Page 77 of Head Under Water

I’m struck by a truth I hadn’t expected, an answer to a question that haunted me earlier.

If our roles were reversed, if it was Mom who was sick, Will would never allow me to feel left out. Even if I tried, he would never let me pull away. He’d drag me back. Despite everything, despite how much we hate each other, Will would make sure I never lost my place in this family.

I know this like I know I need oxygen to survive and like I know the way to Mom’s house. He’s a constant, even if I’ve spent my life wishing he wasn’t. Even now, as fear claws at my throat, I want to cling to that. To him.

His words from yesterday come rushing back to me. No one is allowed to be mean to you, except me.

Why, then, do I feel the safest here? With him?

This feeling’s always been there. Hidden, maybe. An invisible tether that connects us. Somewhere deep down. Steady. Solid. Here.

I want to tell him. To ask if he feels it too, but my voice is small and locked in my throat. Because if he says no, if I’m alone or sleep-deprived or confused, I lose the very ground I’m standing on.

I lose my family.

Slowly, his eyes open and search the room, landing on me once, twice, and a third time before he props himself up on his arm. “What time is it?”

“After six,” I tell him.

His eyes bounce to the window, then back to me. “You stayed.”

I swallow. “You asked me to.” Something warms in his expression, and I feel it deep in my chest. Ice forms under my skin, spreading like a freezing pond. “I, uh, should probably go back to my room, though.”

The warmth evaporates. “Right.”

I pause. He agreed too quickly. “If you’re okay.”

He gives a sharp nod. “I told you I don’t need you to take care of me, Opie.”

His words hit like a sudden, cool breeze.

“Right. Okay. Good.” I slip out of bed, creating space between us, and make my way toward the door.

“Hey, I, uh, might go stay at Mom’s for a while,” he says. “Cory and I talked about it, and we’ll probably rotate checking in on the place until she’s home.”

I watch him. This should be what I want. Finally, I’ll have the apartment to myself. The privacy. The quiet. But strangely…the thought of him leaving makes me feel like I’m losing oxygen.

“If that’s what you want,” I say softly. When he doesn’t deny it, I add, “Honestly, I’d feel better having someone out there with Mom anyway. I don’t like her being alone.”

He runs a hand across his chin. “You’re worried someone did this to Mom. Like they did to Ruth.”

My nod is small and unsure. “It sounds ridiculous, but yes. I’m scared someone is doing this, coming after them one by one. The man in the blue truck, maybe.”

The moment lingers, teeming with fear that feels heavy and real.

“They’re three little old ladies,” Will says, but it’s not in a dismissive way. It’s more like…he’s considering. “What would anyone want with them? They don’t have any money.”

“I know.” Finally grateful to have someone listen, I pull out his desk chair and take a seat. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Maybe they’re after the land. I mean, they own five acres. It’s not a tiny amount. And all the properties around theirs have been developed into subdivisions. Someone could put twenty houses where they just have three.”

His lips brush together. “Maybe, but it’s not like Clinton’s real estate market is booming. I can’t see their land being worth killing over.”

He’s right. It was a far-fetched theory, but it’s one that’s floating around in my brain.

“My other thought—and stay with me here, because I fully realize this sounds crazy—is what if they’re being targeted for something they did? Someone they hurt?”

“What, you mean like they killed someone at a party years ago, and that person’s long-lost brother is back for revenge?” A wry smile twists his lips. “Sorry, bad joke, but come on. That sounds like the plot to one of those thrillers you’re always reading, not real life. Our moms may not have been saints before us, but I highly doubt they were out there tormenting their classmates.”

“You suggest something then,” I say, irritated by his quick dismissal. “It’s kind of up to us to figure it out. Mom’s been no help. She believes it was all an accident, but I don’t. It can’t have been. Not now. Ruth’s death was hard enough to understand, but Margie getting hurt so soon after? It can’t be a coincidence. We can figure this out. I know we can. And then we can go right back to hating each other. I just need to keep them safe.”