“Harper?” My voice cracks on her name. “Silas?”
The only answer is silence. The house feels hollow. Empty in a way that has nothing to do with whether people are physically present and everything to do with the absence of the person who made it a home.
“Z?” I call, even though he’s probably in the basement with those damn headphones on.
I flip on the hallway light. Everything looks the same. Mom’s shoes lined up by the door, neat just the way she liked them. Her reading glasses on the entry table. The framed photo of the two of us from my eighth-grade graduation, her arm around my shoulders, both of us grinning.
I was so proud that day. Honor roll. Student council. Debate team.
See, Mom? I’m doing everything right. You can’t leave me if I’m perfect enough.
Except she did leave me. Not by choice. Not because I failed. Just... physics. Biology. The fundamental unfairness of a universe that doesn’t give a shit about how hard you try.
“Harper?” I try again, louder this time. My voice echoes off the walls.
Nothing.
I pull out my phone. Try calling again. It goes straight to that automated message:The person you are trying to reach is unavailable.
Something small and furry brushes against my ankle, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Sox. Harper’s stray cat, looking up at me with those massive green eyes.
“Where is she?” I ask the cat, which is stupid, but it feels like the cat is the only living thing in this house, and I need—I need?—
I need Harper. I need her arms around me. I need her telling me in that blunt, no-bullshit way of hers that it’s okay to fall apart.
Sox meows and trots toward the kitchen. I follow because what else am I supposed to do?
The kitchen light is off, but the moon through the window provides enough illumination to see the counter. And there, propped against the fruit bowl, is a piece of paper.
Not just paper. A sketch.
My hands are shaking so hard I nearly drop it.
It’s us. Harper and me. Her distinctive style, all bold lines and shadow work that shouldn’t be possible with just a pencil but somehow is. We’re reaching for each other. Fingertips barely touching. And she’s walking away.
Pulling away.
Leaving.
My throat closes.
No.
No no no no?—
There’s text at the bottom. Big blocky capitals, the letters slanted and pressed hard into the page like she was angry when she wrote them. Or crying. Or both.
Caleb,
I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. For all of it. For ruining your life. For dragging you into my shit. For making you believe I could belong in a world like yours.
Dad took the fall for me and confessed to the drugs. I can’t stay and pretend to live with that. I can’t live in a world where I destroy the only people who’ve ever tried to love me. I’ll just destroy you, too.
You were always meant for more than this. Harvard. A clean start. You deserve so much better than trailer trash who brings you down. You have a chance to start over now with a clean slate. Don’t waste it on someone like me.
Forget me.
Forget us.