Chapter 13 #2
“Uh-huh.” He smirks, like he’s already decided he doesn’t believe me. “Talking.”
“Yeah, talking,” I repeat, maybe too fast. I can feel the heat creeping up the back of my neck. “You done playing detective?”
Luke chuckles and picks up his beer again. “Just making observations, man. That’s all.”
“Nothing to observe,” I say, and thankfully, he doesn’t argue.
* * *
By morning, the cabin hums with that kind of quiet you only get after a long summer night. The air smells like citronella and bug spray, and a faint trace of smoke still lingers from the bonfire. Someone’s playing music through their phone.
Luke’s at the stove, flipping pancakes on a griddle that’s probably been here since his grandparents bought the place. Maddie’s cutting up strawberries, humming along to the music, and Brad’s pouring himself a second cup of that spiked coffee Maddie makes, even though he already looks wired.
Callie’s sitting at the table near the window, hair still damp from her shower, oversized sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. She’s quiet—smiling when someone talks to her, but not really jumping in.
I grab a plate and take a seat across from her.
Brad’s in the middle of a story about how he “definitely saw” a bear last night by the trash cans, and everyone’s giving him crap for it.
I watch Callie laugh, soft and delayed, like she’s trying to keep up.
Her hand’s resting on her stomach, thumb brushing over the fabric of her sweatshirt, slow and distracted.
It’s small stuff like that I notice first.
Then it’s her plate. Half a pancake, one piece of bacon, untouched eggs. She’s barely eaten. Normally, she’s first in line for breakfast.
I think about last night—how she fell asleep early while we were still outside on the dock, how she said she just felt “off.” Now I’m watching her push the food around her plate.
“Callie, you good?” Brad asks, his mouth full of pancakes.
She looks up fast, caught off guard. “Huh? Yeah. Just not that hungry.”
He nods, already moving on to the next thing, and I study her for another second. She looks pale under the morning light, eyes a little glassy. It makes my chest feel tight and my nerves uneasy. How long until someone catches on?
Everyone eventually drifts, Macy and Maddie cleaning up the kitchen, Brad clearing the table, and Luke getting ready to go uncover the boat and load it up for half the day. But Callie slips away, mug in hand, out to the porch. I wait a minute before following her, trying not to make it obvious.
She’s leaning against the railing. The sunlight hits the lake just right, turning the water to gold. The screen door creaks when I push it open, and she glances back.
“You didn’t eat much,” I say quietly, stepping beside her.
She shrugs. “I’ve been queasy since three a.m.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s fine,” she mutters, not at all believable. “I think it’s in my head. I don’t think I can have symptoms this early on.”
My eyes wander out to the water again because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know when symptoms start.
“Maybe you should go lay down for a bit,” I say. “You still look a little pale.”
She shakes her head. “If I go inside, they’ll start asking questions.”
“Just tell them you don’t feel great, didn’t sleep good…you’re tired.”
Her eyes flick toward mine, something unspoken lingering there. “Yeah,” she says quietly.
I nod, and she heads inside, the screen door squeaking open, the distant buzz of Brad’s laugh tumbling out before the door slams shut behind her.
I stay out there for another minute before heading back inside to the sound of voices echoing as everyone’s finishing cleaning up from breakfast, silverware clacking, water running.
Luke’s made it back inside and is arguing with Maddie about the dishwater temperature.
There’s the static coming from the ancient radio in the living room that I know Brad turned on.
I don’t know where Callie went; maybe the bathroom to throw up.
I glance up at the yellow clock that’s been stuck at 2:32 for as long as I can remember.
Macy looks at me first. “Is she okay?” she asks, voice cautious but kind. “She seemed quiet this morning. Did somebody say something?” She looks around the room, everyone looking innocent and confused, shaking their heads.
“No,” I answer too quickly, then force my tone even. “She’s just got a headache. Didn’t sleep great last night, I guess.”
Maddie turns away from the sink. “I’ve got ibuprofen in my bag if she wants some.”
“I think she took some,” I lie.
The conversation drifts off, replaced by Macy and Maddie debating which swimsuit to wear today.
Brad’s playing air guitar to “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” half the lyrics lost in static from the old radio, and Luke’s digging through the junk drawer, cursing under his breath while hunting for who knows what.
It’s loud, familiar, the kind of chaos that feels like every summer before this one.
But as I glance down the hall, at the closed door to the girls’ bedroom, I think about Callie in there, dealing with everything alone…and I hate it.