Dead to You

I am Ethan De Wilde.

I am.

CHAPTER 43

I wake up, drool sliding down my chin, and all my muscles ache. I’m twisted up in a blanket on the floor in my original basement spot, and it’s quiet in the house for a bright Saturday morning. I wipe my mouth. My unbrushed teeth taste like cigarette ashes.

I hear a noise and look up. Mama’s sitting on the edge of the pool table, watching me. Her hair is a mess and she’s still wearing her clothes from last night.

“Sweetheart,” she says, and then her eyes flood. “I’m so sorry.”

My face screws up, and I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to be upset anymore and I don’t want to remember it. “Go away,” I say, softly. Gently. “Please don’t look at me.”

Mama brings her hand to her face and sucks in a shuddery breath. “Dad and I have no doubt that you are our son. And we’re dealing with Blake. He is being severely punished. I’m so sorry—I know it hurts.”

I roll over and look at the wall.

“We both love you very much. And so do Blake and Gracie.”

She needs to be quiet now or I’ll never believe another word she says. “Please, just go. I’ll talk to you later. I can’t talk about this right now.”

She’s quiet, and after a minute she slides off the pool table. “Okay.”

Later, I hear her on the phone with the therapist, setting up another appointment. As if the weekly visits weren’t wrecking things enough.

I have no thoughts. I just lie there for a long time, like I’m in a trance or something. Not feeling anything. Not knowing what to think. I hear people waking up, moving around upstairs, and I feel a buzzing in my pocket. But I don’t move. I can’t.

Gracie comes down when Mama’s not paying attention, and I don’t have the energy to send her away.

“Mama says you don’t feel good today.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Did you frow up?”

“No, I just feel sick.”

She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me for a minute, and then turns around and runs up the steps.

I finally rouse myself enough to text Cami.

Bad headache, I write. I’m sorry. Going to sleep. Talk later, k?

Oh no! I’m sorry for all the annoying texts. I didn’t know. Feel better. Miss you.

I doze for a while, and then I hear Gracie coming down the stairs again. I open one eye and she sets something down by my head and tiptoes back upstairs. I sit up and look at it.

It’s her lunch box.

I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. And then I open it up. It’s lunch. A bologna, butter, and potato chip sandwich, a granola bar, a cheese stick, and a juice box. And a folded piece of paper.

I unfold it. It’s a drawing of the two of us in the living room, Gracie standing on my knees, playing elevator.

And it kills me. It really does.

I eat the lunch, and then, after a while, I hoist myself up, go into my room, and find some colored pencils, and I sketch a picture of us too. We’re sitting on the sled, with matching red-and-white-striped knit caps . . . like Waldo. I fold the paper and put it into the empty lunch box, and then I leave it at the top of the steps for my sister.

And then I take a shower and get cleaned up.

Before I leave, I go upstairs and find Mama washing windows in the living room. “I’m going out for a while,” I say. “I’ll be back by eleven, and I have my phone on. Okay?”

Mama nods. Her eyes are rimmed red and she still looks like hell. “Will you please tell me where you’re going?”

“Just over to Cami’s.”

“Thank you.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s around. Working in the garage.”

I’m glad. I thought she might have made him leave for good when she told him to get out last night. “Okay.” I turn to go, and then I hesitate. “Hey, Mama?”

She rests her arm and turns to look at me. “Yes?”

I press my lips together. “I’ll take a DNA test if you want me to.” My voice chokes on the words. “If that will fix things.”

Mama’s face grows hard. “Absolutely not.”

“But why? If it’ll stop all of this . . .”

“Because, Ethan.” Her tone doesn’t waver, but it grows softer. “Think about it. How would you feel if I say okay?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer, and I’m glad, because truth is I’d feel like shit.

“If I say okay,” she says, “your whole life, you’ll never forget that once, your own mother doubted you.” She gives a little one-shoulder shrug and her voice is thick. “I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

She touches my shoulder and makes me look her in the eye. “Hear me, son: I don’t doubt you. Okay? You want to do a test for yourself, or for Blake, I won’t stop you. But don’t do it for me.”

My eyes burn. I blink hard for a second, thinking I should say something loving, something thankful, but I can’t. I try a smile, but my lips aren’t working right either—it comes out crooked and quivery, but it’ll have to do. And then I turn and go.

I knock on Cami’s door. She opens it and flings herself into my arms. Almost knocks me off her front step. And then she’s kissing me, hard, and I forget everything except how fucking in love I am. She pulls me into her house and we go downstairs to their rec room and then we’re on the couch, making out, and I just hold her tight, feel her body against mine, and all I can think about is how much I want her.