Page 2 of Head Under Water

I can’t fight anymore. I don’t want to.

And so, I don’t.

My body goes slack. I’m everywhere and nowhere all at once. The roaring fades to a dull hum, like a radio losing signal.

This is the end.

CHAPTER TWO

PRESENT DAY

It’s been seven years since I lived in this town, and I could still follow the road home with my eyes closed. I won’t, obviously. Every cop here knows my name, birthday, and that I peed my pants in second grade on a field trip to the space center. I don’t need them to add reckless driver to my long list of flaws.

I always feel a little bit claustrophobic here. A little bit stale. Like the air hasn’t moved since I left town. This place is where things go to die.

Speaking of…

The cemetery is to my left as I round the curve, and I blow a kiss Ruth’s way. It’s weird to think about her, this woman who was like a second mother to me, this woman I considered invincible, uncontainable, just—gone. It’s unfathomable I’ll never see her again, never hear her laugh. Never listen to her stories or drink another glass of her favorite bourbon with her.

We were supposed to have more time.

She was supposed to help me with this part of my life—this strange in-between, where I’m grown but not grown up.

The fresh dirt still looks darker than the rest. New. Wrong.

I shouldn’t complain. I know, however hard it has been on me, it’s been worse for Mom.

The way I used to sneak around the cemetery with Will and Cory flashes through my mind, feet thudding on the ground. Me trying to keep up with them. The dares to stay hidden and count to ten. The laughs when I ran home after I figured out they’d left me.

As I turn down the long, quiet road that leads to Mom’s, I’m busy daydreaming about what life will look like now that I’m back.

The three little houses come into view, identical two-bedroom bungalows. One pink—Ruth’s, one yellow—Margie’s, and one purple—Mom’s. Friends who became sisters.

Before I was born, the women came together to buy this plot of five acres, and they had the triplet houses built side by side. They knew what they wanted—to live out the rest of their lives together, raise the three of us together—and they made it happen.

Back then it all felt magical. Safe. Unbreakable.

My childhood memories are set to a chorus of laughter and hushed voices in the kitchen, fingers threading through my hair after a bath, Margie’s latest recipes baking in the oven. I woke up often to the sounds of them talking long after we’d gone to bed.

My throat is tight as my eyes linger on the pink house. Even from the outside it looks empty now. Lifeless without Ruth. The porch swing is still. The curtains are closed.

At the purple house on the end, Mom’s on the porch, her hand waving wildly as I pull up. I step out of the car, waving back. It’s only been three weeks since I saw her—since I was home for the funeral—but she looks thinner. Sadder. Smaller, somehow.

It’s good I’m back. She needs me.

“Hey, stranger,” I call, moving to the trunk. I pop it open and grab one of the few boxes I brought with me. It’s strange what little stuff I’d managed to accumulate at my old place. Like I was always planning to leave, though I never realized it. Like some part of me never fully settled in.

“Just leave that in there,” she says, appearing next to me. I hadn’t heard her walking my way, so I flinch before I can stop myself.

“What?” I pause. “Why?”

“I found you a place.” She tilts her head to the side, thinking. “Well, technically Margie did.”

My eyes find the yellow house in the middle of the row. “What? I told you I was fine to stay with you until I find something more permanent.”

“Oh, I know,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around my neck. She squeezes tighter than usual. “But this can be permanent. Or longer than temporary. So it eliminates a step. You only have to unpack once. Plus, you were going to have to sleep on the couch here, which I know hurts your back.”

“Aww, but I was planning to sleep with you.” I push out my bottom lip, but she’s right, I know. She converted my old bedroom to a craft room after I moved out, and sleeping on the couch long-term isn’t the most ideal situation. “Okay, well, what’s the place? Where is it?”