Candy Colored Sky, стр. 38
“I bet they won’t even see me,” she says.
I’m doubtful because where we’re sitting we’re in pretty clear view. It’s hard not to notice people sitting on a roof in our neighborhood. The angles are steep, which practically puts us on display against the dark gray shingles.
“It looks like they’re all going out somewhere,” I say.
“Mmm, yeah. They’re meeting with a private investigator. My grandparents are paying for it. He was over the other day.” Her mouth falls into a perfectly straight line and she blinks slowly as she takes in the action below. They all pile into the van and I’m on edge, expecting Morgan to cup her hands around her mouth and yell at her sister to get away from the creep—that’s me—and join her family where she belongs. None of that happens, though. Morgan climbs into the driver’s seat while her parents ride as passengers. I join Eleanor in staring at the glow of the van’s taillights as they back out of their driveway and head down our street.
Mentally working out the right words to soothe what I imagine she feels—cut out, ignored, helpless, angry, guilty—I decide that nothing I say would help with any of that. I would just be spilling out words. So instead, I change course and ask something personal.
“Are you and Addy really close?” I take care not to use the word were. I stumble over my words a lot of the time, but not this one. It’s important that I leave Addy very much present and alive.
It takes Eleanor several seconds to answer me, though I can tell she’s rummaging through pleasant memories by the way she smiles at her hands as she kneads them in her lap.
“Addy does this thing where she puts on my cheer uniform, like, if I’m wearing the home one she puts on the away version. I have to pin it, and if I’m not there to get the pins in she just ties up the loose waistband with hair scrunchies, like this.” She pulls free the tie that was holding her hair up in a knot at the base of her neck and twists it around the bottom of my sweatshirt. It essentially turns my hoodie into a crop top that’s tight around my ribs.
“I think this might be my look,” I joke.
Her raspy laugh makes an appearance. She laughed like this during skee-ball. It’s simply the best sound in the world.
“Addy would approve,” she says through a wide smile. Her eyes blink as she turns her attention to her less crowded driveway, the blank spot where the van was parked probably the same spot she saw her sister last. “She wasn’t wearing my away uniform that Friday, when she disappeared.”
She glances up at me and I see the guilt threatening to ignite tears.
“Was she out of scrunchies?” I try to inject a little humor into our conversation to help her not fall apart. I can tell she doesn’t want to. It’s one of those things that people like me, people who have lost someone, recognize. And Eleanor, she isn’t ready to lose it. Not now.
She sniffles and puts on a practiced laugh.
“Probably. Those suckers are always getting lost,” she says, tugging the one on my shirt free and wrapping it around her wrist.
“Well, it’s probably because you go around putting them on men’s sweatshirts,” I say, leaning into her. I’ve grown bolder with little shows of affection. I’m careful, though. I don’t want her to think I mean anything that I don’t, or that I want something more than just spending time with her.
“How much time till sunset?” She flattens her palm on my thigh with a friendly slap as she asks me this question and I’m grateful I don’t tumble from the roof.
“Oh, uh.” I fumble my phone from my pocket, risking losing my grip due to my nervous hands. I eventually click the screen on to get the time. “Maybe half an hour.”
“Perfect,” she says, meeting my gaze and offering a smile and a nod as if she’s communicating something. I just don’t know what. “Tell me about that picture. The one of your parents.”
I suppose it’s fair that I talk about a raw topic since I made her share a little bit about her sister. I’m about to dive into how different the man I knew as Dad seems from that picture when my voice is robbed of power by the feel of Eleanor’s head on my lap. She’s spun to the side and flattened herself along the pitch of the roof, her hair spread over my jeans in all directions. At first, I can only see her golden lashes, but after a few blinks, she opens her eyes right on mine, and I’m hit with my kryptonite.
“Okay,” I breathe out, leaning back and tilting my head enough that I can see the wisps of clouds across the sky. They’re starting to catch the golden color of the sun as it drops. I have no idea how to pretend this is normal, but I can’t very well leave my neck craned like this through sunset. This angle also only makes the rapid pulse of blood racing through my body sound even louder.
I right my head and let the dizziness settle in my brain, willing myself not to look down at the beautiful creature staring up at me unless I absolutely have to.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of him,” I say.
“Well, he was a lot younger, so probably not.” Her voice almost tricks me into looking down, but I don’t fall for it. I chuckle at her comment and force my gaze straight ahead at the line of winter trees.
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that he didn’t seem like that kinda guy. He was always so