t like the way he says it. It makes my skin prickle, like the hairs on your arm standing up when there’s electricity in the air.
“Two days before Luke left, he told me he was going to leave.”
I can’t process his words. I feel like he just said them in another language, all sounds and consonants. “What?”
Wes sighs, his shoulders hunching. “He came storming into my room, saying that he was done. And that he had to leave Eaton. That it was time to go. And he told me to pack my stuff.”
I understand the words now, but they don’t make sense. “He wanted you to—”
Wes nods. “To go with him. But I told him no. I wanted to go to Tate. That was my plan. But he called me a coward and walked out. And two days later, you were calling me to tell me he was gone.”
My hands are shaking, and I know Wes could see if he looked, so I ball my hands into fists. That feels better anyway. “He told you he was going to go?” My voice is quivering, too, and I can tell that Wes isn’t expecting that from the way his eyes find mine. The way he looks worried.
“Ellie, don’t be mad.”
Don’t be mad. Don’t be mad. It takes me a second to realize that the wetness on my face isn’t the rain from my hair. It’s tears, and they’re hot, and they’re from me, and they’re from anger. I’ve lost the ability to hold it in.
“He told you he was going to leave?” My voice is rising, and I can’t seem to get it to stop.
Wes’s eyebrows crease in. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, like I’ve just suggested we burn this whole church down. “Ellie, come on. Don’t be upset. It was a year ago. What’s done is done.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s finished talking. “You could have said something.” I stand and back away from him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t even know who I’m angry at. The anger just flies around without a destination. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he ask me to go? I don’t understand.”
“Ma’am.” Someone is walking toward us, someone who looks official and like he is definitely going to throw us out of this church, but Wes reaches me before the other person can, and when he puts his hands on me, both of his hands on my shoulders, I let him. I don’t know what to feel anymore, don’t know what to do.
By the time the person, clearly a priest, has begun to herd us toward the door, I gladly march away from Wes to find Cade and Gwen standing at the door, watching us. I’m about to throw open the door, to get away from the stifling room that feels like it’s getting smaller by the second, but Wes stops me, his hand curling around my arm. I can feel Cade’s and Gwen’s eyes on us.
“Ellie, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but everything is going to be okay.”
I pull my arm away, not because I’m angry at him. That’s died away quickly, dissipating like fluid in the ocean. I just can’t stand his hands on me. I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want to be told everything is going to be okay.
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave.” The priest has followed us, and he’s standing beside a giant basin of holy water, looking like he might need to hide behind it.
Wes spins around, and I see anger flash in his eyes, like he’s just as angry about all of this as I am. “Look, man. It’s storming outside. Can’t we just have a second?”
The man folds his hands together. “You’re creating a disturbance. I’m sorry, but if you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the police.”
I think about the image on Wes’s phone, mine and Cade’s faces. Missing. If this guy calls the cops, there’s a chance we won’t make it away from them.
“We’re leaving,” I say, tugging at Wes until he finally gives in and follows me. I turn and walk out into the rain. I can hear it hitting the arch, giant above us, and it doesn’t seem scary anymore as we walk through it to where we parked the car. There are scarier things in my life right now than this beast of a storm.
And knowing that Luke asked Wes to go with him and not me is scarier than anything else.
* * *
We all stand shivering in the lobby of the hotel while Wes gets us a room. When I planned this trip on my own, I fully intended to sleep in my car, somewhere in a quiet parking lot, but now that there are four of us, that’s not really an option, so thank God for Wes’s brand-new credit card.
Gwen stands beside me, her long hair dripping fat drops onto the tile floor. The lady at the front desk looks at us, glancing first at Gwen and the floor in front of her, and then at me. Her eyes examine my face for a long time, and I feel paranoia in my blood. I know there’s no way a missing persons ad from Eaton, Texas, made it all the way to a woman in Missouri, but I don’t like the way she scans my face like she’s trying to memorize it. I look away, down at the floor, letting my wet hair cover my face.
Wes hands me a room key, and I take it without looking back at the lady behind the desk. I wish I could explain what’s happening to me. I wish I could explain this feeling I have, like I’m scattering into a million pieces, like I need something to grab hold of but everything is moving too quickly.
In the room, I don’t bother to shower. I slip off my wet shoes and climb into bed. It’s not even that late. We only agreed to get a hotel room because we’re all tired and Indianapolis is still four hours away.
“Ellie?” Gwen asks, her voice small. “Are you hungry?”
I turn my face into the comforter and shake my head. I feel off-kilter, like my outburst at the church has thrown me into disarray, and now I need a second to balance myself again.
I hear the door open and close, and then the room is silent. I listen to the sound of the storm outside. It seems like it’s following us, first in Shreveport and now here, and I honestly don’t know how much more of it I can take.
* * *
“After I graduate, I want to be one of those superfans who follows a band all over the country,” Luke says, typing away at something on his phone, the master of multitasking, or maybe multiconversing.
“I think they call that a groupie. You want to be a groupie?”
Luke rolls his eyes and finally looks up from his phone, his eyes focusing on the stage at the front of the room, where a tech crew is setting up and testing instruments and connections. “Not a groupie. I just mean, you know, I’ll go to every show they do.”
This is our fifth time seeing Nova together, and it never stops being exciting. We’ve already watched two opening acts, and any second now, Jack Olsen is going to step on the stage, and I’m vibrating with excitement.
“Isn’t this their last show in North America? You’d have to, like, fly to Japan. I don’t know if you’d be able to get excused absences from your professors.”
Luke looks at me, and his casual smile has vanished. Maybe it’s just because the sky is so dark, but I swear I see shadows in his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, his eyes traveling over my face, but then the already dim lights plummet into darkness and the crowd erupts into cheers.
On the way home from the show, Luke is quiet. Nova’s second album, his favorite, plays from the speakers, muffled in my fuzzy-feeling concert-damaged ears. Luke finally looks over at me.
“You know I love you, right, El?” His words catch on the air, like he had to force them out, like he’s still having to force himself to even look at me. He finally looks away, back at the dark and empty road, flying past empty landscape. We had to drive all the way to Austin for the show.
“Are you okay?” I ask. He’s acting weird, and I suspect it has to do with classes starting soon. Every day that he’s gotten closer and closer to his first day at Tate, he’s been acting more and more strange, like he’s not even here, his eyes always a little dreamy and his body always a little restless.
But he doesn’t say anything about that. He doesn’t glance at me. He tightens his hands on the steering wheel and then reaches over and turns down the music. “I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot, you know, about happiness.”
I sigh and turn in
my seat to face him. “Luke, you’re going to be happy at Tate. You will. I mean, what about Gwen? She’ll be there with you next year. And Wes. And as soon as it’s over, you can, like, kayak to Africa or whatever. Just give it a chance.”
He’s quiet for a long minute, his eyes barely there in the darkness of the car. “Yeah. I know. You’re so smart, El. You’ve still got time, you know. You could apply somewhere else before Tate eats you alive.”
I laugh. “Not everyone is terrified of Tate. It’s just a school.” I close my eyes and lean my chair back just a little. “It’s okay, Luke. It’s just four years.”
* * *
This time, when I’m in the pit, it’s open at the top, and then I realize it’s not a pit at all. It’s a grave. I lie in my own grave, the soft dirt under my back, watching as someone shovels dirt, first onto my stomach and then onto my chest, getting heavier and heavier. Someone is doing this to me. I open my mouth to scream, to ask for help, to say something, but dirt is shoveled onto my face, and I can’t speak without choking on it.
I push the dirt from my eyes, and then someone leans over, looking down into the grave, and I realize it’s Luke.
The rattle of thunder wakes me up, and I gasp impulsively, like I might still be choking on dirt.
I sit up and look around. The hotel room looks exactly like it did when I fell asleep: dark, the only light coming from one of the bedside lamps, and cold. I can hear the hum of the window unit. I see Cade sitting by the window, reading a book. He shuts it and stuffs it in his bag.
“You came back,” I say. I don’t know where they went, but I know they left. I remember hearing the door shut behind them.
“I didn’t leave,” he says, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. I try to remember him still being here, but all I remember is the room being really quiet. “I hope that’s okay.”
I don’t say yes or no because I don’t know.
“What happened up in the arch, Ellie? What happened in the church?”
We Are the Ghosts Page 13
