It’s buried under the sickness clinging to her pores, but it’s there.
I scrub a hand over my face.
They hooked up.
My brother, who has spent five years pretending Sedona Archer didn’t exist, who has worn his anger like a second skin, fell into bed with her during a quarantine lockdown.
Fuck.
I want to be happy for him. I want to be relieved that the tension vibrating between them like a live wire has finally snapped. But all I feel is a hollow ache in my chest.
It’s a familiar pain. I’ve been living with it for years.
The screen door creaks behind me. I don’t turn around. I know who it is. The footsteps are quiet, measured.
Seth walks around the railing and sits down on the step next to me. He’s holding two mugs. Steam curls up into the cool air. He hands me one.
“Hot cocoa,” he says.
I take it. The ceramic is warm against my palms. “Thanks.”
We sit in silence for a minute, watching the CDC team haul a generator across the yard. The air smells like wet dirt and diesel fuel.
“How are you feeling?” Seth asks. He keeps his eyes on the horizon.
“Fine,” I say. “No fever. No chills. I feel normal.”
“That’s good.”
“How about you?”
“Same. Jasper is a little freaked out, but physically he’s okay.”
I take a sip of the cocoa. It’s rich, bittersweet. It settles warm in my stomach. I glance at Seth. He’s staring intently at the barn, his jaw tight.
“Where’s Clara?” I ask. “And Jasper?”
“Clara’s in the kitchen with Maggie, helping organize the medical supplies,” Seth says. “Jasper’s in the loft.”
We drink our cocoa. Seth sets his mug on the step between his boots. He turns to look at me. He studies my face, his eyes assessing.
“How are you doing?” he asks. His voice drops. “Really.”
I grip my mug tighter. “I told you. I’m fine.”
“I’m not talking about the parasite, Tex.”
I look away. I stare at the bunkhouse. The curtains are drawn.
“I’m okay,” I lie.
“Don’t bullshit me.” Seth shifts, turning his body toward me. “We all saw the way you looked at her yesterday. When she fainted. And we all saw the way you looked at Billy this morning.”
I sigh. I lean my head back, looking up at the overcast sky. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
He’s persistent. He always has been.
