13: Comfortable Silence

☆ Evan ☆

Pushing myself back to the surface of the water, Claire's expression softens. She grabs my waist to pull me into a hug. For once, she doesn't say anything—she just holds me in place. Her chin rests against my shoulder.

When she lifts her face, the pause extends between us. Her eyes are so grey that they look white, as reflective as a mirror.

"You don't have to worry about me," I mumble.

"I am worried," Claire replies. She moves an inch closer, and my vision doubles, then triples. Her eyelashes flutter when she approaches, her mouth closing over mine. The kiss barely lasts a second; it's chaste, and she's pulling back before I can get lost in it. "Talk to me."

I already tried that. I slowly swim back to shore, laying on the sand. Claire's arms fasten around me—she's not that much shorter than I am, so she settles by wrapping her legs around my chest to bring our bodies as close as possible. She's shivering from the chilly water. When she moves in to kiss me again, her fingers hook into my shirt, and I hastily push my hand against her arm.

"Claire," I say, and her eyes widen.

She pulls back from me like I've burned her. "What is going on with you, Evan?"

There's anger hidden in her tone. If I didn't know her well, I wouldn't be able to notice the way her eyes crinkle, the way she grinds her teeth and stares at me, vacantly.

"What are you doing?" I reply.

"What am I doing? What are you doing? That's the better question. Because I thought you wanted this."

"Oh." I untangle myself from Claire and put some distance between us, scraping a hand through my hair. "I'm really not in the right... headspace for that. It's not that..."

I can't even force myself to complete that sentence. Claire tilts her head at me, but there's nothing I can tell her that would explain it. Besides the truth, but I've never been the best at admitting that.

"We've been dating for three years. I was okay with going slow before, but this is just getting annoying," Claire points out. "If there's something bothering you, I would rather you tell me now."

I place my hand on my forehead. This is the opposite of what I expected. "Claire, what do you expect we're going to do once we graduate?"

She blinks. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Contrary to what she seems to think, it's the most important question I've had to ask her. It's also a subject we both continue to avoid.

"Well," she starts warily, "I put in my application to Dalhousie a few days ago. My major is undecided right now. I don't know, I might do nursing. I thought we were both going together."

"Yeah, about that. I don't think I want to do that anymore. Actually, I don't know what I want to do, in the first place." Thinking about university makes my stomach tie in knots. It doesn't seem optional. Do I even want to go through the motions of applying for nothing?

Claire's face falls. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be pressuring you. Nobody said we have to do the same thing. It's not a requirement. It was... it would be the easiest way to stay together." Her chin raises to look me in the eye. "I don't know what that means, then."

"It doesn't mean anything. Probably," I say. "I don't know. At least I finally told you. It was weighing on me."

And that's not the end of it. I haven't told her about Astronomy Club either, or that I'm quitting soccer. I don't know how she would react, and I kind of want to keep the club for myself. It doesn't help that Claire would probably call it out of character. She has a version of me in her head, an idea of who I am, and sometimes I'm not sure that I have ever been that person.

"You can always talk to me. I don't want you to feel like you can't," Claire says. "I'm glad that's out in the open. It felt like you were being frigid before. Shutting me away."

"Frigid?" I repeat.

She nods. "It's hard to explain, but it's sort of like you're putting a wall between us. But it was just because you were thinking about graduation, right?"

I push myself to my feet, casting a look around the beach. Droplets of water hit the sand beneath my feet. I shiver slightly, holding my arms close to my chest. I feel about as cold as ice at the moment, and it's not that different from how I usually act around Claire. "I wanted everything to stay the same."

At least that isn't a lie.

"It's still the same," Claire promises. "I guess it changes my perspective a little, but it's not like it completely ruins my plans. I'm doing what I want. You should be able to do the same. That's only fair. I just wish you knew what that was. I'd like to help you figure it out."

I scoff. "Well, I don't know either. All that I know is that I don't want to chain myself to a certain route and then have to change it later."

"I don't expect you to know," Claire says, getting to her feet and padding after me. We're walking side-by-side, and occasionally she looks at me like she wants to reach out and take my hand.

I sigh heavily. So much about the future is unknown. I don't know what I would do with a time machine; it feels like I would have no use for it. I wouldn't want to jump forward. I think I'd just go backward, to find Elaine before she grew up to realize how messed up her life had become. I wouldn't mess around with space-time. I would just save her.

"We should go back to the car, I don't want you to freeze," I say. Claire nods, and together we make our way back to her car.

As soon as I approach the passenger seat, and I can see my phone through the glass, I can tell something is wrong. The hair on my neck stands on edge when I grab it. The screen shows three missed calls. There's one message from Elaine. On the surface, it's fairly normal, fairly innocuous. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Hey, Ev. I'm thinking waffles for breakfast tomorrow? With whipped cream and strawberries.

But it's a code. It means Carolyn is angry at her, and that it's already escalated to the worst level.

My blood runs cold. My throat is dry, like the air has escaped from my lungs, and I can't breathe. Holding the phone, I slowly look at Claire. She hasn't noticed yet; busying herself with getting the car started and cranking the heat to the highest setting.

I set my hand against the passenger door. I shouldn't have come. I know I shouldn't have. How the hell am I getting back home?

"Claire," I say as I climb into my seat, "I have to go. There's a family emergency."

"What?" Her eyes are vibrant, the shock evident in the way she's looking at me. "Nothing major, I hope?"

"No, we have to go. Now."

She starts to protest, but I interrupt her again. "Now."

Claire nods and slams her foot on the gas. The beach rolls into the distance, a memory long forgotten by the time we hit the road.

I shut my eyes, counting the seconds. Wishing time would move faster. Counting the time before I get back home.

☆ ☽ ☆

The door to my room is always slightly ajar. It was like that when we moved in. I like to think that the contractor who built the apartment complex made a minor miscalculation, forgetting to account for a single centimetre. By consequent, the doorway doesn't match up the way it should and trying to force it closed causes the door to glide open moments later, as if pushed by a ghost. Fixing it would have been too much work.

It's a bit like the McKenna-Gibson-Vincent family, really. Carolyn has used her maiden name for as long as I can remember. She kept it through her first relationship with my father, then with Randall. He deals with it, and he doesn't have the choice, but I can tell he doesn't seem to understand her reasoning for it. He doesn't know her very well. He doesn't see that this is just another exit strategy for her. She always keeps the door open, even if it's only by a smidge, knowing that one of these days she's going to have to use it.

Fixing it would be too much work, after all.

Through the gap, I can see across the hall. Elaine keeps her door open, sprawled across her pink bedsheets, pretending that she's sleeping. But we've both been through this routine before.

By my side, I have the whiteboard from my door. On it, I scribble out a message to her. School?

She stares at it through an annoyed expression. We both know that having to creep into the living room and face Carolyn is a fate worse than staying put. While Randall normally makes the task easier, he's been home since yesterday, and the nonstop arguing is keeping him occupied.

Elaine pens a sad face and turns her whiteboard towards me. She takes it back and writes: I have a test.

I groan and turn onto my side. Based on my cellphone clock, we have twenty-two minutes before I have to be in my first block class.

What subject? As soon as I hold it up, the incessant yelling grows, building to an intolerable volume. The entire apartment can hear them, by this point.

Biology! Elaine grins over her whiteboard, tapping the sentence underneath it. I wrote a song to memorize.

I smile back at her. You can tell me all about it on the drive to school.

She nods to the kitchen. The pause extends as she writes out a response; Might be better to walk?

How? I write back.

Twirling her dry erase marker between her fingertips, Elaine shrugs. I shimmy to the edge of my bed, poking my head out to the living area. The narrow hallway ends at the dining table where Randall is seated, a crumpled newspaper in his hands. In his other hand, his work phone. "Do you want me to call them?" he asks softly. "Because I can do that, Carolyn. I can make one phone call and ask them what happened."

"I never left this apartment. I did not step outside that door. Never. Why do you have to blame everything on me? I would never intentionally lie to you. You're throwing the past back at me," Carolyn replies from somewhere I can't see.

I roll my eyes and glance back at Elaine. We can leave through the window, she's suggested.

Sounds like a plan. You get the rope. I hold it up while I fetch my phone, zipping my backpack shut. I wipe the whiteboard clean with a flick of my fingertips, placing it back onto my door with a thumbtack.

I gesture in the direction of the living room. Elaine hesitantly follows me, her bag over her shoulder. The black backpack is packed with line-art illustrations of tourist attractions—the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Seine. Places that we have never been, that seem out of reach, existing nowhere but on postcards. The world could consist of Northwood and nothing else but darkness, and I wouldn't know the difference—I've never stepped foot outside of its boundaries, save to visit Randall's grandparents.

In the living room, Carolyn crosses the floor like a bull seeing red. Her eyes are vivid, her hair astray. "This is ridiculous. Why the hell do you think I left? You left me. For two weeks."

Randall forces a sigh. "That is not the same, and you know it. I leave for work," he reminds her in the same tone of voice he uses when talking down to me. "And Ms. Boudreaux across the hallway saw you leave. That's why I'm not believing this whole act. I've heard it before—and for all I know, you've gone and wasted this month's rent on drinks again."

He pauses at the sight of Elaine and me. Searches for a meaningless platitude to fill the gap with, but comes up empty. Eventually, after he squeezes his eyes shut, and Carolyn stops pacing, Randall says, "It's time for school."

It isn't a question, it's a statement of fact. Like he's cursing himself for forgetting.

"Yeah," Elaine confirms, a touch softer. Crossing the room like she's afraid of falling into a trap, she reaches the doorway in less than ten strides. She turns a hopeful gaze on me.

I know where Randall keeps his keys—I'm the one who puts them back into his pocket before he comes home every two weeks. So, I play dumb for the sake of it. "Where are your keys? Can I take the car?"

"As long as you be careful," Randall says. "Remember, that heating system is finicky, so don't use it unless you have to. You might have to fill up the tank when you come back. The keys should be where I left them. In the coat pocket, that one to your right—there you go."

Already done. "Got it," I say as I retrieve them.

Carolyn stares at him. "Before you leave, Elaine, I want to clear the air about this weekend."

"Carolyn—" Randall interjects, but she continues undeterred.

"You should have told me where you were going after the birthday party. I just want to keep everyone safe. What would I have done if you were in trouble? Then what?"

No sense in arguing, because Randall says it first: "Carolyn, if you were home, and you weren't drunk, then you would have been able to get Elaine if something came up."

She scoffs. "Don't bring that up in front of the children. Honestly, what are you thinking? Elaine, from now on, I just want you to be honest with me."

"I'm sorry," Elaine offers, monotone. She seizes the door handle and shoves me through, leaving the argument to resume full force. Her hands shake as she fixes the strap of her bag, making haste for the door.

I fall into step with her. "What about that song?" I ask softly.

She shakes her head. We travel the length of the ride to school without speaking, and she waits until I've pulled beside the curb to unclip her seatbelt. "Are you working?"

"All afternoon," I say. "You can come to the store if you want. It's only a six-hour shift."

She nods. "I'd like that."

I take the back road to North High. I have no desire to have Claire bothering me. I wander through the halls, wishing I knew the secret to disappear completely. How much I would give to fall off the face of the universe like my father's voicemail message.

Time drifts away during my first three classes, and before I know it, I have to find a seat over lunch. Jenny and Claire are occupying their usual seat, so I head down to the basement instead. In the furthest right corner of the school building, there's a row of classrooms that rarely require use, and next to it, a set of stairs with a hidden alcove underneath it. I discovered it in my second year after returning from soccer practice through the side door, and it's my hiding place of sorts.

Sighing, I turn on Elaine's playlist. Thoughts of yesterday filter through my mind. Carolyn left in the early morning, most likely to spend her money at the local brewery by the ocean. I guess she got caught in the act for once.

I watch the seconds pass on my phone's clock, slower than ever before. I've had enough of this day, this week, and even this year.

I have some time. I don't think about it. I get to my feet and head out the side door.