When the first text came, a mixture of surprise and relief made him take it literally.
I hope your happy.
It was the first communication from Cart since the birthday party—the first sign that Cart was even alive after vanishing completely. Theo had to sit down, forgetting about the missing cushions, the springs hard under his ass. He was still typing out a reply when the second text came.
you are a faggt andi hat faggotes
Theo stopped composing his message. He knew he was clutching the plastic case too tightly; he could feel it flexing, and then the sliding cover for the battery popped free.
you ruined my lif you fuckinng qurrr ihate you som uch
And, of course, there wasn’t anything to say to that, so Theo picked up the cover for the battery and tried to slide it back into place. He couldn’t. Then he could, but the plastic pinched his finger, and he swore and threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall, gouging the plaster, and cracked against the floor. Then it buzzed again.
Sucking on his finger, he retrieved the phone. He read every message as they came in. At least a dozen of them. A part of him understood that Cart was drunk or high, was hurting, was humiliated, was saying things that came out of a place of terrible pain. And another part of him could hear the words in Cart’s voice: You ruined my life. You ruined my life. You ruined my life.
Since Cart had left, he no longer bothered with the electrical boxes or the shower curtain rod or the hollow-core door. He took the brown plastic bottle of Percocet (thank God for refills) and a fresh joint out of the drawer in the entertainment center. He put down two of the pills with a Big Wave; he’d kept them stocked in the fridge in case Cart decided to show up one day. Then he put down another. Upstairs, he smoked the joint in bed and drank another Big Wave. At some point, it seemed like a good idea to throw the half-empty bottle. For a frozen instant, it made a star of beer and broken brown glass against the wall. He was convinced he watched the whole thing in slow motion.
It wasn’t just Cart. It was Auggie, while Theo was tied up and gagged and listening, unable to do anything. It was Ian, and it was Lana, the car spinning. Theo wasn’t sure, but now he thought maybe the radio had been on, and while the tires had screamed across asphalt, Elton John had been singing “The Bitch is Back.” It was Luke, who had died alone in the loft, where Theo had knelt and picked straw out of his hair.
“There’s no straw in my hair,” Luke kept saying back, and he was grabbing Theo’s wrists, struggling with him. “Will you just lie still, for fuck’s sake? Do you need to go to the hospital? Jesus Christ, Theo, what the fuck were you thinking?”
So he told him. He told him everything he’d been thinking. He didn’t sleep, but he went somewhere. When he and Luke had both been teenagers, they had gone hunting one weekend in November. They had camped by a lake that didn’t have a name, and in the morning, Theo had woken to find the tent empty. Luke was gone. He had stumbled into cold gray light to pee on a tangle of winter-brown honeysuckle. Luke was gone. The buck he had gotten the day before was still hanging in the tree, and his shoulder was bruised where the rifle had kicked back. Luke was gone. Theo had gone to stand by the lake. That water was the same color as the light. That was where he went.
When he jerked up from the bed, his face was hot, and the room was dark. He was breathing too fast. Hyperventilating, a small part of his brain supplied.
“It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re ok.”
“Auggie?”
“Yes, God, you just about gave me a heart attack.” The darkness made Auggie an outline. His fingers scratched pleasantly through Theo’s hair. “Lie down.”
When he woke again, the room was empty. Theo made his way downstairs and was surprised to see the back door open, with a morning breeze blowing pleasantly through the screen door. Beyond the line of oaks, the horizon was a shingle beach of gray clouds. He peed. He showered. When he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, Auggie was letting himself in through the back door, a bag full of takeout containers in one hand.
“Morning,” Auggie said, easing the screen door shut. “I couldn’t find anything except beer and peanut butter, and I thought you might need something to eat.”
In the line of oaks, a waxwing sang its plaintive cry. Theo’s skin pebbled, and he opened his mouth.
“I love you.”
Color rushed into Auggie’s face, and he bit his lip. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He bit his lip again. That expressive mouth.
Drops of water cooled on Theo’s shoulders. He pushed back wet hair. “Please say something.”
Auggie gave a one-shouldered shrug, but his face lit up. At night, Theo had read, the human eye could see a star from a billion lightyears away. “I love you too.”
Theo crossed the room and kissed him. Auggie made a soft noise. The takeout bag hit the floor. His hands were firm on Theo’s hips, and he kissed back.
Then he pushed Theo away.
Theo reached for his face, but Auggie caught his hand.
The smell of sausage and maple syrup wafted up. Then Theo laughed quietly. “Ok. Got it.”
“Theo, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
“Right. You love me, but you’re not in love with me. We’re better as friends. I had my chance and I blew it. It’s ok, Auggie. I’ve heard them all before; you’re not going to hurt me.”
Auggie watched him
“Oh fuck,” Theo said, covering his eyes. “Who the fuck am I kidding?”
He was surprised when fingers closed around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. Surprised, too, by the resolve in Auggie’s expression.
“I love you, Theo. But—but I’m twenty. And I just spent a year chasing this horrible guy and letting him abuse me and mess with my head. And I’m scared that I won’t be able to be what you need. That I won’t be able to help you when you’re so set on not being helped. I’m scared somehow I’ll do things wrong, and you’ll—” He cut off, biting his lip.
“If you think I’d hurt you—”
“No. Not that. But—” It was terrifyingly adult, the determination in Auggie’s face. “But I don’t think you know what you want either. I think you’ve gone through the two worst years of your life, and I think you want anything that you think will make you feel better. Me—”
“I want you because I love you.”
“—or pills, or booze, or weed, or a closeted boyfriend who will keep you just busy enough that you don’t have to face how much pain you’re in. You were stoned out of your mind last night, Theo, telling me all the guilt you carry around, telling me every bad thing you think you’re responsible for. You’re killing yourself with it.”
Theo twisted free. “Thanks for telling me. Thanks for solving the big riddle.”
“Someone needed to. This is hard for me. This is terrifying for me. But people care about you, Theo, and we want you to know we’re worried about you.”
“Yeah? So, what, there’s a whole gang of fucking adolescents talking about the fact that my daughter is disabled and my husband is dead and I’m hooked on pills and whatever else you just said, and you drew the short straw? Thanks, Auggie. Next time, put it in a fucking card.”