Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
ARLINGTON, WY
In the morning, Phoebe steered us to a viral chicken sandwich she just had to try. Within twenty minutes of eating it, she was heaving on the side of the highway.
“I think I’m dying,” she moaned. Dex had managed to find a cabin rental close by and dropped us off before heading into town to find a pharmacy. I had no idea how long he’d been gone, but Phoebe had been throwing up pretty much the entire time.
“Food poisoning will do that,” I said, rubbing soft circles between her shoulder blades. She lifted her head out of the toilet to look at me, eyes red and watery, her face a ghostly white.
“It will?”
“What? No. It will make you feel like you’re dying. You are not actually dying.”
She groaned and fell sideways against the penny tile, curling into the fetal position. “I’m never trusting TikTok again.”
“Probably smart.” I plunked down beside her and resumed rubbing her back. “Do you want some water? Or anything?”
“No. Need to stay horizontal, I think.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry I’m ruining the trip.”
“You’re not.”
“Who knows how long this will last? Dex will probably leave without us.”
“He’s not going to leave without us.”
“We shouldn’t have taken so many detours. He’s gonna be so mad.”
“He’s not mad. He’s getting you medicine right now.”
She whimpered, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Are you sure I’m not dying?”
I scooted closer, leaning my back against the wall, and settled her head on my lap. She looked up at me with miserable eyes and an ominous greenish hue to her skin. “I’m sure,” I said softly, brushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. “I promise you are not dying, Bee.”
She expelled a sharp breath. I braced for her to scramble up and over to the toilet, but she remained still. “Do you think he was scared?” she whispered. Her breaths quickened. “When he saw the truck, did Dad know?”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I realized I was crying.
“I can’t stop wondering about it. What he was thinking when it happened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I think about it all the time and… and you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Phoebe,” I gasped, feeling like she’d plunged a hand straight through my chest.
Her lip trembled. “I hope he wasn’t scared. I hope he didn’t know.” Her eyes snapped open and she lurched for the toilet. I moved up on my knees to hold back her hair, a huge knot forming in my throat, tears flowing.
What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
Phoebe voiced the thoughts I had on my worst nights; knowing she thought them too wrecked me.
Unleashing them at her most vulnerable made sense, in a way, as if she decided she couldn’t feel worse so she might as well delve into the deepest pits of her mind.
It had been a long time since I dipped my toes into those.
Hearing Phoebe go there hurt worse than any physical pain I’d felt in my life.
I had no idea what to say. I wanted to help her without making it worse.
I wanted her to know I understood without seeming preachy.
I didn’t want her to have those thoughts, period.
Sometimes, I hated my dad for dying. On days like this, I was sure I’d never forgive him for it.
A soft knock on the door snapped me out of my head. I took a deep breath and resumed rubbing Phoebe’s back. “Come in.”
Dex pushed the door open, making a point to not look at my sister. “Uh,” he said, wincing at the unholy sounds. He held up a plastic CVS bag. “Anti-nausea meds, Saltines, and Pedialyte.”
I forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“Are you…” His brow furrowed as he looked at me and I fought the urge to wipe my eyes. “Everything good?”
“Obviously not,” Phoebe wailed, her voice echoing in the toilet bowl. “I’m dying.”
“Well, yeah,” Dex replied. “You ate something called the Mega Chicken Volcano.”
“Don’t say its name.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Build a time machine.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up, but then his eyes shifted to me, seeming to ask a question: Are you okay? I gave a quick nod, turning my attention to Phoebe, who flushed the toilet and lay back down, burying her face in my stomach.
“I’m right out here if you need anything,” Dex said.
I waved him off. He’d done more than enough with that trip to the pharmacy and, as Phoebe’s guardian, it was my responsibility to handle the gross stuff.
She hadn’t gotten sick the entire time we’d lived together—I never thought to be grateful for it, but I sure as hell was now.
I brushed my hand over Phoebe’s hair, smoothing it in a slow, comforting pattern like Dad used to do when we were sick. She let out a slow breath, reaching up to wipe her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, eyelids fluttering. “This is so gross.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not that gross.”
She pinched my side. “Don’t lie.”
I leaned my head against the wall, smiling. “I teach third grade, Bee. This is far from the first time I’ve dealt with a little vomit.”
“A shit ton,” she mumbled. I kept smoothing her hair and she snuggled closer to me, a little bit of pink returning to her cheeks. “So maybe we shouldn’t stop at that place with the burger that has cinnamon rolls for buns.”
“Maybe not.”
“Thank you.” Her voice went quiet, honeylike. “For staying, Vi.”
I bent over, pressing a soft kiss to her sweaty temple. “Always.”
I meant it, although I certainly meant it less when the next wave hit.
After what felt like hours, Phoebe settled down and insisted on a makeshift bed in the bathroom for easy access.
I laid out every blanket from the back of Dex’s car, hoping they would be enough cushion to minimize the hard, cold tile, and she zonked out immediately.
I showered in the second bathroom, emerging in pajama shorts and a tank top, hair damp around my shoulders.
I found Dex in the quaint kitchen, gazing out the window over the sink, both hands braced on the butcher block counter.
After the day of misery, I couldn’t fault myself for taking a moment to drink him in—the fitted black T-shirt and sweatpants, the ropy muscles of his arms, the slope of his shoulder blades, his messy hair curling at the base of his neck.
“Hey,” I said.
He turned, eyes dipping to my bare legs and back to my face in a blink. “Hey. How’s she doing?”
“Sleeping finally. I’m hoping the worst is over.”
“Did she have any Pedialyte? She really needs to stay hydrated.”
I tried to push away the warm, gooey feeling. “A little,” I said, toying with the hem of my shorts. “I’ll check on her in a bit and make sure she has some more.”
He nodded, satisfied with this. “I, uh, got us a pizza. I don’t know if you have an appetite after today, but it’s there.”
“Maybe later.” I smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”
He made a face. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“You found us a place to hunker down, got Phoebe medicine, and got me dinner. You’re amazing.” The words slipped out, unwitting. Dex blinked twice and dropped his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweats.
“Violet,” he said, almost a warning. Because apparently now I couldn’t even say thank you.
Pushing down the sting of rejection, I turned on my heel and headed into the living room.
The cabin was quaint, eight hundred square feet of rustic log walls and a huge, encroaching stone fireplace.
I paused, staring into the depths of it, wondering what it was like here in the winter, snow on the ground outside and a fire crackling, warming the whole cabin.
I imagined three stockings hung from the mantel and enough twinkly lights to illuminate the state of Wyoming.
I shook the thought from my head and folded my arms tightly, veering for the couch.
I sank into it—it was worn, too soft, and my back would kill if I sat there for more than twenty minutes, but then Dex appeared in the doorway and I pressed myself farther into the cushions, feet planted firmly on the floor.
“You were crying,” he said quietly. I exhaled, scrubbing my hands over my face.
“Yeah. She was… she said some stuff. About our dad,” I explained, dropping my hands to my lap. “It broke my heart.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“God, no. I want to be distracted. You up for the job?”
It took a beat for the words to land, for both of us. I hadn’t meant it in a suggestive way, but it sure sounded like I did, and my blood sizzled to a boiling point. Dex cleared his throat.
“Television,” I blurted, gesturing wildly to the ancient box in the corner of the room. “TV is a great distraction. One of the best.”
His face broke into a smile and he shook his head, coughing out a laugh. I couldn’t help joining in. We were being silly. I couldn’t figure out if we were pretending too hard or not hard enough.
Our laughter put a pinprick in the tension, enough for us to sideline the rest and eat the entire pizza while watching reruns of The Office.
It was so delightfully mundane. The sort of unremarkable night that maybe once would’ve been easily forgotten, but now I knew to hold on to it with both hands.
What a privilege it was to be bored and boring.
We were alive at the same time, on opposite ends of the couch.
I could’ve lived in this moment with him forever.
I checked on Phoebe in twenty-minute intervals and by midnight, it seemed like the storm had officially passed and she was out for the night. When I returned to the living room, the end credits were playing and Dex had slumped farther down the couch, long legs crossed at the ankles, eyelids heavy.
“What’s the update?” He’d made a point to ask after each check-in and I tried my best not to melt into a puddle of goo.
“Still sleeping,” I reported. “But now she’s facing away from the toilet.”
“Good sign.”
“I thought so.”