AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Whoa! This is supposed to be a safe space!” I bellow, causing them both to jump. “Why can’t you do that in your damn bedroom?”
“Oh shit.” Kody basically tosses Lavender to the floor, then sits up in a rush and grabs the closest pillow, putting it over his lap. “Hey. Sorry, man. We didn’t hear you come in.”
I ignore Kody and glare at my sister, who’s sitting on the ground, her face beet red. “You have a TV in your room. Why are you down here dry humping my best friend when you can do that behind a closed door? Like this whole thing isn’t already awkward enough!” I motion between the two of them.
“The TV in my room is tiny, and this one has better sound. And we lost track of time. At least we have all our clothes on,” Lavender says.
“Lav, baby, not helping,” Kody mutters.
I can’t even with the fucking pet names. “No making out in the living room,” I tell them sternly. “And no sex in the hot tub either.”
Kody makes a face and a gagging sound. “Hot tubs are filthy. I would never have sex in one.”
“Just like your mind,” I fire back. “Those are the new house rules. If anyone is in violation, they have a week of dish duty. I’m going to bed.”
“Sorry, Mav,” Kody calls after me.
I don’t bother responding. It’s bad enough that they’re always in each other’s pockets these days. I don’t need to witness their make-out sessions.
I lock my door as soon as I’m in my room and head for my bathroom. I need a shower to wash away all the bad memories. Now that I’m no longer freaking out, I realize it was pretty shitty of me to walk out of the café and leave Clover on her own.
I want to make sure she got home okay, but running by her house at this time of night would be a high level of creepy. Emailing could raise flags. She gave us a cell number in case of emergency situations, but I’d put messaging her at the same level of creeper as emailing and running by her house. So I let it be.
But that means I have shitty dreams. The kind where bad things happen to the people I care about. And apparently one of those people is Clover now.
* * *
I skipcreative writing class the following evening, trying to find a little perspective. It doesn’t do much good, though. I feel a lot like I’m going through withdrawal. I’ve grown accustomed to the three-hour lectures and the uncomfortable hard-on that accompanies listening to Clover.
On Wednesday morning, I wake up to find that the remaining leaves have blown off the trees, thanks to the storm we had last night. The remnants of it color the sky gray and make the day feel dank and dreary.
Despite the crappy weather, I pull on my running shoes, throw a hoodie over my T-shirt, and head toward the park for a run. I might also be planning to run by Clover’s place. Not that I expect her to be standing in her driveway, but I still feel like crap for the way I left things on Monday. If there’s even a remote chance I could run into her and apologize, I’ll take it.
Luck seems to be on my side today, because as I jog past her house, I notice a ladder propped up against the siding and a familiar figure, wearing a black cardigan, standing precariously on the second step from the top, feeling around in the gutter.
The house is a story and a half, dormers at the front, presumably so all the ceilings aren’t slanted on the second floor. The roofline isn’t particularly high at the front of the house, but still, it’s a good twelve feet up at the lowest point.
I slow to a stroll as she reaches in again and tosses a handful of muck-covered leaves to the driveway below. She’s wearing yellow rubber kitchen gloves, and her face is a mask of disgust. She looks down and blows out a breath, grabbing the ladder with both hands, as if she suddenly realizes how high she is.
“Hey, Clover, what are you doing up there?” I call out.
She startles and flails, and I rush to hold the ladder steady so she doesn’t set it off balance.
“Whoa! Careful. Can you come down before you break your neck, please?”
“You scared the crap out of me!”
“I seem to be really good at that. You shouldn’t be on a ladder without a spotter, though.”
“I didn’t realize how high I was. Am.” Her voice is pitchy as she clutches the ladder with both hands and lowers one foot, tapping the air until her toes find the next step. She repeats the process until she’s low enough that I can reach her foot.
“I’m gonna guide you down, all right?”
“Okay. Yes. That would be great.”
She’s wearing a pair of flats, the soles of which are worn, and the ladder is wet, making it slippery. I wrap my hand around her bare ankle and guide her foot to the next rung, then do the same with the other until she’s low enough that I can grab her by the waist and lift her to the ground.
She spins around. “You shouldn’t yell at people on ladders.”
