Page 87 of Nothing Like the Movies

“I was walking by his grave,” I lied, dumbstruck by his intoxication. “And happened to see them lying there.”

“I left him the keys because it was his house, y’know?” he said, kind of mumbling. “He should have them.”

I didn’t know what to say because I was having trouble processing all this. “Is Michael there with you?”

“No one is with me,” he said, sounding distracted. “I couldn’t have anyone over for the last night at the Bennett house—are you kidding? He’d hate that.”

Hisdad?

“Maybe you shouldn’t be alone, Wes,” I said, looking out the window but only seeing darkness from his house. Why was he alone? Why was he alone anddrunk? Was he sitting on the floor in the dark, all by himself, with a bottle of booze? I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I should call someone. It seemed dangerous for him to be drunk and by himself in an empty house.

My throat was tight when I suggested, “Can you call someone?”

“No, ’cause I’m gonna sleep now, Lib,” he said, and his subconscious use of my old nickname made that throat tension even worse. “I’m so tired.”

I’m so tired.Something about that statement was worrisome, and I wondered if I should try to find Sarah’s number.

“Okay,” I said, not knowing what to say. I knew he had to be hurting, but I wasn’t the person to be helping him anymore, right? I swallowed and said, “Well, good night, Wes.”

“I miss our ‘good nights,’?” he mumbled—to himself, it seemed—and then the call ended.

I sat there with the phone in my hand, frozen in place, not sure what to do. My stomach hurt as I pictured him drunk and alone inan empty house, but he wasn’t mine to worry about anymore. He was just my old neighbor, a guy I’d dated for a few months, and our lives had moved on, right?

It wasn’t my business if he was sad.

But as I turned out my light and went to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept picturing his dark eyes full of tears at the funeral.

And his slurred voice when he said,Did my dad give them to you?

I tossed and turned, Wes on my mind when I was awakeandwhen I was asleep. Then my worries switched to the alcohol and his aloneness. How much had he consumed? What if he’d been drinking straight from a bottle all night?

At two fifteen, I reached for my phone. Texted:Are you okay?

Twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t responded.

“Dammit.”

I sat up and flipped on my lamp, realizing I had no choice.

Just knock on the door, make sure he’s alive, say goodbye.

I knocked on the front door of his house, nervous, because it was the middle of the night, and I was prowling around outside.This is stupid.There were still no lights on inside. Zero. Black space in every window. Not a single light to be seen, yet Wes’s car was still in the driveway. Part of me wanted to just run back home, but I had to make sure he was okay.

I looked behind me, toward the street, but it was quiet except for the chilly fall breeze and the sounds of the dry leaves blowing in the wind. Very creepy.

I knocked again.

And then I heard it.

Foo Fighters. Coming from inside his house.

The deeper the blues, the more I see black

Loud.

“Wes?” I knocked harder, a little irritated. I wasn’t sure if he was even inside, but I wanted to be finished with the standing-alone-in-the-dark-outside portion of the evening. Especially since my dad and Helena were sound asleep. If I disappeared, no one would even know I’d left the house until morning.

After another ten seconds, I said, “Screw it.” I stuck the key that was obviously a house key into the lock, turned the doorknob, and pushed in the door. “Wes? It’s Liz.”

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