VII

Before I even see Ethan’s truck, I hear its low rumble as it drives down my street and I’m out the door just then, closing it as quietly as I can with the speed I’m moving at. Down the driveway and across the boulevard to the security of the young maple tree’s overgrown leaves: I wait until I see Ethan comes around the turn and across the last stretch of my street.

I turn back around to look at the master window on the left side of the second floor: the blinds are still closed, the lights are still off. No one has come chasing me out the door yet so I must have evaded waking my parents. I thank God.

Ethan must lean across the passenger seat to pop the door open because before I can even reach for it, the door is swinging towards me and I nearly stumble back; my nerves still rage on at unhealthy levels.

I tighten my hold on the blanket in my arms, stepping towards the opening. “Thanks,” I say lamely. I slam the door and before I’m even buckled, we’re making a harsh u-turn and tearing back up the way Ethan came. “Do you know where you’re going?” I nearly exclaim the question.

Ethan heaves a dry laugh. He doesn’t look at me. “Of course I do,” he says.

I blush a deep scarlet and grit my teeth. Right. Of course he does.

I shake my head and exhale, the heat from my face following the expulsion of my breath.

Shit.

Amelia lives in a semi-gated community, you can get onto the land itself only passing an automatic gate that opens upon sensing a car. I know right away how bad it must be since the gate is open before we even get close to it.

Ethan slows down as someone from the side of the road with an orange and yellow safety vest on. He rolls down the window.

“We need to get through, we know about the fire,” Ethan says calmly but I read his body language: he’s taken his hands off the steering wheel, his torso is angled towards the person with a flashlight. “We just need to get through to pick up the Mayor’s daughter.”

I wonder why Ethan hasn’t pulled the ‘I’m the sheriff's son’ card yet.

“I’ll have to speak to her. The area is closed off to the public.”

“He’s Ethan Stock,” I pipe up, leaning forwards and towards Ethan so I can get a look at the man standing against the side of the truck.

The man shines the flashlight to my face and I wince. Then he looks back to Ethan. The man tilts his head towards the inside of the grounds.

“Get out and follow him,” Ethan says, “I’ll follow and park. Find my Mom and Linda--Mayor Smythe,” he corrects himself.

I nod my head shakily and unbuckle, hopping out of the side of the truck, I give Ethan one last wide-eyed look before I slam the door.

I meet the man⸺a police officer⸺at the front of the truck. He gives me a once over and must recognize me, or Ava, or Mom, and looks away abruptly and quips a ‘follow me’ and I oblige.

As soon as I start moving, the wheels of Ethan’s truck are scratching along the tarmac as he begins to follow me at a crawl.

Alone now, I let myself look inside a head, only to make out just the smoldering of what was the Smythe house as the embers flare up and die off as they fly into the night. I nearly halt my feet but I’m worried about Ethan behind me so I keep dragging my feet along the ground.

As the truck turns along the road, the headlights illuminate a heap on the common area lawn in the courtyard. “Amelia!” I cry, stumbling towards her.

I accelerate too quickly towards her body only ten meters from me and my legs come out from under me. My face nearly cracks on the pavement but my hands catch my fall and I’m up again before Amelia has even turned to look at me.

My stumbling ends when I grasp her form. Her head lulls in my shoulder and her hands come to the sides of my face.

The truck screeches to a halt and Ethan jumps out of the truck. The keys are still in the car. We’re not going to be here for long. Ethan looks at me with an emotion so raw on his face, I almost stand up just to get a better look. His eyes are wide in the light of the headlights, his hair darker, his frame longer.

I remember Amelia in my arms and tear my attention away from Ethan back to her. She’s weeping, I think, it’s hard to tell over the wail of sirens and the voices speaking⸺what voices?

I drape the blanket over Amilia’s crouched body and stand up: Ethan’s moved away from where we watched each other towards the hub of cars and firetrucks. I know the one woman immediately just by the silk of her nightclothes; Mayor Linda Smythe stands in front of Ethan, her hands gesturing wildly, she’s spitting words I can’t hear. The other woman, however, I should have figured out right away, but I didn’t: it takes the glint of firelight on her badge that I realize it’s Sheriff Stock, Ethan’s mom. Her hand rests on Mayor Smythe frantic arms.

Amelia sobs. I turn my attention back to her, guilt ripping at my stomach for leaving her in the first place.

“It’s okay,” I say in a hushed voice, pulling her back into my arms, “I’m here, Am, you’re safe.” I look over Amelia’s shoulder to see Ethan watching me. His face is stony now.

“It’s gone,” she whispers, “all of it.”

“I know.” My voice is shaky. “It’s okay, we have what we can’t replace. You and your mom. It’s okay.”

Amelia clings to me in a way I didn’t think she was capable of: hands so cold, nails so dirty, face so raw, heart so open.

I rub Amelia’s back until her crying and that of the firetrucks becomes dull and muted in my ears. I rest my head on top of hers until the fire seems to blur to a warm blanket over my body too and I stop shivering. I hold Amelia until a voice wakes me up.

“Waters.” Ethan touches my shoulder lightly and I jerk right away. “Let’s get you home.”

“But what about Amelia?” I ask.

“Her and her mom are staying with my and my mom for now,” he explains, his hand outstretched and fingers gesturing for me to take it. “Come on.”

I sigh deeply. I rouse Amelia and hold her face before I say, “Let’s get you somewhere warm.” I take her hand and turn and place it in Ethan’s.

He gives me a look, but I don’t really give him too much mind. I stand up, brush the dirt and ash off my pants, and lead Ethan, who holds Amelia up, to the truck.

I help Amelia into the passenger seat while Ethan waves off to his mom. Amelia grips my hand as I reach across her curled up torso to grab the seatbelt.

Once I’m in the backseat with my seatbelt on and Ethan’s got the truck into reverse. We turn around and head back along the road out back out to the main roads. There are few streetlights along the roads in this part of town: we’re too isolated from the municipally involved parts of town, while still straying from the expensive private parts of town as we tear down the dirt road.

My head leans against the window, eyes only open enough to notice when Ethan shifts his attention from the road to the mirror. There is nothing behind us but road⸺I check⸺so he’s looking at me. I close my eyes and close in on myself until I fit onto the far corner of the seat with my knees to my chest.

I don’t let the tears spill. I won’t. Not with Amelia in the car crying over her lost home. Not with Ethan who doesn’t need a reason to cry. Not when I need to hold strong.

Ethan takes us to my neighbourhood first, and part of me is glad because of it because I just want to go to sleep and not wake up for a very long time. Before Ethan’s even put it into park, I’m already out of the door and walking up along the driver’s side, too close to tears to look at Amelia right now.

“Waters!” Ethan calls after rolling his window down.

My feet halt as much as I don’t want them too. I look back over my shoulder to see Ethan’s pale but reddened face lean out of the window and watch me. I don’t move towards him even if I want to. One tear escapes my eye and I don’t swat at it, knowing that would bring more attention to it rather than just letting it roll down my cheek.

“She’ll be alright.”

Right, yeah. Amelia.

Too bad it’s not her I’m crying for.

I drag myself up the stairs as quietly as I can when my feet betray me by not doing what I tell them: to keep moving. As soon as I’m in my room with my door shut, I’m sitting at the foot of my bed and heaving until I start to sob. I bite my lip to quiet the noise but I’m still crying loud enough to wake my parents.

The mattress creaks as I crawl onto it, laying my head in a pillow and hoping I will just pass out before my Mom comes in demanding to know where I’ve been and with who. Please, God.

Of course my phone is ringing. I fumble for it on the bed until I grab the buzzing thing and have it to my ear. There are very few people that would call at this hour of the morning so I don’t have any pleasantries in my tone when I say, “What?”

“Amelia is crying. What am I supposed to do?”

I rub my face. ‘I’m crying too’, I want to tell him. “Leave her alone, it’ll be worse if you try and help her.”

I roll onto my back as my stomach retches. My fingers lazily run up and down my comforter as I try to focus on not breaking into tears again. Ethan, if anything, is not stupid: he would know the tears in my voice. I don’t want to run that risk.

“Linda will cancel the gala if she has any sense of social queues.” Off topic like I need, though I was hoping he’d just hang up so I could sleep until my alarm.

“I didn’t know you were going,” I say. I roll onto my side, restless. It’s Ethan’s fault I’m this way. I had finally found peace but now I’m like this.

“Oh, I’m not,” he says in a reassuring tone. “But I assume you are, courtesy of the Blondes.”

“No,” I lie. If I had to pick between going to the gala or peeling my fingernails off with a rusty thumbtack, the latter would be more pleasurable. “I want to go. Supporting the town is a dream I’ve always had.”

Ethan lets out a dry laugh, the only kind he seems to have for me. There’s quiet static in the background of a television, there’s rustling of plastic, and there’s the hum of the cars on his street. I imagine myself in the room with him. It just makes my restlessness worse so I stop. I’m in my room, alone and tired. Ethan’s not here.

“You sound pained, Waters,” Ethan says in a tone I can’t identify. “Is there a gun pointed at your head?”

My head sinks into my mattress as I drift off. “No. There’s not gun, Ethan.”

“Ah,” he says acknowledgingly. “That’s good. Well, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Yeah, it’s past three and I’ve had no more than four hours of sleep so I certainly need to cram as many more as I can in the time before I need to be up for school and for Mom. So then why do I want to ask for a few more minutes before he goes?

Ah, loneliness, that would be it.

Before I can get my closing words out, Ethan’s already hung up the phone so I’m left stupidly to mutter: “I’ll see you tomorrow” to myself.

Maybe it’s best he didn’t hear that. It’s too invitational.