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Sydney is leaning against the counter, still talking on the phone.
“Sydney,” I hiss. “Sydney.”
Her eyes meet mine, the happy shine slowly fading as she registers my expression. “I have to go, Graham,” she says, then hangs up. “What is it? What’s going on?”
“There are police officers at the door. They—” That’s all I manage before Sydney is hurrying toward the front of the house, following the chill spreading through downstairs as the draft expands.
The officers are still waiting on the porch. Part of me was hoping they’d disappear. That they would realize they had the wrong house, the wrong person. That this was all a terrible misunderstanding that would simply disappear.
But it’s not.
“Miss Adams.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
I linger in the background a few feet behind her, my pulse and mind racing. I’m an observer in this moment. It feels like I’m seeing this unfold as part of the movie we were just watching, not as someone experiencing it firsthand.
This isn’t my house. This isn’t my father police officers are discussing using phrases such ashead-on collisionandkilled instantlyandidentify the body. That’s all Mr. Adams has become. A body, not a person.
But this will have consequences for two of the people I care most about in this world. I barely register that thought, the realization that at some point I re-elevated Holden to the same level of status as my best friend. That I forgave his silence or moved past it, or accepted people make mistakes.
I step forward and squeeze Sydney’s hand as the officers leave after a final round of condolences.
Sydney’s eyes are wide and unseeing, the color mostly drained from her face. I shut the door, figuring the cold won’t help.
“My dad is dead.” Every word is coated in disbelief.
“I’m so sorry, Sydney.” That’s all I can think to say. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid tragedy in my life. All of my grandparents are still alive, even. I have two present, healthy parents.
Sydney has none now.
I don’t think anything I say will ever make that okay.
Sydney steps back until her back hits the plaster wall of the entryway. There’s a photo of Holden and Sydney with their dad hanging next to the bottom of the stairs. I’m glad her back is to it. Glad she doesn’t have to look at those smiling faces right now.
She sinks to the floor slowly, studying the hardwood with a blank expression, like she’s never seen it before.
I pick up the landline and dial one of the two numbers I know by heart. My dad answers after three rings. “Nolan residence.”
“Dad?”
“Cassia?” Instantly, his tone changes into apprehension. I rarely call the home phone, and he knows I’m supposed to be sleeping across the street.
“Dad, I need you or Mom to come over. The police were just here.” I glance at Sydney, who’s still staring at nothing. “They… Mr. Adams was in an accident. He, uh, he didn’t make it.”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the line, followed by some commotion. I can hear Sally screaming. My mom askinga question and Maggie replying. I can’t imagine getting the call Sydney just got. Can’t imagine losing a member of my family.
“I’ll be right over, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” I whisper, then hang up the phone. I stare at the number pad.
I have Holden’s cell memorized. Should I call him?
“My dad is on his way,” I say.
Sydney nods.
“Can I get you anything? Do anything?”
