“Can I keep your shirt?” she mutters, her face smooshed into her pillow and her eyes closed.
“Consider it yours,” I say, moving her shoes to the floor at the end of the bed. When I turn back to face her, I find her eyes open more than they’ve been the entire night. Staring at me, she blinks slowly, her face void of emotion.
“I’m sorry I’m hard to be friends with.”
I lean back against her dresser with a heavy breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. Her words hurt, and they aren’t true.
“Eleanor, there is nothing hard about being in your life. I’m glad you let me bring you home, though. Maybe tomorrow we can talk about . . . this?” I wave my hand slowly, signaling her current state.
She responds with another slow blink and I assume that’s as much as I’m going to get.
“Okay, then. Why don’t you get some sleep?” I step toward her night table and reach to flip off the light, but Eleanor stops me by brushing her knuckles against mine.
Frozen where I stand, I lock onto her touch and relax my fingers to let hers find their way into the spaces between. It’s such a light touch, and it might be all the energy she has to give, but it’s enough to refuel me and remind me why I will walk through fire for this girl if that’s what she needs. Eleanor Trombley is special. Always has been, always will be. And the more I get to know her, especially all of her broken bits, the more I think we’re finding each other at the exact moment we’re supposed to.
“Good night, Elle,” I say, squeezing her hand gently and tucking it back into her body, then pulling up her blanket.
I flip her light off for real this time and close the door almost completely before making my way back downstairs to where Morgan waits by the front door. Before she has a chance to tell me all the ways she is right and Eleanor is wrong, I break down the hard truths that a person going through something like this might not be capable of seeing on her own.
“You have to stop,” I say, stepping up to face her squarely. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes squint.
“I don’t mean to offend you, or . . . or maybe I do. I know you—your entire family—you’re all going through hell. I can only imagine half of it. When my dad died last year, I had closure. It was a dull pain, but at least I knew that was what I was going to get. You all, you’re left without answers, and the clues that come along seem like traps that are only going to make things hurt more, make the pain last longer.”
I pause my lecture when her eye ticks and she shifts her hands to her back pockets as she steps in closer. I move back a step on instinct.
“My baby sister is missing, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it. No offense, but you don’t know shit.” I think she wants to mean every word of this, but fear flickers behind her eyes.
“I know that punishing your other sister—more than she’s already punishing herself—is not going to make things better for either of you. You’re only going to ruin your relationship with her, make her resent you. She’s eighteen, Morgan. She is missing all of those things that make up who she is. She’s choosing to miss those things because she thinks that’s what her family expects her to do, and instead of living her life she sits in her room, thinking about how she is to blame for absolutely everything.”
Morgan shakes her head, but before she can tell me I’m off base, I continue.
“You think she’s in there sleeping at night, but she hasn’t slept in days. She’s slept at my house, twice, and probably because she was so exhausted that her body couldn’t go on anymore. She can’t sleep here because being here reminds her that Addy is missing and you blame her for it. And if you blame her, then your parents must blame her, too. And now your grandparents. You all have created this environment where she doesn’t feel safe in her own house. That’s why she keeps going out and seeking peace and comfort literally anywhere else.”
“Okay. Okay!” Morgan growls, cutting me off. Her eyes are glassy and she swipes the tears away with a jerk of her hand. She looks out through the open door toward my house, to the place where her sister feels safe.
After a few long wordless seconds, I dip my head and move to leave the Trombley home.
“They’re never going to find her.”
I stop cold at the doorway. I don’t think she could have uttered a more devastating statement. I tilt my head to the side and meet her eyes. The tears are back, and they fall when she blinks.
“At this point, they’re looking for a body.” She shrugs, letting out a tiny humorless laugh that’s only there to mask the devastation she’s barely holding inside. She shakes her head and breathes out a ragged breath that flaps her cheeks. She’s tired. They all are. Her eyes dip down then come back to me, her brow creasing with worry and regret.
“I shouldn’t have made her feel that way, that it’s her fault. Any of it. I know I’m not being fair. I’ve been making so many decisions, and I feel like I have to make all of them because my parents just can’t.”
If I knew her better, I’d hug her. If I weren’t such a recluse, I’d step in and help their entire family. I would have from the very beginning rather than watch it all unfold out my front window. I should have.
But
