I reach to grab it, only to see it’s from home. I’d normally dismiss it, since Dad always calls when he’s at work and away from Mom, but something urges me to answer this time.
“Hello?”
As soon as her familiar voice explains the reason for the call, my knees give out, and I drop to the floor so hard the impact rattles from my ass all the way up my spine. The phone clatters to the floor beside me. It feels as though a herd of elephants are stomping on my chest, making me gasp for breath.
I finally manage to shake off a fraction of the shock, and I drag myself upright, clutching my phone in my hand. Quickly, I scoop up my wallet, keys, and the laundry basket with my things tossed inside, and rush for the door. It opens seconds before I reach it, and Preston enters.
“Hey, man, I—” He stops, his eyes going wide. “What happened?”
I grit my teeth as I push past him. “My dad died.”
Magnolia
Once I finish my last final, I feel like I’ve been sucked dry of any remaining brain power.
I try calling Hollis after I finish, but he doesn’t answer. I sent him a text earlier to wish him good luck with his finals, and it still says Unread, which is unusual for him. Normally, he sends a quick response.
An uneasy feeling churns in the pit of my stomach, so I decide to stop by his room on my way back from the PolySci building before I grab the rest of my things and drive home for the summer.
I step up to the door and knock, and Preston answers with a hopeful-sounding, “Hey.”
I get the feeling he expects me to pop up out of the blue and confess that I want him back and forgive him. That’s never happening—not even with the pressure from my parents and his father.
After everything happened in March, I told Preston I’d be civil toward him for appearances, to tide my parents over and get them at least somewhat off my back, but made it clear the chances of us getting back together were as good as the chances of another hurricane never hitting the Gulf Coast.
In other words, zero chance. My mother might think it’s fine for me to turn a blind eye to a cheating boyfriend, but this is one area I refuse to budge on.
“Hi.” I dart a glance past him, looking for my best friend. “Is Hollis around?”
His brows knit together. “I thought you’d gone with him.” He must see the confusion written on my face because he pales and appears almost nervous. “Uh, he rushed out of here about an hour or so ago.”
Wait a second… That means he missed his final exam.
Now, I’m really confused. “What are you talkin’ about?”
Preston runs a hand over his hair in obvious agitation. “When I asked where he was goin’, he said his dad…died.”
The hallway sways, and he instantly reaches out and grasps my upper arm to steady me. Vaguely, I recognize that I’m allowing him to touch me only because shock has taken hold. In any other instance, I’d shrug him off.
Oh, dear Lord. Hollis has always been so close with his father. And to me, Mr. Jay has been so much more than just a neighbor, more than just my best friend’s dad.
My heart aches deep within my chest, and I press my hand to my lips to restrain the sob threatening to break free. I turn, my vision hazy at the edges, but the desperation to rush to my room and grab my things is urgent. “I need to go.”
My feet somehow carry me down the hall, and I don’t register Preston’s voice calling out to me. Hollis needs me. I have to be there for him. My chest feels like a cavernous hole has been hollowed out at the grief he must be experiencing.
Everything passes in a blur. I absently recall Stephanie snagging our residential advisor so I could scribble my signature on the final checkout sheet. Then my roommate helped me pack my car with the rest of my belongings.
Thankfully, the sun high in the May sky with no rain clouds in sight means clear roads for the drive home. It takes me about three and a half hours, which is a blessing since, at other times, I’ve gotten stuck in what seems to be never-ending construction traffic on both I-85 and I-65.
When I take the exit off I-10, it dawns on me that I never called my parents to let them know I was driving back tonight. They’re not expecting me until Saturday since I told them I wanted to take my time to pack up, have some last-minute girl time with Stephanie, and not be so rushed. Turning into our neighborhood, I automatically make the right turn into Hollis’ driveway and park behind his truck.
As soon as I turn off the ignition, everything hits me at once. Mr. Jay’s gone forever. Hollis and I have never dealt with a death in the family, and I know everyone grieves differently. What if he doesn’t want me here? What if he just wants to be alone?
The humidity is already growing thick inside my car now that the air’s not running, so I palm my keys and slide out, slipping my phone in my back pocket. Standing in the driveway, I decide to check the treehouse first before I brave ringing the doorbell and risk facing Mrs. Barnes.
I stride through the backyard, quickly climb the ladder, and hesitantly push open the door before poking my head inside. As soon as I lay eyes on him, relief settles through me a split second before anxiousness takes its place. I hover, unsure if I should climb the rest of the way inside.
In a pair of khakis and a dark cotton T-shirt, he’s sprawled on the air mattress he stores inside, a fresh blanket draped over it, and his flip-flops are kicked off in a corner. Two bed pillows prop him up, his dark hair contrasting with the pale blue pillowcases.
He takes a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle before clumsily setting it on the floor. The bottle’s just shy of a quarter of the way empty, and he doesn’t even glance my way. Instead, his dull gaze is trained on the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the world. It’s startling when he finally speaks in a flat monotone, making it clear he’s aware of my presence.
“Either get in or out.”
It’s not rude, the way he says it. Just…matter of fact. There’s no emotion, no heat in his words. It’s like he’s an empty shell.
Anguish assaults me, much like the way the waves batter against the Gulf shoreline during the fiercest of storms, at seeing Hollis like this.
I quickly climb the rest of the way inside and kick off my flip-flops. Slipping my phone from the back pocket of my shorts, I set it and my keys on the shelf. Silence hangs heavily between us, the only sound the low din of the old window unit air conditioner.
Moving to stand beside him, I gentle my tone. “Can I just…lie with you?”
His eyes fall closed, his expression tortured, and I sink my top teeth into my lower lip anxiously. Maybe it was a bad decision to come here. I’m only bothering him. I spin around, ready to leave him be, when the scratchy rasp of his voice stops me.
“Please.” One word. That’s all he says. But it holds so much meaning.
Instantly, I lower myself and curl my body around him. He raises his arm, and I rest my cheek against his chest. The tension radiating through him is practically tangible, and I hold him tight, wishing I could comfort him somehow because, good Lord, I know this isn’t enough.
“I can’t believe he’s gone.” His hushed voice overflows with sadness. I detect the faintest slurring of his words from the effects of the whiskey.