I stand, and my ankles creak. What is it about grief that makes everything age? My muscles ache, pleading with me to get back in bed. It’s as if I’m being sucked deeper and deeper, swirling down a never-ending drain. Every time I slosh my way back to the ledge, life pulls the plug.
I walk over inside-out tees and unpaired socks on my way to the door, switching off the space heater as I pass by. Wrinkled papers and forgotten textbooks spill from my backpack. The pile of clothes and homework will only continue to grow. I have no intention of cleaning, or returning to school, in the near future. I’ve completed all my required classes anyway. What’s the point in going back?
An off-kilter smirk surfaces. Quinn’s going to have a fit.
All the more reason to stay home. She may be my best girlfriend, but that isn’t saying much. Frenemy is more accurate.
Muffled voices drift from the first floor. I turn the glass knob on my bedroom door and open it a pinch. What’s going on down there? Is Joshua already having guests over?
An invisible knife rips through my chest. He has friends. Friends who aren’t me. Friends who probably include girls. Why am I only realizing this now?
My sockless toes curl when I step out onto the cool hallway floor. The brownstone is longer than it is wide, so the top of the stairs is just a stride away. I creep to the railing and peer into the foyer. Empty. The voices are too distant to be in the sunroom. They must be coming from the kitchen.
I skirt the banister’s curve and tiptoe down the stairs, careful to avoid the testy spots.
“You need to find someone else. I can’t do this anymore.” The voice is undeniably Joshua’s.
I pause on the bottom step.
“There’s no time,” a deeper voice says. “I already have my hands full with the other situation. You said you could handle this. Bring her back. Tonight.”
The metronome in my chest triples. That voice. I’ve heard it before. But where? I peer around the corner. Only Joshua is visible, standing on the other side of the bar, his back toward me. Even from here, the stiffness in his shoulders stands out.
“Tonight?” Joshua’s voice jumps up an octave. “Give her a chance to recover from the last life-altering event. Besides, she’s safer here.”
I step back. Why’s he talking about me? He can’t really be trying to find me an alternate guardian. Can he?
“Tonight.”
My breath catches at the finality in his tone.
Déjà vu registers somewhere in my brain’s encrypted files. I fight the impulse to peek around the corner again. I can’t just storm in there and throw a fit. No. Then Joshua will know I’ve been eavesdropping. I’ll have to talk to him about this tomorrow. When I can reason with him like the adult I almost am.
Step, creak. Step, creak.
I take a silent leap over a touchy floorboard and enter the dark bathroom across the hall. I’ve spent a lot of time in here lately.
Leaving the door ajar, I watch for movement in the foyer. Joshua enters first, his face paler than Mom’s pastel paintings.
The other man follows. He’s a head taller than Joshua with charcoal hair and intense eyes—eyes so recognizable, they stir something inside me. A memory? The man places a hand on the doorknob but doesn’t turn it. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Joshua scratches the back of his head. The way he does when he feels uncomfortable. The way he did earlier today. And the night everything changed between us. “I don’t know what you mean.”
At last, the man turns. One corner of his mouth slants north. “I think you do. I think you need to consider what it means that you’ve fallen for her. The consequences those feelings will bring.”
My pulse ceases to exist. Think again, dude. Joshua can’t possibly—
“You know she’s just a job, Makai,” he snaps. “It’s all she can ever be. Frankly, I’m ready for this whole thing to be over.”
My heartbeat returns. Fears confirmed. I’ve never heard him speak that way to anyone.
Makai gives a scarce nod. “Are you certain?”
Joshua crosses his arms. “I am.”
I back into the shadowy confines of the bathroom and grope for the toilet seat. When I find it, I sit. How many times will I cry today? I hate his ability to storm every fortress I work so hard to construct.
The front door thuds closed, followed by the dead bolt’s distinct click. Joshua and Makai are gone. I rise and enter the deserted hallway.
Why do I know that man? I close my eyes. His face is clear, but not in color. Black and white. Lines and shadows. Mom.
I lurch up the stairs and head straight for her room. The door has remained closed for a week. I haven’t been able to bear going in, but now I can’t wait. I enter and wince. This room smells more like her than any other.
Mary-Poppins tidy, just as she left it. A hope chest at the foot of her bed contains piles upon piles of sketchbooks spanning nearly two decades. I grab the key from Mom’s nightstand and unlock the chest. The older books are at the bottom. White sticky labels date each one, the corners curled and peeling. I’ve looked through them countless times. I know exactly what I’m hunting for. I need the book from the year before I was born.
I kneel by the chest and lift its lid. Well-greased hinges move in silence. The scent of old paper and charcoal wafts upward, growing staler as I shift the top layers aside. There it is. I turn my back against the trunk and slide down, then cross my legs and open the cracked spine. Some of the pages float to the floor. So much of her early work is in here. Mostly landscapes. Some journal entries too.
And then I find it—a portrait occupying the final page. The likeness is younger, but the intensity in the man’s gaze is unmistakable. Mom’s careful cursive transcribed two words at the top left-hand corner.
Makai Archer.
The book falls. My lungs inflate and deflate rapidly. Could Makai be my dad?
Nathaniel Archer was my grandfather’s name. I never met the man, only know he left us this house in his will because of my father—someone else I’ve never met. Mom didn’t talk about him either, but she kept her own last name so I can only guess their relationship didn’t end well. But then why would she keep this drawing of Makai?
I have to find him. I have to know. Joshua may think of me as a job, whatever that means, but this Makai person might have the answers I need. I snatch up the book and race down the stairs. A peek out the foyer window confirms what I’d hoped. Joshua and Makai are on the front steps, still talking. Perfect.
My cell phone is in the kitchen. I retrieve it as well as my keys from a hook by the back door. A glance at the time—8:37—reveals my theory was correct. I shove my feet into my gray-and-lavender Chuck Taylors, hopping on one foot and then the other to get my heels in. I return to the front of the house to wait. When Joshua goes next door for more boxes, I have my chance.
Makai heads west down Eighty-First. With as much stealth as possible I unlock the door, step into the frigid air, and secure the dead bolt. I shove my keys and phone into my hoodie pocket, still clutching the sketchbook in my right hand, and follow my target.
I speed-walk to keep up with his long stride. Once we’re out of sight of Joshua’s place, I’ll make my move. Mom would’ve killed me for going out at night alone. It’s early November, and the twinkle lights for the trees aren’t up yet. Pockets of light spill from streetlamps, and illuminated windows blush at random, breaking up the shadows.