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“Didn’t you ever sneak over there at night?” he asks in surprise.
“No!” I say with affront. “You went without me? Rude.”
He chuckles. “It’s not that impressive, honestly. That’s the original lake house where the owners lived before they built the camp. When they moved to Florida, the year-round caretaker lived there.”
I look at the house again. “Why didn’t you set up there? It has plumbing, right?”
“It does, but it’s uninhabitable at the moment. A tree fell and took down half the roof.”
“I bet the view is beautiful, though,” I say as I munch on chocolate, lost in imagining a charming lake house with a private dock and a big porch, smoke piping from its chimney.
“It really is,” he agrees, but when I glance at him, he’s not looking out the window. Steady blue eyes are locked on my face.
My breath gets caught between a gasp and a laugh. I want to punch him, tell him how unbelievably cheesy and horrible that line is, but at the same time, heat captures my face and spirals downward, robbing me of my voice. Eyes wide, probably panicked, I fight to look away.
He finally breaks eye contact, glancing out the window. “You want to go see it?” His voice sounds normal, but his shoulders are tense.
I’m definitely curious about the house, but at the moment, I’d rather jump into the middle of the lake without a life jacket. Fight or flight kicks in again, and this time I don’t hesitate, jerkily lifting my watch-encircled wrist.
“I need to pick up Damien from my parents soon. In fact, I should get going.” My voice, unlike his, is high with anxiety. I back awkwardly toward the door. “Do you need me to help you clean up the tile?”
Lucas watches me with an unreadable look. “Nope. I got it.”
“Thanks for the chocolate.” I hold up the bar, waving with it.
A small frown puckers his brow. “Celeste?—”
“Bye!”
Heart pounding, I flee to the Art Barn to collect my laptop bag and purse, then jog to my car. Thirty seconds later, I’m driving down the gravel road. Although I’m almost afraid to, I glance in the rearview at the trailer, expecting to find him watching me.
The doorway is empty.
24
“Mom, drink some water, please.”
She bats at my hand. “I don’t want it. Stop badgering me.”
Swallowing a sigh, I set the glass on the coffee table and collapse into the chair opposite the couch where my mom lies with an arm over her head. Pretty sure she’s wearing the same thing she wore yesterday—a floral print pajama set and a silk robe with wine stains on the lapels.
It’s three in the afternoon on Saturday and she’s drunk. She was drunk yesterday, too, when I drove straight from Wild Lake to bring her dinner. I should have stayed the night, but she’d seemed okay when I left, having finished most of the food. Looking at her sallow face and frail limbs now, I wonder if she slept at all. If she’s eaten anything today besides the ice cubes in her wine. If she gives a shit at all about the fact she’s killing herself.
The buzzing of my phone snaps me from a downward spiral. When I see the caller ID, I stand and head upstairs to my old bedroom, answering as I open the door.
“Michelle.”
“Hey, big brother, sorry I didn’t get back to you last night.” She pauses. “Did the blood work results come in?”
I sit heavily on my old twin bed, hunching forward like I can protect myself from the memories—and pain—that happened within these walls. Like I can protect myself, too, from the words I have to speak and everything they mean.
“Yeah, they did. Yesterday afternoon.”
Right after Celeste left Wild Lake, which in retrospect was either the worst or best timing possible. I wince as I remember the mess I made in the trailer as I vented my frustration on the folding table and chair.
From Michelle’s silence, she knows—just as I did—what it means when a doctor calls within twenty-four hours of a test. Bad news.
“And?” she finally whispers.
