Once the cast members gathered to say good night and the credits rolled, Julianne yawned and checked her cell phone. She tapped the screen and then stood. “Sam will be home in twenty minutes. I’m going to hop on the treadmill until then.”
“I was going to…is it all right if I take a drive?”
She tilted her head a bit, confused by my request, and then realization settled on her face. “Down Ferguson Street?”
I pulled my mouth to the side. I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes. I thought I should check on Gina.”
She swallowed. “Just promise to call if things get weird.”
“I promise. The worst thing she’s ever done is ignore me.”
Julianne’s face fell, and she nodded before leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Be safe.”
I sat in my red BMW with the lights and engine off, parked where Weston’s Chevy had been parked following the first time he’d taken me to our overpass. That seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Now, here I sat, in my designer jean shorts and expensive car, working up the courage to knock on the door of the house I used to fantasize about leaving behind.
Gina’s rusted white Malibu was parked with its front bumper touching the garage sitting at the back of the property, hidden in the shadows left by the streetlight. Two lines of patchy gravel made up the drive, and an uneven broken sidewalk led to the porch.
I gripped my keys in my hand and pushed my way outside of the car to the street. “Screw it,” I said, slamming the door behind me.
The steps felt like tar beneath my feet as I tried to climb them. I slowed to a halt at the top of the stairs, four feet from the broken screen door. Music was playing inside, but my heartbeat replaced the usual bass throbbing through the walls, rattling my rib cage with each pulse.
My sweaty hand formed a fist, and I rapped against the Plexiglas, the aluminum frame shuddering with each knock. After a few excruciating seconds, I tried again, but nothing happened. It was late. I could have been one of her meth head friends, but she wasn’t coming to the door. She must have already passed out.
Without letting myself think too much about it, I turned the knob. She had no one to check on her anymore to make sure she hadn’t gone too far, to make sure she had come home at all, or to make sure she had food in the fridge. I swallowed, afraid of what might be on the other side of the door, shaken to the core by the thought of the state she might be in.
“Gina?” I called, stepping on the thirty-year-old brown calico carpet.
Still, I found nothing. She wasn’t on the couch, so she must either be in bed or have her head in the toilet. I guessed it was the former since the house didn’t have that familiar stench of vomit and stale beer from when she’d drunk too much.
“It’s Erin. Gina?” I called again. The smallness of my voice was even more frightening than Gina’s unexpected absence from the living room.
I reached back and fingered the rectangular bulge in my back pocket. Julianne had said to call if anything got weird, but the problem with that was, anything concerning Gina was weird in comparison with life at the Alderman home.
The bathroom door creaked as I pushed it open. The light was off, and the small room was empty. The sink was so different than the expansive countertop space of my current bathroom at the Aldermans’. Gina’s was covered in grime, rust, and water stains. The faucet dripped, the shower curtain was mildewed, and the floor hadn’t been swept since I left.
Down the hallway, I knocked quietly on Gina’s door. “It’s Erin,” I said just loud enough for her to hear. “I need to talk to you.”
After several seconds without an answer, I pushed open the door. The hinges whined while I squinted to see through the darkness.
Finally resorting to flipping on the light, I called her name again. The bright bulb revealed a messy empty bed with worn floral sheets she’d bought at the thrift shop when I was nine.
Rhythmic tapping on the air-conditioning unit in the window signaled a light rain. I hovered in the doorway, arguing with myself about where to search for her next.
Is Gina sitting in her car, and I missed it?
I flipped off the light and shut her door, and then I stood in the hallway, catching the slit of light coming from my former bedroom. Even though it took just four or five steps to reach the knob, it seemed like miles. My finger tapped on the painted wood, and the door slowly backed away from me, revealing Gina sitting alone on what used to be my bed.
Chapter Three
THE ENTIRE ROOM HAD BEEN CLEANED, the bed had been made, and the green shag that was the carpet had been tamed by the vacuum.
Gina was still in her grocery store apron, her name tag hanging crooked. Her frizzy blonde bangs had been curled under and sprayed into place. She looked up at me but didn’t seem surprised.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Do you got any cigs?”
I shook my head. “How have you…how have you been?”
She laughed once, seeming to just notice the raindrops on the window. “It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight.”
“That’s Oklahoma for ya. If you don’t like the weather, wait a day, and it’ll change.”
“My dad used to say that.”
Her words took me aback. That was the first time I’d ever heard her mention my grandfather or any family in general.
“Did he?” I asked, leaning my head against the doorjamb.
She didn’t answer.
“Do you have anyone, Gina? Not your drug dealer. Do you have any family to talk to?”
“You were the only one who would talk to me after…” She looked out the window. “And it turns out, you’re not even family.” She thought about that for a moment. “Not that you had a reason to talk to me anyhow.”
“I know what happened.”
She laughed once. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear before.”
“It wasn’t fair. You were just a kid. You were left to handle it all alone.”
“And I did the same to you,” she said, staring at the floor.
“Have you talked to anyone? About everything? Anything?” I asked.
She shook her head.
I lifted my head from the wood frame of the door and walked over to the bed. She warily watched me. I sat next to her.
“Talk to me,” I said.
She searched my eyes and waited for the cruelty that she’d—that we both had—become so accustomed to over the years.