Chapter 9
“Um,” I don’t know how to answer that with Dean standing right there, it’s not exactly a secret but I’m not sure if it’s something I should be openly admitting to his family—but Sierra seems to have figured it out anyway. “Yeah.” I say.
“What the hell!” She exclaims excitedly, throwing her hands in the air, gushing about Andy. “I love, love Andy’s music! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“Sierra—” Dean starts to scold her on my behalf.
“Andy’s album is like, the biggest thing on social media right now. He’s like all the trending sounds and videos.” Sierra swoops in to give me a hug. She squeezes me fiercely, her hair in my mouth. “I can’t believe I’m meeting someone like you.”
“Thank you,” I tell her softly. I’m glad she’s happy.
“Sierra, please,” Dean scolds. “Be polite.”
“It’s okay, really,” I give them both a soft smile, signaling to Dean to let it go. Snow is beginning to fall once more. “Let’s just go inside now? It’s cold.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sierra pulls out her key and pushes Dean aside. “Shush. We don’t want to wake up Mom.” She’s nearly silent and despite trying to open it as slowly as possible, the door swings with a loud creak.
I tiptoe behind Dean and Sierra through the chilly house, through complete darkness.
I’m dying to snoop, but I have no idea where I am.
I’m about to say something when Sierra whispers to keep quiet.
We reach a staircase and the stairs creak louder than the door as we ascend, but once we reach the landing at the top, Sierra flips on a light and grins.
“We made it. I bet Mom didn’t even roll over,” Sierra whispers. “She’s asleep downstairs.” She tells me.
“Come on, go to bed now,” Dean ushers Sierra to get it together.
“Hold on,” She says, turning in the tight hallway.
“Here’s a towel in case you want to take a shower.” Sierra hands me a fresh towel from what must be their linen closet. “Just use my stuff. Whatever’s in there.”
Dean rummages through the linen closet with her. “Where’s the sheets?”
“Here.” She points to a pile at the bottom. Dean crouches down, exposing a bit of his bare
back.
“Are you both going to sleep in the guest room?” Sierra asks. My heart pounds at the thought of Dean and I sleeping in the same room, let alone the same bed. Sierra has a huge grin on her face. “Are you going to have—”
“No, I will sleep on the sofa. Madeline will sleep in the room. Go to bed now, please.” Dean tells Sierra. “I’ll get Madeline set up.”
“Okay, geez. I’ll go to bed,” Sierra whispers excitedly. She disappears into a dark room and quietly closes the door.
“I’m so sorry,” Dean apologizes.
“She’s something, you’re right,” I give him a grin. “Do you have something I can change into?” I ask. “I left all my clothes at the inn.”
“Um, yeah. Let me look,” Dean closes the linen closet, and hands me the sheet and towel.
We walk down the hall to another dark room. Dean flips a light switch, illuminating what must be his childhood bedroom, that looks like it’s been turned into an office, that’s been turned into temporary storage. I try to follow him to get a better look, but he tries to close the door on me.
“You, stay out here,” He closes the door.
“Yes, okay.”
“Will these work?” He comes back out with a white t-shirt, a pair of gym shorts and a white pair of socks. He lets me inspect the pile. “They’re clean.” He assures me.
“Yeah, this will work,” I nod.
“There’s the bathroom. I’ll make the bed.” He points to a closed door across the hall. “I’ll be in there.” He points to the last remaining room.
I go into the bathroom, turning on the lights, I’m greeted by a peppering of pink tiles and flower wallpaper.
The sink sputters before me, spitting out water, and I scrub my face clean.
I wipe my cheeks and forehead on the towel Sierra gave me, and it smells like the freshest laundry soap. I love it right away.
I remove my sweater and shirt, putting on the t-shirt Dean gave me. It smells just like the same laundry soap as the towel. The shorts are comically big on me, but I tuck the shirt into them to help them stay up. The socks were a nice touch, and really make a difference in my comfort.
I root through my tote bag and put on a new layer of deodorant and brush my teeth.
I will shower in the morning, I decide. I’m too tired to go through with it now that it’s nearing three o’clock in the morning and I don’t want to risk waking up Sierra and Dean’s mother.
I turn the lights off, and break into the hallway.
When I reach the doorway, Dean is fluffing a knit blanket on the double bed, and when he notices me, he looks like I’ve caught him doing something criminal instead of totally endearing.
The room is painted a baby blue with white lace curtains on the only window.
It’s a sparse room, but it looks awfully cozy with Dean in the center of it.
“Hi,” I say, tote bag slung over my shoulder, my dirty clothes in my arms. I enter the room and place them on the wooden dresser facing the foot of the bed, where the only light rests.
Dean finishes making the bed. Now that I look at him, he’s changed clothes too.
He must have changed while I did. He’s wearing a white shirt and a pair of sweatpants now.
A fresh pair of white socks adorn his feet.
He sits on the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed, staring at himself in the mirror hanging over the dresser. “Hi,” he says quietly.
I close the door and sit next to him, looking at us both in the mirror. We both look haggard and tired. I guess road tripping will do that to you. He’s got a day’s worth of stubble on his face, and he rubs his chin. The light bulb in the lamp flickers, ready to fizz out.
“How are you?” I ask gently, pressing my hands into the mattress.
“I’m fine,” Dean answers. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat back. Dean presses his own hand into the mattress, right next to mine, so close our pinkies almost touch. It takes everything in me to pretend to not notice how close his hand is to mine.
“I’m sorry about my sister,” Dean apologizes, looking at the mirror-me. “I know this is out of your routine, and she’s kind of a handful—.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Really, I’m fine. Thank you for the clothes.”
I break my gaze from the mirror to turn my head and look at him in the yellow lamplight. I bet we look funny in our matching white undershirts, but something about seeing Dean wearing something so inexplicably normal makes him all the more desirable.
“Can I ask you a question now?” I whisper to him.
“Anything.”
“Don’t you ever worry you’re going to die?”
“Sometimes,” Dean turns his gaze from the mirror to me. “But it doesn’t consume me the way it consumes you.”
“How do you do it? How do you live like that, not questioning every second of your mortality?” I ask. “You make it seem so easy.”
“I don’t think about life like that,” Dean says. “There is no rhyme or reason. I just don’t.”
I turn my face away from him, breaking eye contact.
“My anxiety is a direct result of Andy’s death.
It’s the first time I’ve ever said that out loud.
” His fingers find their way into my palm.
The touch sends me spiraling into an electric frenzy, and the light bulb flickers once more, as if it mimics the skip of my own heartbeat. I wrap my hand around his.
“Every funny feeling I have, any feeling like I might die or fall over, or have a heart attack, every symptom is my body’s way of signaling me to be on high alert from the thing I am so scared of. But most of the time the signals are wrong, and I have nothing to be scared of.”
“The body is a resilient thing,” Dean tells me. “You take your medications, and you go to therapy. You’re doing everything right.”
“What if I’m stuck like this forever?”
“I…” Dean starts, but nothing else comes out of his mouth. His brow is furrowed, but his knees turn towards me. “I don’t think you will be. It takes time, Madeline. It won’t happen overnight.” He tilts his head to meet my eyes once more.
“What if I’m losing my mind? It’s been five years since I've been like this.”
“Five years is nothing but a nick in your lifetime. You will get there.”
I feel my lip quiver, and every signal my body is giving me is to panic, to try, to tantrum. In response, Dean squeezes my hand, and rubs his thumb across the back of my hand.
“In another five years, you won’t even remember how this feels,” Dean tells me.
I don’t want to break our gaze, but my heart is pounding so fast. His grip on my hand tightens, and the flush on his face matches my own. I know I’ll remember this in five years. I could never forget the feeling of his hand on mine.
“You deserve to see the other side of life,” He whispers, shifting to hold our hands in my lap. “This is the other side.”
“Am I there?” I whisper and close my eyes to cut off our eye contact. His hands are so hot on mine, and while the sweat would freak me out any other time, this time, it’s all I want.
I’m startled and I gasp when I feel a hand in my hair. He pulls on my arm, and I let myself slide across the bed, straight into his chest. I feel claustrophobic in my own skin for a minute until I realize what he’s doing.
He’s hugging me.
That’s what’s happening. I breathe him in, and his warmth fills my lungs. He smells like that damn laundry soap too. Dean’s hand snakes through my hair, caressing me. He settles on the back of my head, the other hand behind my ear, breathing me in too.
I tilt my head up, so our foreheads are nearly touching. I open my eyes and find his again. They’re bright and eager, and there’s nothing hidden behind them.
“What are we doing?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Do you feel that, Madeline?” He whispers to me.
I swallow hard. Of course I feel it, but all I want to do is deny it.