11 Joey #2
Sophie examines her drink like it’s going to somehow save them all from this awkwardness.
Elena and Gael, on the other hand, can’t seem to look away.
Barbara puts up two palms in her defense.
“Yes,” she says. “That’s fair. You’re right about that.
I don’t know for sure. But listen, I’d like to say one thing.
You called it an alibi. Honey, even though I appreciate you still caring about what happened to our girl—I do, so much—it was an accident.
There is no such thing as an alibi for an accident.
I’m sorry. It does no good to keep these vengeful thoughts in your head.
Quinn wouldn’t want you to worry so much about it.
Miss her, yes. Love her, yes. But don’t suffer for some answer that’s not going to come.
” She stretches a hand across the table.
It doesn’t quite reach Joey’s, but the sentiment is there.
“You know, I used to think—” Barbara cuts herself off and brushes crumbs from her chest. “It’s really nothing, and it’s probably just hindsight, but I think Quinn worried about her father too much.
I should have made her see there was nothing she could do about his alcoholism.
A child shouldn’t have to help their parents.
That’s not how it’s supposed to work. But she had this insatiable need to save the world and everyone in it.
” She twirls her finger around in a circle.
Collectively, they breathe, and it feels as if Quinn is really sitting here with them, so spot-on is Barbara’s characterization of her.
Melancholy mixes with their anxiety and floats around them like dust motes.
They’ve stirred latent bereavement debris, and it’s irritating their noses and eyes.
Gael reaches out a hand and puts it on top of Barbara’s.
Gael, the only child in the room and the only one who never knew Quinn.
It’s a gesture so unexpected, it makes Joey’s throat constrict.
“Tom has a good heart,” she continues. “Though it may be deep, deep down. Please don’t go digging there again. You’ll only unravel a man who is threadbare already.”
The oven timer beeps. Barbara releases a giant exhale and jumps up.
***
The mountainside directly behind the house towers over the tiny backyard.
Dark green conifers darken the fifty yards between the property line and the rocky upslope, which is peppered with even more trees.
The trampoline is still there, in the far corner, nestled between shadows of huge Douglas fir branches and pine cones that litter the ground around them.
Joey, Sophie, and Elena sit on the low deck with their legs dangling over the edge. Joey is still antsy. Frustrated.
“Oh my god, remember our camping nights?” Sophie says, swinging her feet.
“Yes,” Joey snorts, despite herself. “And the night you swore you heard howling, and I had to go check every hour that we weren’t surrounded by wolves.”
Sophie looks mock outraged. “Everyone was scared.”
Elena shakes her head vigorously. “That was all you.”
Camping nights were typical in the height of summer. The four of them squashed their sleeping bags together, yelping when their flashlights finally died, and cracking up when their shrieks woke Sophie, who was always the first asleep.
“How many times do you think we played Uno, like in total?” Elena says. “Ten thousand? A million?”
Sophie lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh my god, Uno.” Then, suddenly, she perks up. “Guys, our carvings. Do you think they’re still there?”
Joey doesn’t move. The day is steaming by. All she wants is to go through the night Quinn died, find some detail she missed, but she knows Sophie and Elena don’t believe her about the trees whispering, and she doesn’t feel like dealing with that again.
“I didn’t come here to reminisce,” Joey says, and it comes out cold.
Elena laughs out loud. “Neither did I.” She’s already on her feet, hopping off the deck and rounding the corner.
Maybe it’s her perpetual belief in the good of people, but Sophie doesn’t seem offended by Joey’s lack of enthusiasm either. “You’re not even a little curious?” she asks gently.
Joey shakes her head. “Nope.”
Elena peers at her through the bars of the deck. “How could you not want to see our pubescent angst carved eternally into this decking?”
Without giving Joey a chance to respond, Sophie reaches her hand down. “Come on, let’s kill five minutes. I desperately want another Chelsea bun, but I feel like I have to wait a socially appropriate amount of time.”
Joey doesn’t take Sophie’s hand; she just watches as her look morphs into one of profound disappointment. She hops off the deck too.
“Some gnarly spiderwebs down here,” Elena calls up. “What are the signs of a black widow bite? Also, thank god I’m wearing brown pants.” Her voice is muffled, and Joey knows she’s crawling under the deck. It’s only about three feet off the ground.
“I just want to go,” Joey says to Sophie, who she hopes will allow her to escape, even if it’s out of pity.
But Sophie drops to her knees and crawls under the deck, ignoring her.
Joey turns, catching a glimpse of Barbara through the sliding glass door.
She’s cleaning a mixing bowl. The domesticity is incongruous with Joey’s churning insides.
But then Barbara stops scrubbing to lean both hands on the counter and hangs her head. Her shoulders shudder lightly.
“Oh my god, we were ridiculous,” calls Elena. “Look at this one. PB the words won’t leave her mouth.
“There’s something written right next to it,” Sophie says. “This one’s weird.”
Elena scoots closer. Joey is beyond relieved that they seem to have moved on, though she hasn’t. How can she?
“What is it?”
“Not sure,” says Sophie, keeping the light still until they all can read it clearly. “It just says…bloodspell.”