This Is Falling(97)

“I love you too.” She says it back quickly, and I can tell she’s full of worry now.

“Rowe, I know something. Something that…God, I wish I didn’t know. And I’m not supposed to tell you. But I have to tell you. Because, if this were the other way around, you’d tell me, and I’d want you to.” I’m talking in circles, and I’m sure none of this is making sense to her. But I can almost see her eyes working the puzzle out, the tears already forming in the corners.

“Tell me,” she says, almost breathlessly.

“Before your parents left, your dad came to see me. It was before my game, before you and your mom got there. He…he told me something, and Rowe…it’s killing me. I hate that I know this, and I hate that I’ve lied to you.”

“Tell me!” She’s crying now, gripping the blanket close to her with one hand while the other covers her mouth, and her body is starting to shake. “Just say it. Say it!”

“You’re going to hate me,” I say, and in that moment, our eyes lock, and I know that she will. This is that time—there’s no going back from here. “Josh died, Rowe. A few weeks ago.”

Her eyes are locked open, dripping tears down her cheeks, while the rest of her body remains rigid, frozen. I lean forward from the chair, making a movement toward the bed, but she reacts quickly, almost scurrying backward away from me. “No! Don’t!” she yells, and my heart literally rips in half. “How? Why?”

“I don’t know, Rowe. Your dad…he didn’t want you to find out until the semester was over. He was afraid this might set you back. He only told me because he wanted me to be here for you when you found out. But I just can’t know this and not tell you. You deserve to know…”

“You shouldn’t have,” she bites back. “You should have kept this to yourself!” She’s not looking at me any more, and her stare is wide, and off somewhere else entirely. Her knees are pulled tightly to her body, and her arms are wrapped completely around herself.

“Rowe…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say, so I just sit there and wait for her hate to grow.

“I was better off not knowing,” she says, her voice an angry kind of calm. Minutes pass before she speaks again. “Are they even selling the house?”

“Yes, that part’s true,” I say. “But the trip—” I’m unable to stop myself, and the second I say it, I know I shouldn’t have let out so much. But it’s too late. Her eyes are on me like lasers.

“There’s no trip.” Her face has gone through so many emotions in the last few seconds, and the one looking back at me now is full of anger. All I can do is shake my head no, and when I do, Rowe is quick to get to her feet, and she starts shoving all of her belongings into her suitcase, not even taking time to change from her pajamas.

“Rowe, you can’t go back,” I say, reaching for her arm, but she jerks it away from me.

“Watch me.” She’s so angry, and I know I’m going to get the brunt of it, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath, readying myself.

“I’m coming with you,” I start again, but she cuts me off.

“I don’t want you to,” she says, her fingers already dialing her phone.

“Rowe, you need to process this. Stop. Just wait until morning, and then we can call your parents and figure out what to do.”

“Ha! Don’t you think the three of you have figured enough out for me? ...Hi, I need a cab,” she’s says, snapping her fingers at me suddenly and holding the phone away from her ear. “Address.”

“Don’t. Do. This,” I whisper one more time, pleading with her. I reach to touch her arm, but everything about her is cold. I may as well be touching a statue. She looks down where my fingers wrap lightly around her arm, but her stare is blank, and Rowe…Rowe is gone.

“Address,” she says once again, her voice seething, and her eyes narrow, and so very angry. Everything about the way she’s looking at me right now is killing me, but I take it. Because I know as soon as she’s done being angry, she’s going to be destroyed. And I guess I’d rather see her mad at me instead.

“Seventy-four seventy-one North Meadow Drive,” I relent, then listen to her repeat it to the person on the other line. I sit back and let my head rest against the window while I watch her make her arrangements to leave my parents’ home—to leave me. I’m helpless. I could bully her, because I’m stronger. I could physically keep her from leaving. But then what?