Chapter 5
Being Invisible
I find Will two streets away. I see him through the window of a café with a bland decor that reminds me of dozens of similar places. He’s sitting in front of an empty cup, calmly reading an old, yellowing book.
I throw the door open, but the spell doesn’t break. Will doesn’t look up, as if he didn’t even notice the noise.
Not until I’m a foot away do his eyes turn up toward me, then, fleetingly, down at the watch on his wrist, which he obviously doesn’t use the way he should. Punctuality’s clearly not his thing.
“Forget something?” I ask.
“I was just about to leave.”
I roll my eyes and settle down on the worn bench across from him.
Will’s expression is ironic, and maybe he’s about to tell me to hop back up so we can get this over with, but something in my face warns him to keep his thoughts to himself.
A waitress comes over to take my order. I ask for a carrot cake and a decaf coffee.
“How was it?”
“Did you know it was a therapy group or whatever?”
“Nope.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Greta, I swear.”
I think he’s telling the truth, but he’s a total stranger, and I can’t tell.
Even though we have something in common now, I don’t know if I can trust him.
Maybe if he would open up somehow, but there’s nothing to suggest he ever will.
The waitress brings my order, and I sink my fork into the cake. It’s delicious, not too sweet.
“What’s in the box?” I ask.
“The Map of Longing.”
“Right. But what’s it like? Tell me something at least. Try and imagine how weird this all is for me. I mean, I thought I knew everything about my sister, but I don’t know you, and now I’m starting to realize she had other secrets too.”
“What’s wrong with secrets?”
He’s leaning back slightly against the red upholstery of the booth, one arm across the top and the other on the table, resting beside his book. I see the title: Eudaimonism.
There’s something about Will I’ve been hoping to put my finger on ever since the first night I met him, and now I know what it is: He moves through the world like someone who’s always known he had a net beneath him, like someone who had servants at home, someone who’s always been free and who’s become condescending as a consequence.
“Secrets? I don’t know, Will, you tell me. Tell me how a person working part-time in a bar can manage to afford the car you drive.”
I know I’ve hit a sore spot when he glares back at me.
“That’s none of your business. Let me remind you, I’m doing you a favor, and the only reason is because I like”—he bites back the word—“liked your sister.”
He’s right, but this whole deal with the game, the secrets, Lucy still being here somehow when I thought I’d said goodbye to her—it’s upsetting me more than usual, and I feel…confused, like there’s a bunch of bumblebees in my head buzzing day and night, night and day.
I decide to ease up and take a step back. “Did you meet her in the hospital because you had a sick family member on the same floor?” I swallow another bite of cake.
To my surprise, Will smiles for the first time. You can hardly see it, but the right side of his lips tugs up before his usual stoic expression returns. Then it’s like it never happened. But it did. And it was electrifying. “No.”
“Did you have something with her…?”
“No. Now drop it. The how isn’t important. What you need to start asking yourself is the why,” he grunts, walking off to the counter to pay.
We don’t talk on the way back until he stops in front of my house. There, on his motorcycle, smoking a cigarette, is Taylor. When he sees us, he scowls and takes a last drag.
“So when do we see each other again?”
“I’ll write you,” Will says.
“Okay. I guess…thanks.”
He’s inexpressive as always as I get out of the car and shut the door.
Taylor, a few feet away, gets off his bike, strides over, and hugs me around the waist before giving me a kiss.
His scent, the same cologne all the guys started wearing in high school a few years back, is comforting, familiar, and like anesthesia, helps me forget the emotional disarray that’s overtaken me every time I’ve been around Will.
By the time Taylor lets me go, the black Audi has taken off down the street.
“Who was that?”
“A friend,” I say.
Taylor nods. “Should we go to my place?”
I grab the helmet he offers me and hop on the motorcycle behind him.
For a moment, I almost go inside to tell my parents I’ll be home late, but then I ask myself: What’s the point?
Mom will be in front of the TV; Dad’s probably still at the office.
They won’t even notice I’ve got on the same clothes when I come home in the morning, and they’ll think I must have slept at Grandpa’s.
Life is much simpler when you’re invisible.
Two in the morning.
Everything’s dark, but I manage to find my T-shirt at the foot of the bed.
I strike my foot against a piece of furniture and bite my tongue to keep from shouting.
The streetlamp outside sends its glow into the bedroom, and I can see Taylor lying there on his back.
I envy him—I’d like to be able to clear my mind and sleep as deeply as he does.
I go outside. I don’t have my bicycle because he drove me here, so I walk alone through the darkness. My steps echo in the silence, interrupted only by the occasional car or neighborhood dog that barks at me, thinking I’m an intruder.
Maybe I am.
What if I’m an intruder in my own life?