Blindness

“Our girl needs a home. You okay with company?” he says, his mouth a half-smirk as he speaks, and his eyes locked on mine like he’s afraid to look away, afraid that I’ll fall apart if he does.

“Yeah, you got it. I’ll tell her,” he says, hanging up and tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Jessie says you have to pick up dinner. She’s not cooking,” he says, his smile soft and understanding. I’m stuck looking at him, stuck in this moment, even though I know staying will only make it worse. “Go on. He’ll be a’right. I’ve got him, Charlie. It’s my turn to take care of Cody, okay? I won’t fail—I promise.”

And I know he won’t. I pull my keys from my front pocket and shuffle back out into the cold to my car. I’m not sure if I’ve run stoplights or blown stop signs, I’m so distracted during my drive. I do manage to remember to pull through a drive-thru for burgers before I get to Jessie and Gabe’s house.

Their place is small, and it’s on a street tucked behind an industrial part of town. The train whistle is familiar; it reminds me of Mac’s house, and I stop to listen to it before I knock on the blue door of the tiny white house. Jessie welcomes me in, telling me to hurry before the food gets cold, and we eat in front of the TV.

She doesn’t waste any time when dinner’s done, unfolding the sofa and converting it to a bed, tossing flannel blankets on top and pulling a pillow from a small trunk that doubles as a coffee table.

“The train comes every hour. You get used to it,” she says, her lips tight in a flat smile. She’s purposely not talking about him, instead pretending this is normal, like it was part of our plan—something we would have done if Cody never existed. And I love her for it.

We shut the lights out by eight, and I know there’s no way Jessie is falling asleep. But she pretends. I lay awake for hours, counting the train six times before I hear the door slide open quietly and watch Gabe empty his pockets on the kitchen counter. He slips his sweatshirt over his head, drops it to the floor, and pulls his shoes from his feet to leave them by the door. He’s tiptoeing along the back of the sofa around me when I whisper.

“Thank you, Gabe,” I say. My thanks for far more than the pillow under my head, and he knows what I mean. He bends down and presses his lips on my forehead, pulling my blanket up on my body and tucking it along my back. His bedroom door closes seconds later.

The train whistles five more times before the sun rises, and I never shut my eyes.

Chapter 20: The Prettiest of Pictures

“Seriously, I don’t even know why you’re looking at apartments. You can stay with us next semester. We don’t mind,” Jessie says as she walks around the tiny apartment, the sixth one we’ve looked at today.

I don’t mind this one. The kitchen is nice, and it’s exactly halfway between school and my internship, which I plan to extend now that I’m no longer leaving for Washington.

“You and Gabe need your space,” I say, lifting one side of my mouth in a half grin. “Besides, the couch? Yeah, that’s shit to sleep on.”

Jessie laughs a little, and finally nods.

“Yeah, I know. But you’ve only been there for a week, and I’ve kinda gotten used to you…you know? Being, like…my roommate?” she’s kicking the floor while she talks, and it’s funny to see a girl whose wearing studs around her wrists turn shy.

“I know what you mean,” I smile back. “Hey, though…now you can come over here, especially when Gabe is driving you nuts!”

She laughs at that and heads back into the bedroom to look around a little more. I’m pretty settled on this place, and I know I can afford the rent on what’s left in my bank account and the small stipend I make at my internship.

We head to the front office and finish the lease agreement before lunch. Another perk to my new apartment is the proximity to three great restaurants. Jessie and I are trying out the deli today, but tonight Gabe’s coming over to help move a few things in that were left in my storage facility, and then we’ll splurge on the fancy Italian place.

I blow on my soup and sip at it slowly, keeping my gaze settled on my bowl. I know Jessie can tell I’m avoiding her—avoiding asking about him. I haven’t asked about him once in the last week, and she’s tried to talk to me about him every night. I always shut her down, but she’s got the advantage here—we’re in public, and my mouth is full of hot soup when she strikes.

“So he’s a f**king mess, you know?” she starts. She throws it out there—tempting bait—because she knows I’ll worry. She knows if I don’t ask now, it will gnaw away at me, and eventually I’ll come begging for details.