Rocks Fall Everyone Dies

by Lindsay Ribar

  Grandma waved a dismissive hand at me. “My Holly’s been doing it for months. Drinking herself stupid and then stealing sobriety so she can drive herself home. Or else drinking herself stupid in her bedroom, so she doesn’t have to bother with thievery. She keeps Scotch in her closet, like she thinks I don’t know.” She sighed, rolling her shoulders as her eyes turned sad. “I always know.”

  “From her breath?” I asked.

  “From her eyes,” she said. “Aspen … you do understand that there’s a difference between drinking at a party with your friends, and drinking alone in your bedroom. Don’t you?”

  I’d never actually thought about that before. And why would I? As far as I was concerned, the entire point of alcohol was to make hanging out more fun. Social lubricant, Brandy liked to call it.

  But I was pretty sure I knew what Grandma was getting at.

  I nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Remember that difference, my boy. You’ll have a much greater chance at being happy if you do.”

  I nodded again … and then noticed something.

  “Are those leaves in your hair?” I asked.

  “Hm? Where?”

  I leaned forward and plucked them out: two leaves, both small, tangled in Grandma’s steel-gray hair.

  “Goodness.” With a little laugh, she patted her head with one hand, like she was checking for more. “I didn’t even think to look.”

  I grinned. “Did you go to the fireworks? I didn’t see you there.”

  “No. Lord, no. Too many people. I took a walk, but not until afterward. I wasn’t going to venture out in a crowd without you or Holly there to steal memories for me.”

  “Steal memories?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Remember the favor you did for me, the night you first arrived?”

  I did remember. The night Theo and Brandy and I had driven up from the city, Grandma had taken us out for pasta. Not particularly good pasta, at least by Brooklyn standards, but still. She’d pulled me aside afterward to tell me something—something about the triad ritual, or else she’d’ve just said it in front of my friends—and one of the servers had overheard. Grandma had asked me, shortly after that, to steal not just the guy’s memory of our conversation, but his memory of having met her at all.

  “You do that all the time?” I asked.

  “It’s easier to move through the world when you have a degree of anonymity on your side, Aspen.”

  Was that supposed to be profound? I couldn’t tell.

  “So Aunt Holly didn’t go on your walk with you?”

  “She’s staying the night at her office,” replied Grandma. “Very busy right now.”

  Aunt Holly was a lawyer. If television was to be believed, lawyers were always busy. But still: “It’s the Fourth of July. And it’s almost midnight.”

  Grandma laughed. “Well past midnight, you’ll find.”

  Well past midnight, and there was nobody to hang out with except Grandma. Not that Grandma wasn’t cool, but …

  “I guess I should go to bed,” I said.

  She nodded. “A fine idea. Sleep well. The Cliff is weakening again, and I expect there’ll be another fault by tomorrow. A small one, probably, but you’ll need your strength.”

  “We could fix it now,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, firmly but kindly. “You don’t fix a thing before it’s broken. And you know this isn’t a job for fewer than three of us.”

  I did know that. It was part of the reason I’d come up in June this year, instead of August, like I usually did. Grandma and Aunt Holly had been hosting a slew of relatives since Heather’s death, all of whom had helped with the ritual in her absence, and I’d been next on the list.

  “Speaking of that,” I said, “any word on Aunt Calla moving out here permanently?”

  Grandma made a face. My aunt Calla was the front-runner for replacing Heather as the ritual’s permanent third—except she was old and cranky, and she and Grandma got along about as well as Batman and the Joker. Still, she was retired, so moving to Three Peaks would be easier for her than for most of my other relatives.

  “Holly’s still asking. Calla’s still saying no.” Grandma sighed. “For the sake of the Cliff, I hope she changes her mind. But the thought of that woman staying under my roof for more than a week’s time … Well. It’s hardly your problem, is it. Good night, Aspen.”

  There was a weird edge to her voice, like she might be implying exactly the opposite of what she was saying. But Aunt Calla wasn’t my problem—I mean, I’d only ever met her twice—so I didn’t think too much about it. I just said good night and went upstairs to my room. Well, Heather’s room, technically.

  I flipped on the light—and practically jumped out of my skin. “What the …”

  Brandy smiled up at me from where she sat on the bed. “Hi, Aspen.”

  “But you,” I began, gesturing vaguely toward the driveway downstairs. Hadn’t she gone back to the party? She’d started the car again, for sure. But had I actually heard her drive away?

  “Theo has crash space,” said Brandy. “He said so. Plus he was already wasted when we left. Even if I go back, he’ll hardly be able to have a coherent conversation tonight.”

  Her bare feet swung idly against the sky-blue carpet. Her toenails glittered silver. I took a few cautious steps into the room.

  “You, on the other hand, seem weirdly sober for a guy who passed out like an hour ago.”

  I grinned. “And they say Asians have no tolerance.”

  “Maybe that only applies if you’re a hundred percent,” she said.

  “Or maybe I’m just a superhero.”

  Brandy’s smile widened. “So that’d make me, what?” She leaned back on her hands, her chest sticking out in a way that was absolutely on purpose. “Lois Lane?”

  “Superman?” I said, trying to focus on her face, not on anything below it. “Seriously? I say superhero, and you pick the worst one?”

  “Way to miss the point completely, Quick.”

  Her voice was low. Husky. The sound of it made my mouth go dry. “And what point would that be?”

  “Shut the door,” she said.

  I did.

  “We’ll have to be quiet,” she continued, beckoning me closer to the bed. I moved toward her like a marionette, guided by her hands. This was really happening. Brandy was on my bed, and she wanted me there, too, and she wanted to do things where being quiet might not be easy.

  “I can if you can,” I said, sitting beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “Except. Shit. I don’t have any—”

  “I do,” she said, holding up a little foil packet. “Come here.”

  Then we were kissing again, hungrier than before, messier, because the kissing wasn’t the endgame anymore. Soon her hands were under my shirt, lifting it up and over my head, and I was easing her dress off, and it was so fast, two hours ago we’d never even kissed, and wasn’t this supposed to go slower?

  But Brandy wasn’t my first, and I knew I wasn’t hers, either. Maybe the slow stuff was just for first-timers.

  Or maybe we were both just really, really into it, and there weren’t any rules about how fast or slow it had to be, and I should just stop overthinking and—

  and—

  BEFORE

  Mom didn’t call Dad after she left. Ever. At least, not as far as I knew. She only ever called me, and it was always on my cell—never the landline—and it was always during the week, always between three thirty and six, after school got out but before Dad came home from work.

  At first, I let it go to voicemail. She’d leave messages that all meant the same thing: “I miss you” and “I just want to make sure you’re okay” and “I love you” and “Call me back.” I did not call her back.

  Until Dad announced, a week later, totally out of the blue, that we were moving. Not permanently. Just for a few days. We were moving into a hotel so that Mom could come over with the movers she’d hired
, and get her stuff in peace.

  “Not just her stuff, but all the stuff we shared, too.” I remember his eyes going kind of vague. “We’ll have to get new furniture.”

  I didn’t get it. Mom was the one who’d left. Surely she wasn’t allowed to keep stuff like furniture if she was the one who’d left.

  But when I told this to Dad, he said, “It’s not about being allowed. She doesn’t want me to have anything of hers. Even couches she sat on, wineglasses she used, things like that.”

  I should have understood then. Maybe there was a part of me that did, but I didn’t let myself think it. Not yet.

  The next day, when Mom called, I actually picked up. She was so relieved that she ended up doing most of the talking. All those pent-up things she wanted to say to me, gushing out at once.

  “I miss seeing your face every day, Aspen, you have no idea how much,” she said.

  “How is your father holding up?”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “It wasn’t because of you.”

  “Are you dating anyone? Do they know about your abilities?”

  I said, “Me too.” And I said, “Fine” and “Sure, whatever” and “Okay” and “No,” until she finally got to the one question I couldn’t answer:

  “Will you come and visit me? You remember how to get to Aunt Mona’s, right? You just take the Long Island Rail Road from Atlantic and—”

  “You don’t have your own place?” I cut in.

  “Not yet, honey. I’m still getting all my finances in order. It could take a while.”

  “In other words, you’re taking all our furniture and you don’t even have anywhere to put it?”

  She didn’t reply right away. The silence went on long enough that I checked to see if my phone had dropped the connection. It hadn’t.

  “It isn’t about the furniture,” she said. “And anyway, your father’s well-off. They’re just things. He can afford new things.”

  “Then what’s it about?” I asked. “Just screwing up our lives as much as possible?”

  “Aspen, sweetheart, no,” she said. “I’m only trying to look out for myself. That’s all.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Another silence, this one briefer than the last.

  “The ability that you share with your father.” Mom’s voice went a little bit fragile, as it often did when she talked about our magic. Which was rarely. “I know he would never use it against me. But I would feel much safer if he couldn’t.”

  That was when I let myself understand. Our furniture had to go because she’d used it, too. Because Dad and I could still reach into it and get to her.

  “You don’t trust us,” I said, and immediately felt dumb. Obviously she didn’t trust us. She’d left us.

  “I trust you,” was her only reply. “Come visit me, will you?”

  “Why did you really leave?” I asked. “Was it because of our magic?”

  A third pause. The longest one yet.

  “Not because of the magic itself,” she said.

  “Then what?”

  “Aspen …” I heard her taking a deep breath. “Do you miss your cousin?”

  “What do you … wait, you mean Heather?”

  The funeral had been weeks ago. We were all back to our normal lives by now.

  “I do mean Heather,” said Mom.

  “I don’t … I mean … I barely even knew her. It’s sad she died, obviously, but it’s not like we ever really bonded or anything.”

  “You cried at the funeral, though,” said Mom gently.

  “Um, no I didn’t,” I said. “Maybe you’re confusing me with Aunt Holly?”

  “You did,” said Mom, totally ignoring my joke. “Ask your father. He was there, too.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said, and let her go back to convincing me to visit, even as I silently swore I never would.

  Later that night, I asked Dad about the funeral. I asked if he remembered me crying. He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “I could be wrong,” he said. “But I really don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I said. And that was the end of it.

  I slept in the next morning. Past the bacon, past the coffee, and apparently past Brandy slipping out of my room, because when I finally woke up, the other side of the bed was empty—except for a folded piece of paper sitting on the pillowcase. I fumbled for my glasses so I could read it:

  A—Took car to get Theo. Lake probably, so we can talk about Stuff, just the 2 of us. Meet us later tho? Diner, like usual, 6ish?—B

  P.S. Last night was funnnnn. Encore soon?

  xo

  Hell yeah. She wanted an encore, and I was off the hook for going to the lake today. Thank god, because I was really kind of sick of hanging out there.

  I checked my phone just in case she’d texted, too, but nope. Maybe she hadn’t wanted the noise to wake me up. Maybe that was why she’d actually written a note by hand. The maybe-thoughtfulness of it made me smile.

  It was almost noon by the time I made it downstairs and got the coffeemaker brewing. As I waited for the pot to fill, Grandma came in to meet me. “Ah. I was wondering when I’d see you.”

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Is the Cliff broken yet? Because I’m ready to fix it whenever you are.”

  “Someone’s awfully chipper this morning.” Grandma threw me a smile that was almost … knowing.

  Except she couldn’t know, could she? Brandy and I had been so quiet. Painfully quiet, at times. Also, if she did know, I didn’t want to know that she knew. Because ew.

  “I’m not chipper,” I said. “Anyway. Cliff?”

  “Not until after dark,” she replied. “The fault won’t appear until then.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. “Wait, though. How do you know when it’ll appear?”

  “Past precedent,” she replied. “Every Independence Day, hundreds of people gather atop the Cliff. All those bodies, all that weight? Of course there’ll be a fault by the next day. Not right away, though,” she added, her eyes going vague. “The Cliff holds itself together as best it can. It doesn’t ask me for help until there’s no other option left.”

  “Uh-huh.” I was still a little unclear on how the whole communicating-with-the-Cliff thing was supposed to work. I didn’t ask, though. Not now, when my caffeine-deficient brain probably wouldn’t be able to retain the answer.

  Speaking of which …

  The first sip of coffee was, as always, like stepping into a cold shower after a long day in the August sun.

  “Are you going to meet your friends at the lake?” asked Grandma. “Your young lady left quite early this morning.”

  My young lady. Yeah, she totally knew. I tried my best not to let the thought of her knowing completely gross me out.

  “Nah,” I said, after another quick sip. “I think I’m just gonna stick around here today.”

  “Well, at least go outside and get some sun,” she said, nodding toward the window. “It’s a lovely day.”

  I knew she was talking about the weather, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was a lovely day in every other sense, too. I mean, last night I’d hooked up with Brandy, who was basically the love of my goddamn life. I’d hooked up with Brandy, and I’d slept like a rock, and now I had a really good cup of black coffee in my hands. Everything was perfect. Everything.

  Except …

  No, not everything. Because hooking up with Brandy wasn’t the only thing that had happened last night. Last night was also the third time I’d tried to steal something from that girl Leah—and the third time it had gone wrong.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Outside sounds like a good idea. Call my cell when it’s ritual time, okay?”

  Leah wasn’t at Waterlemon Books when I got there. It was just the old guy—the one I’d seen shelving books the last time I’d been here.

  “Can I help you?” he asked as I approached the register. Then he squinted, pushing wire-rimmed
glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Ah. The phone thief. I think you’d better leave, son.”

  “I’m not a—” But I didn’t finish. I was already sick of defending myself over that stupid phone thing. “Look, I just need to see Leah. Is she around?”

  The old guy let out a sigh. “No, it’s just me today. Even Mrs. Llewellyn isn’t in town to cover shifts this weekend. Got family up in Toronto or … well, somewhere Canadian, at any rate. Keeps making noises about moving up there. Between her and Leah and Jesse, my entire staff will have left me high and dry by the end of the summer, just you watch.” He paused, eyeing me. “No chance you’re looking for a job, is there?”

  “Even though I’m a phone thief?”

  The guy let out a dusty laugh. “I don’t care what kind of thief you are, so long as it’s not books or cash.”

  That made me smile. This guy was weirdly cool. “Sorry, but no. I’m really just looking for Leah. You said she quit? Is she working somewhere else now?”

  “No, no, she didn’t quit! Just called in sick.” Another sigh. “Jesse’s the one who quit—or at least, that’s what I choose to assume, given he’s missed four shifts without calling in. But our Leah intends to find him and bring him back and then, presumably, talk me into not firing him. She’s always had a soft spot for that boy, hasn’t she.”

  My mind flashed back to the picture that Drunk Sadie had shown me at the party last night. Leah, looking oddly shy as she cozied up to Jesse on that bench. “Suppose so,” I said.

  He blinked fast, eyes suddenly alert, like he’d just woken up from a daze. He peered at me. “I’m sorry. You’re new here, aren’t you. And here I am, rattling on about my employees as though you have the first idea who I’m talking about. Anyway. I’m Harry, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, alleged phone thief or no.”

  He held out his hand, and I shook it.

  “Leah,” I reminded him. “Any idea where I can find her? Or maybe you could give me her number?”

  Giving me a grandfatherly kind of smile, Harry shook his head. “I don’t give out my employees’ numbers. And I haven’t the first clue where she’s gone. Wherever Jesse went, I suppose, though she didn’t seem too sure where that might be. One of his impromptu camping trips, likely enough. Weather’s been good for it.”