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“Uh huh.”
Phoebe climbs up on one of the island stools, watching me as I go about reheating the pizza they had last night, and popping a plate of dinosaur-shaped nuggets in the microwave.
She chatters away, and I do my best to keep up and answer what I can. Once everything’s heated, and I’m mixing BBQ sauce and ketchup in a small bowl for dipping—she hates both on their own, but loves them together—I tell her to go get the movie started.
She runs off, and I stack everything on an old tray Mom keeps around for nights like this where she’s not around. She likes to have us sit at the table when she’s not working at the hospital. She no longer waitresses at Chickie’s—hasn’t since she got the call-in position at the hospital after she graduated last spring. Now her hours are kind of all over the place, making family dinners in the evenings more sparse than ever.
I’ve got a year and half before I go off to college in New York City—at least that’s the plan for after graduation—so Mom’s working her ass off, not only to save up to help me with tuition in case all scholarships fall through, but to hopefully be able to snag a better position should one open. One that allows her to be home on weeknights when I’m no longer here to babysit.
Fortunately, Gavin and Linda are more than willing to help out where they can. Gavin’s got his bar, but weeknights are slow, and he’s got other bartenders to cover for him if he needs to take off. And Linda’s been cutting back hours, working more behind the scenes and delegating at the diner, rather than trying to do it all herself like she has in the past.
In the living room, the movie’s just started to play, the title appearing on the screen. I set the tray on the table, along with a glass of milk.
Phoebe makes a disgusted face up at me from where she’s curled in a ball on the floor, knees tucked under her teal and purple night shirt.
“If you drink this, you can have a brownie for dessert.”
She rolls her eyes, throwing back her head with a dramatic, “Fine.” Scooting closer to the table, she grabs a nugget, and swirls in the sauce. I grab a slice of pizza, fold it up, and take a bite just as my cellphone starts ringing from where it’s sitting on the end table, plugged into the wall.
I set my pizza down on the tray, and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. Quickly chewing the single bite I took, I scoot across the couch, and lean over to glance at the screen.
Izzy’s picture graces the screen—eyes crossed, and tongue out—her name flashing just under it. I swallow the pizza, and rub my hands on my sweats before picking up the phone, disconnecting it from the charger.
I hit answer, and bring it to my ear.
“Hey.”
A sharp sort of hitch of breath greets me, and I frown, glancing behind me to where the movie’s still playing on the TV. Phoebe’s making obnoxious kissy faces at me, pointing the remote at the screen, cranking the volume up.
“Hold on,” I mutter, and angle the phone down so my mouth isn’t on the speaker. “Phoebe, lower it.”
She crosses her arms, glaring at me.
Jesus.
“You can talk to your girlfriend later,” she says, sounding just like Mom.
I bug my eyes out at her, and she bugs them right back.
Lifting the phone, I don’t tear my gaze off my sister’s stubborn one as I say, “Sorry, I’m watching a movie with Phoebe. Can I?—”
“Mason,” Izzy chokes out on a sob.
And I go bone-cold.
Frozen, I barely feel my lips move as I say, “What happened?”
Jeremy.
That’s all I can think.
Something fucking happened to Jeremy.
The world tilts, dimming.
I can’t breathe, I can’t?—
“Waylon,” she forces out, her voice barely even discernible. “It’s Waylon.”
