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“Fine,” Mr. Vega finally said, holding their gazes for a disconcerting beat too long. “But keep it down. Your mother is already asleep.”
Emma wondered if Mrs. Vega had ever tried to stop her husband from hurting her kids, or if she was too scared of him to intervene.
In seconds, they’d dropped their stuff in Madeline’s room. Pictures of ballet dancers spotted Madeline’s walls. Framed magazine spreads hung next to photographs of her and Thayer. Porcelain figurines were arranged in a circle on her spotless dresser. She wondered if Madeline’s uberstrict father made her clean it every morning or if this was Madeline’s way of exerting control where she could.
Madeline shoved a bunch of pillows off her lilac-covered duvet and plopped down on her queen-sized bed. Hugging a pillow, she eyed Emma suspiciously. “You know, I’m all for the impromptu sleepover and everything, but why have you been avoiding going home all week? Did you have a fight with Laurel or something? Are your parents getting on your nerves?”
Emma eyed Madeline, glad she had given her a plausible out. “Laurel’s been really bitchy lately. I just needed a break from the constant fighting.”
“About Thayer?” Madeline asked sharply.
Emma stared at her feet. “Kind of.”
Madeline’s shoulders stiffened. “If you’re sneaking around with him behind my back, Sutton, I swear I’ll—”
“I’m not,” Emma assured her. “I mean, we’ve talked a couple of times, but it’s not like that.” She sat down on the bed next to Madeline. “I’ve got a good thing going with Ethan. He makes me really happy.”
Madeline flashed Emma a genuine smile. “Ethan does seem pretty great. Who knew the brooding poet would be such a good guy? I’m happy for you two.”
“Thanks,” Emma said shyly. “I think he’s awesome, too. And I do understand why you’re so protective of your brother. I know about rehab.”
A muscle in Madeline’s jaw quivered. She eyed the door. “Keep it down,” she whispered. “He told you?”
“Yeah. He told me the other weekend, when I ran into him at the grocery store.” This was one time Emma could be absolutely honest. “And I haven’t told anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”
Madeline let go of a breath. “Thanks.” She untied her hair and let its dark layers spill over her shoulders. “I love my brother,” she said softly, taking a strand of hair between her fingers and examining a split end. “I just want him to be okay.”
“I know,” Emma whispered. “He’s getting better, Mads. You said yourself he’s been clean since he came home.”
“As far as we know.” Madeline stared out the window. Then, abruptly, she whipped around and met Emma’s gaze. “I know I’ve been kind of crazy about my brother. But you can’t imagine what it’s like here without him. When he was spending time with you—and now with Laurel—he’s not here…” Her voice trailed off. Tears filled her eyes.
“I can’t be in this house without my brother, Sutton,” she finally said, shaking her head slowly. “He’s the only one who protects me, the only one who loves me.”
“Oh, Mads,” I whispered, watching all of this, feeling so powerless.
Emma wrapped her arms around Madeline’s shoulders. “I’m here for you,” she whispered. She might not be able to put herself in Madeline’s shoes exactly, but she’d had her fair share of family drama, too, and she knew what it was like to be scared.
I wrapped my arms around both of them, wishing desperately that I could make everything okay.
Hours later, Emma woke with a start, her throat burning. It was 3 A.M., which Becky used to call the witching hour. Becky had been a night owl, and without fail, Emma would hear her pacing their apartment at 3 A.M. on the dot.
A tear-shaped night-light on Madeline’s wall cast an eerie blue glow across the floor. The house was silent except for Mr. Vega’s snores, which were audible from down the hall. Emma wanted to close her eyes and fall back asleep, but it felt like her mouth had been stuffed with cotton.
She pushed back the covers as carefully and quietly as she could. Earlier, while they’d watched TV and gossiped, Mr. Vega had stuck his head in, looking enraged. “Where are your physics books?” he’d seethed. Madeline had jumped nearly a mile. “Um, we’re taking a break,” she’d said. After that, they’d turned the TV off and barely spoken. Emma hoped Madeline wouldn’t have to pay for that when Emma left in the morning.
The hallway bathroom was right next to Mr. and Mrs. Vega’s room, so Emma decided to head to the kitchen instead. The stairs creaked beneath her weight. She froze for a moment, sure Mr. Vega would come screaming for her. Just keep going, she told herself, staring straight ahead and creeping toward the kitchen. You aren’t doing anything wrong.
At the end of the hall, a curved wooden vase held skinny brown branches blooming with yellow flowers. An antique silver platter sat on a coffee table in a small sitting room. Emma crossed a Navajo-style carpet and rounded the corner into the kitchen, which still smelled faintly of spices from dinner. Just as her bare feet hit the cold tile, she saw something and gasped. Thayer stood at the black granite island. He was staring at her.
Emma jumped back. “Oh!”
“What are you doing here?” Thayer whispered. He’d been in his room with the door shut tight when Emma had arrived earlier.
