Page 80 of The Two of Us

Laura’s eyes are glassy. She’s been crying. “Ambrose took her and Matty home. She slammed the door in his face and refuses to let either of us in. Ambrose is going to see her dealer. He thinks she may be on something new.”

Exhaustion hits me with full force and I rub my eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Mara. So sorry.”

I do the only thing I think is appropriate for a moment like this. I hug her. “Me too.”

Sleep evades me that night.

I toss and turn in bed, jumping out toward the window every time headlights passed by. Ambrose still isn’t home yet and a bundle of nerves in my stomach keeps me on edge. How long does it take to talk to a drug dealer? I didn’t even really want to think about Ambrose having to confront someone like that. I’m staring at the blue house, willing his car to appear in the driveway when I see a faint trail of smoke emanating from the house next door. Anya’s house.

I squint, sure my eyes are deceiving me, but it’s real. Smoke is coming from the downstairs window. When I don’t see any lights in the house turn on, I dress quickly, tripping over my sneakers midrun toward the door. Otso’s barks echo throughout the house on my way out. I sprint across the street, baffled at how quiet Winsome Lane is. But the calmest part of any hurricane is the eye. You could be in the midst of impending destruction and no one around you would even know it.

I hurry to the front door and stop myself before grabbing the doorknob. I lightly tap the back of my hand against the handle, reeling back at its heat. I can’t go through the front door. I take a survey of my surroundings.

The trellis.

Rushing to the side of the house, I stop in front of the ivy-covered trellis. It spans up the length of the house, ending at the balcony of Matty’s room. Without a second thought, I begin to climb.

I thank my Pilates classes for the strength my thighs have to carry me upward. I haven’t climbed a trellis since I was a teenager and even then I’d only climbed my own. When I get to the balcony, I peer through the window, shocked at the lack of movement inside. Is anyone even home?

Not wanting to risk it, I pull off my hoodie and wrap it securely around my elbow. I take a deep breath and brace myself before breaking the glass. My hand unlocks the door from the inside and I hiss at the sting of shards cutting into my skin.

Matty and Anya are curled up together in his bed. The picture of peace.

I shake Anya hard. “Anya. Wake up. There’s a fire.”

“Mmm,” she groans, pulling the sheets higher over her face.

I can’t waste precious time being gentle. “Wake up!” I scream, grabbing the neck of her shirt. She comes to, paranoia clouding over her eyes. Considering she owes people money, I’m sure being shaken awake in the middle of the night is the last thing she wants.

“There’s a fire in your house, Anya,” I repeat.

“Fire?” she mumbles. Understanding floods her eyes. “I left the teakettle on.”

“Come on. Hurry.” I lift Matty into my arms and steer us out onto the balcony.

Anya sways on her feet, not completely sobered up yet and I say, “I’m going to carry him down.”

Matty doesn’t stir when I wrap his legs firmly around my waist. My arms scream in agony as I carry us down the trellis. My leg muscles are monsters, but my upper body strength resembles that of a newborn calf.

I gently lay Matty in the grass and he begins to wake, confusion clouding his eyes. “Don’t move, Matty. I’ll be right back.”

I attempt to climb back up the trellis, but my arms shake with fatigue. “Anya,” I yell. “Can you climb down?”

No response.

I peer above me but can’t see her from my vantage point.

“Fuck.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I climb back up the trellis, a metallic taste filling my mouth. When I haul myself onto the balcony, Anya’s nowhere to be found.

“Anya!” I step inside. In a matter of minutes, the entire room has filled with smoke. I catch sight of a small body digging through Matty’s dresser.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shout.

“I can’t leave his baby photos. They’re all I have, I can’t leave them!”

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