“Let her sleep. She was acting out tonight, rebelling. But when she wakes up, she’s going to remember that she thinks you hate her. That’s when you need to make sure she knows it’s exactly the opposite. You need each other. Trust me. I’m a guy with a very tiny family who values both members as much as the air I breathe.” I let the thought of losing Grandpa or Mom pass over my soul, and imagining it carves a deep wound.
“Thank you for getting her home,” she says. I think maybe this is the first time she hasn’t looked at me like some house elf from under the stairs. I fish Eleanor’s keys from my pocket and hand them to her for safekeeping, because I know if anything, I can trust Morgan to keep her sister out of a vehicle for the next several hours.
I leave her with a soft smile and head out into the darkness, crossing the street to my house where I enter through the garage. I should be exhausted but for some reason, I’m not tired at all. The palette of emotions I’ve gone through in the last hour have charged my mind and my muscles. Rather than waste the next few hours staring at my ceiling and flipping from side to side in my bed, I decide to do some good. I shut the door behind me and flip the main lights on in the garage before propping open the Bronco’s hood. Dale and I got through about two dozen wires before he left, which leaves a couple dozen to go.
I arm myself with the wire tester and pull my phone from my pocket, resting it on the fender. With a few swipes, I open the playlist Eleanor made me for my birthday and smile at the now familiar chords that start the first song—the song about a young man working on a Bronco he hopes to one day hand down to his son.
Fifteen
I finished every wire I could access without some sort of yoga move. I worked on the truck until the sun was almost up, and then grunted out some sort of explanation to my mom and grandpa as I passed them on my way up the stairs. Sleep took over the second my face hit the pillow, and if it weren’t for the faint buzz of my phone coming from somewhere in the depths of my blanket and sheets, I would have kept dreaming until the sun went down again.
Finally uncovering my phone, I bring it to my face to focus my eyes enough to read the text message. I sit up when I realize it’s from Eleanor.
ELEANOR: Can I come over to talk?
I flatten my palm on the side of my face to rub life back into my skin. Staring at my screen, I switch over to the camera mode so I can see what kind of hair situation I’m dealing with. All I can do is laugh when I see the absolute rooster hawk split in two on top of my head. I push it down only to watch it pop back up. I’m not telling her no. I knew that the moment she asked. I just need to buy myself a few minutes of time.
ME: Give me 5 mins to shower.
I don’t wait for her response. I rush to my bathroom with the cleanest pair of jeans on my floor and my Harvard hoodie. After the world’s fastest shower, water pounding my hair long enough to train it back where it’s supposed to go, I get myself semi-dry and toss on my clean-ish clothes before clamoring down the stairs.
I haven’t looked at the time yet today, but I’m guessing by the way the light comes through the front window that it’s mid-afternoon. I speed up my trip down the steps when I hear my grandfather having a conversation with someone, knowing there’s really only one person that could be.
“This here is my world-famous hangover cure—”
“Oh, hey, I think she’s good,” I say, sliding into the kitchen in my socks in time for my grandfather to crack an egg in what I am pretty sure is half a mug of Pabst Blue Ribbon and honey.
“You had a late night. You need some of this, too?” Grandpa holds the mug up and I take it from his hand happily while shaking my head on my way to the sink.
“Oh, ya know? I think I’m okay,” I say, pouring the contents down the drain. I hit the disposal button and turn the water on to make sure it goes down, catching a whiff of cheap beer that confirms my initial suspicion.
“Hey, that’s a sure-fire recipe! And a waste of a perfectly good beer,” he grumbles.
“Yes, but that concoction only works on war veterans in their seventies,” I reply, leaving the cup in the sink and turning to face my grandfather’s scowl. My eyes move to Eleanor standing just beyond his shoulder, hugging herself in the shirt I gave her last night.
I wasn’t going to drink that, she mouths silently, her eyebrows up to her hairline.
No, I mouth back.
“I can see you. And I can read lips, dumbass,” Grandpa jabs. He grunts his way around the kitchen a little longer, muttering about the beer a few more times before heading to the living room where he puts on the pre-game for the Blackhawks.
I chuckle at his behavior because I know he’s over it already. My attention moves back to Eleanor, and I can see why Grandpa thought she might need a little boost this morning. Dark circles weigh under her eyes, the rest of her skin vampire pale. Her hair is pulled into double knots at the base of her neck on either side, and I think maybe she woke up with a hairstyle a lot like I did.
“I
