“I’m here,” I whisper, gently squeezing his neck. “I’m here for whatever you need.”
“Just … just,” he says, eyes clenched shut, face in a flinch, as if waiting for the inevitable blow. “Just don’t let go.”
“Never.” I don’t have to think. My answer is automatic and the most important truth there is. My lips are a breath away from his, brushing his with every word spoken. “I won’t ever let you go.”
I’m not sure how long we lay there—a minute, an hour, a lifetime. The truth is I’d stay with him for as long as it takes.
Moments of unimaginable sorrow seem to make the clock tick backward, make you feel like you’ll never be able to climb out of the hole where you’ve been buried. Time stands still as Ever ages ten years in this one, singular day. I feel the will, the hope, the want for this life being leeched from his body with every shuddered breath he exhales, and it kills me.
His breathing quiets to a somewhat normal cadence, and he shoves his head under my chin. I ignore the dampness on my neck, pretend it’s sticky sweat instead of salty tears, wishing like hell that were true. My eyes grow heavy and my own breathing evens out as the rhythmic motions of my hands through his hair calm even me. My muscles loosen into gooey liquid, my bones to chalky dust. My body is languid, and my thoughts are loose. I straddle sleep and wake with the efficiency of a drunken tightrope walker.
How do you measure the weight of a whisper? It’s infinitesimally heavier than any word spoken aloud. Whispers shouted into the void, when no one else is listening? Those are the heaviest of all. So Ever’s faint “I love you” told to my presumably sleeping form (closed eyes and open ears) weighs a metric ton. It anchors me to him … for forever, I think.
When I wake in the morning, Ever is gone.
Marlo
THE SCREEN DOOR creaks behind me, but I keep my head down as I scratch Fisher’s belly. He’s flipped over on his back, legs sprawled out like a dead roach. Every time I move my hand away, he paws me to death until I start again. He’s a demanding mutt, that’s for sure.
The tips of Nana’s red gardening shoes come into view, and just by the position of her feet, I can tell her arms are crossed and her eyes are narrowed. At yours truly. That’s never a good thing.
“Girl, you about done with the long-arming and lip-hanging? I miss my granddaughter, but I don’t believe she’s made it home from New Orleans, yet. Seeing as there are only a few days left of Thanksgiving vacation, I’m hoping you can hurry this snit up a bit,” she says as she tosses some bacon in the yard, making Fisher high tail it down the porch steps.
Traitor.
“I’m not long-arming, Nana, I’m just … pissy.”
“Girl, you been pissy and temperamental since the day your smiles meant more than gas. A regular Sarah Bernhardt from the word ‘go.’ That I’m used to. This mopey mess is new, and I don’t like it one bit.”
She sits down on her porch swing and pats the seat next to her. I push up to standing and join her, trying my best to loosen my arms and suck in my pout. All is quiet except for the creak of the swing chains and Fisher’s bacon-chomping.
“I’m not getting any younger, child. Spill it,” Nana says in a huff.
So I tell her—the condensed, rated-grandma version, that is. I leave the wet humping, sneaking into Evelyn’s, and the “dope” at the porch steps. I also tell her I’ve been texting and calling all week, and Ever hasn’t responded once. I’d even called Jeb to see if he’d heard from Ever, but he knew less than I did, if that’s even possible.
“I wish I could be in two places at once. I want to be here, with my family for Thanksgiving, but I’m so worried about him, Nana. I don’t even know what’s going on, but I can tell it’s bad. Like, really bad.”
“Low, I’m so sorry this boy is going through something awful, especially with these parents you’ve told me about.” She shakes her head and lets out a labored sigh. “Boy, I tell ya, I wish I had the right to revoke parenting licenses. I’d be swiping those bad boys right and left, and giving these fools a slap across the head while I’m at it. I’ll never understand people. How you can look at your own flesh and blood and do anything but love them is a mystery to me.”
“I don’t think I know the half of it, and I can tell they’re terrible to him.” A frown pulls at my lips at the thought of Ever spending the week with them. He’ll have to stay up on the roof the entire night to wind down when he gets back next week.
Nana places a hand on my knee and puts down her foot, stopping the swing. “I know how badly you want to fix things and make it right, and I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’ve done all you can for now. He knows you’re here for him; there’s no way he can doubt that. All you can do is be there when he needs you.”
I admit, the pout is back in full effect. She’s right, I don’t want to hear it.
“It took me a long time to learn this, and I’m hoping I can save you some heartache with one small piece of advice.” She reaches for me and tips my chin to meet her eyes. “You can’t help someone until they’re willing to accept it. Do you get my meaning?”
I nod and even manage a crap smile, hoping that will appease her and we can move on from this topic. I don’t know what I expected her to say or do, but all my life, Nana was the person who could fix anything. Speeding ticket? Taken care of with one quick call to her best friend, Sally, the secretary to the mayor. Fender bender in the supermarket parking lot? Nothing that a little bit of Nana’s nail polish and a hammer couldn’t fix … I’m taking that one to the grave. I realize now how ridiculous it is to think that she can fix this particular problem, but I was hoping for a miracle, I guess.
“You know who taught me that?” she asks, and when I shrug, she looks away and frowns. “Evelyn.”
Now she’s got my attention. Even now that she’s somewhat back in the picture in a small way, saying Evelyn’s name around Nana is akin to saying Voldemort. So for her to bring up her name freely? I’m shocked.
“Really?”
She nods slowly, then huffs. “What didn’t I do to try and help that girl? I knew from the second Marcus brought her here, she was a haunted soul. I tried and tried, but I knew it was a hopeless cause. I tried for you. And for Declan. But at that time, Evelyn was too far gone, too deeply buried inside that head of hers, to see my outstretched hand and grab it. No matter how hard I pushed, she just wasn’t ready. There’s a part of me that’ll always blame myself, wonder if I pushed so hard, I pushed her clean away.”
“Aw, Nana, you can’t think that way. I’m sure you did what you thought was best,” I say, squeezing her hand.
I kick up my heel and push the swing back into motion. The slight breeze and the rhythmic back and forth has always soothed me. Even as a baby, Nana and I would sit out here for hours, on this very swing.
“You’re right, I did what I thought was best. It came from my heart, but it may not have been what she needed, and that’s on me,” she says, solemnly, almost apologetic. “Same goes for your boy. He’s going through something heavy right now. Grief and pain are fickle things—three people can experience the same slight and have three different reactions to it. It’s the bitch and the beauty of the human condition, isn’t it? I obviously don’t know him, so I don’t have the insight you need. But you’ve got to trust him, Low. Trust him to tell you what he needs. Can you do that?”
Can I? Every ounce of my body wants to bulldoze through this—break down doors, tear down walls, shake it out of him, if it comes to that. But after thinking on what Nana has said, that feeling is more about me. This is not the time to be selfish.
I’m gonna have to trust him.
“I can do that,” I say with a determined nod.
Nana slaps my thigh and stands. “Good girl. Now, do you think you can enjoy these last few days with your family? I know it’s hard to believe since you can be such a horse’s bee-hind, but we kind of miss you around here.”
I bark out a laugh and nod at her. As if on cue, Fishe
r lets out a labored howl as he scours the front yard for more bacon. Nana lets out a huff and waves a hand at him.
“And can you take this useless mule back with you? I’ve had about enough of his pissing and moaning to last me a lifetime.”
Fisher howls again, and Nana growls, yes, actually growls, back at him. The poor guy tucks his tail and cries, looking to me for reinforcements. I raise my hands in the air and giggle.
“You’re on your own, Fish.”
And that old bastard has the nerve to growl at me.
Marlo
I RETURN TO school after break, ready and determined.
Final exams? I’m gonna make them my bitch.
End of the year reports? My professors will weep from the words I weave.
Ever? One impromptu bump-in, and he’ll wonder why he didn’t call me sooner.
Yeah, turns out an impromptu bump-in with a vanishing boyfriend is harder to accomplish than I initially thought. The first week back is almost over, and I haven’t seen him once. That bastard … I mean that poor, poor soul … is in the wind.
According to Jeb, he never had returned to their dorm room after he’d left the Thursday before break. When Jeb had questioned the RA out of concern, he’d let him know Ever would be staying with his uncle off campus indefinitely. He isn’t returning Jeb’s phone calls either.
Since he hasn’t attended one fine arts class all week, it’s safe to assume he isn’t coming to campus at all. This week is dead week, and next week is finals, so I guess Ever is preparing for exams at his uncle’s house in lieu of attending class.
Yep, in the wind.
The only way I can think of to check on him is at Creole Market. Etienne and I had decided I wouldn’t return to work until next semester, giving me the extra time to prepare for finals and pack up my room for semester’s end. Ever, on the other hand, had opted to continue working for gas money and incidentals, so he could continue to visit Easton every weekend. Without my after school job, my free pass to leave campus whenever the mood strikes has been revoked.
Except, of course, for Thursday nights.
I’m looking forward to seeing Evelyn for dinner tonight. I’m even glad to see Oliver. But as I miss the turn for their house and keep walking to Creole Market, they aren’t at the forefront of my mind. I’m too busy looking for the invisible boy.
The bell rings over the door, and Etienne grins from behind the counter as he reaches for me. I oblige, and he smacks a wet kiss on the back of my hand.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you, my pretty one! How could you leave me with these boys?” He clutches his chest and throws his head back dramatically. “You must never leave me again. I forbid it.”
I laugh at his antics. “I miss you, too, Etienne. But I have a feeling your sweet tooth misses me more than your heart does.”
He gapes in horror. “Never. How can you say such things? But since you brought it up, I’ve been missing your chocolate and amaretto cupcakes the most. Can I trouble you to whip up a tiny batch? Not many, I won’t even sell them—they’ll all be for me.”
I swat at him, and he dodges me. “How generous of you, you old goat.” I lean on the counter, doing my best impression of calm, cool, and collected. “Are you the only one working today, Etienne?”
“No, no, the two amigos are in the storage room making space for new inventory. I’m running out of room, outgrowing my little store. Sooner or later, we’ll have boxes stacked up to the ceiling.”
Etienne raises a finger, and I can sense the diatribe about raising rents in the Quarter and the inevitable squashing of the small business owner gearing up. I walk toward the back of the store with an apologetic wave.
“Sorry, but I just need to talk with Ever for one second, and then I’m due over at Evelyn and Oliver’s house. It was so good to see you, Etienne.”
“And you, my pretty one. Until we meet again,” he says with a stately bow. “January?”
I scrunch my nose and nod. “January.”
I turn the knob of the storage room just in time to see Ever, rolled up dollar bill attached to his nostril, snort a mile-long line of … something … right up his nose.
What. The. Hell.
He holds one nostril closed while hovering over the counter, then expertly sniffs the line of powder within seconds. He tosses his head back and closes his eyes, running a thumb across his flushed nose. His gaze falls to the counter, and he presses a finger to the minuscule amount of residue left behind and then sucks the powder off his finger.
Only then does he notice me standing there.
It’s been over a week since I’ve seen him, felt his tears dampen my skin, his words of love warming me from the inside out. But standing here, in this moment, it may as well be a lifetime ago. I barely recognize him.
His warm and inviting eyes now look coal black and overly dilated.
His broad shoulders and wide frame look almost skeletal. Is it even possible to lose weight so quickly?
His once tortured expression looks empty and cavernous.
God, how I wish for tortured. Tortured means he’s got a ways to go to come back to me. Empty means he’s already too far gone.
Am I too late?
“Am I interrupting something, Pablo Escobar?”
My voice is acid, and the dig is unavoidable. Snorting powder up his nose is a far cry from a few drags off a joint, and I’m not letting it slide.
“Low.” That’s all he says. One word, no expression change, merely an impersonal acknowledgment of my presence.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? You ignore my calls for over a week, leave me in the dark, and what? Nothing?”
He gives no outside indication that my words are seeping through, and I charge forward into his space. Remy’s hand grabs mine before I make it very far, and I’m surprised by his presence. I didn’t notice him there until now.
“Low, now may not be the best time to talk to him. He’s a little … out of it,” Remy says, managing to look sympathetic and smug all at once. The downward curve of his lips says he’s worried, but the fire in his eyes tells another story. I’m just not sure what that story is yet …
“Ya think?” I look at Ever, glossed over and vacant, then turn back to Remy. “Did you have something to do with this? He doesn’t do stuff like this. Ever doesn’t snort cocaine!”
My voice is shrieky and loud, louder than is safe with Etienne only a room away. Remy shushes me and pulls me to the corner of the storage room.
“It’s not cocaine, it’s … look, he needed to calm the fuck down. If you would have seen him before, you’d know this is an improvement.”
“I find that hard to believe.” I let out a frustrated sigh and try to figure out what’s next. What should I do?
“Believe what you want, but Ever’s a big boy. Nobody made him do anything he didn’t want to do. So that blame I see swirling in those pretty green eyes? Turn that shit right back to him.” Remy raises his hands in the air like he’s washing them of the entire thing, and walks away.
At some point during my conversation with Remy, Ever must have stumbled into the bench against the side wall. He’s horizontal, on his back, eyes closed and a sickly euphoric smile playing on his lips. I crouch down to his level and brush his hair off his forehead. I’d do anything to take away whatever is haunting him, to bear that burden for him, because watching this is like shards of glass shooting through my veins, tearing me from the inside out.
“Please, Ever, tell me how to help you,” I plead, tears clogging my throat. “I’ll do whatever you need. We can get through it together, if you’d just talk to me.”
He slowly turns his head in my direction, and his eyes creep open like it physically aches to do it.
“I’ve been going through it since the day I was born, Low. I can’t ‘get through it’ for one more goddamn day. I’m just so tired of the hurt. I need it to … I just need it to stop.” He shakes his head in weary exasperation, like if he had the energy he
’d punch the wall in, but this is all he can muster in his altered state. He sniffs and rubs his nose with distracted irritation.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Ever. What’s going on? I need you to trust me if I’m going to help you. Just…” I rack my frenzied brain for the words that will pierce the fog. I touch his chin and turn his face to look at me. “I need you to believe in us. I need you to believe in me the way I believe in you.”
He lets out a bitter laugh and pushes my hand away from his face. “You just don’t get it, Low. I ruin the ones I love. I’m like a leech that sucks people dry. Everything I touch turns to shit. Every fucking thing.” He reaches for me and wraps his hand around the base of my neck, snaking his fingers through my hair. His eyes are more alive, his body more awake than it was just moments before. His fingers curl slowly, methodically, gripping my hair and pulling to the point of pain. I wince as he pulls me closer, and I peer into his almost black eyes. “So your faith? It’s lost on me. Now go home.”
He pushes off, pulls his hand away as if I’m hot coals, and turns from me.
“I don’t believe that, Ever. I don’t care what you say,” I say, my voice getting louder and louder as he shakes his head and purses his lips. Without one word, he stumbles to standing, and walks away, leaving me to talk to no one but myself. The bathroom door slams shut, and I hear the lock slip into place.
He’s done.
And I wonder if I should be, too.
Marlo
I STEP OUT into the alley behind the market and find Remy leaning up against the wall, one knee raised, a cigarette dangling from his lips. There’s a part of me, a large part, that wants to string Remy up by his dangly bits and watch him suffer. I know damn well where Ever got the drugs, whatever they were.
Maybe I should take a page out of Nana’s book and call it all dope. Cocaine, meth, whatever—does it really matter which one Ever’s using to ruin his life? I feel so helpless and confused about how to help him. Past stealing sips of Darryl’s whiskey and long pulls off his weed, I’m clueless. My barn parties with my neighbor didn’t prepare me for this. Should I talk to his uncle about what’s happening, or should I give him time to figure it out on his own? Was this a one-time thing, or has he been hitting the hard stuff for longer than I realize?
Low Over High (The Over Duet #1) Page 19
