Page 2 of Home Sweet Home

“You take the ketchup. I’ll take the tables?” Kayla asked. “I’m feeling benevolent today.”

The empty bottles sat on the counter, ready for a refill. It was tempting. She could spend the next two hours sitting instead of on her feet, cleaning tables, where some mysterious sticky substance was always waiting to ambush her.

“I got the tables,” Evie said.

The TV blasted from the corner as Evie wiped down a table. During the lunch rush, the TV was unheard over the clatter of dishes and chatter. It was white noise while she worked, but she heard a name, one that made her hand freeze.

“West Hawthorne has tested positive for HGH and is being suspended from the Devils effective immediately,” the anchor said.

She was sure she’d misheard, but there was West on the TV, his official photo with his LA hat, that crooked smile on his mouth. Since she’d last seen him, he’d grown a honey-colored beard streaked with gold in places where the sun had touched it.

The screen changed, flashing to footage of him in a game, his legs running at a velocity that Evie couldn’t even comprehend, before sliding into home base.

Kayla let out a low whistle from the counter, squirting ketchup into a bottle. “Not exactly hometown hero material.”

“Hawthorne suffered an injury to his ACL during the pre-season. Reports speculate he took the steroids to speed up the healing process in a year when experts say the Devils have a real shot at the series.” The anchor’s voice was overlaid with footage showing the most recent Devils game, the crowd booing; a woman, face twisted in rage, held a homemade sign that read “SHAME!” in red-painted letters. “Though how Hawthorne’s suspension might affect those chances remains to be seen. Back to you for the weather, Al.”

Everything around Evie was blurry and muffled—the red vinyl on the tables and chairs, the reporter, who had moved on to different news, the hum of the air-conditioning.

Kayla grabbed hold of Evie’s arm to steady her. “Easy, tiger.”

“Thanks,” Evie said. “I didn’t eat breakfast.”

Kayla gave her a look but returned to the counter, and Evie got back to work, scrubbing a table with enough force to rattle the legs.

* * *

Evie’s armsached as she dug into the bathtub grout. Something black, which she’d tricked herself into believing wasn’t mold, flaked off with each pass of the sponge. Gray soap residue sloughed off the sides like grated cheese. When the bathtub was sparkling, she turned on the faucet, and cold water streamed out.

Evie sighed, reaching for Josh’s towel. It was damp.

“Josh,” Evie said, knocking on his bedroom door.

It was silent, but he was in there. For the past few months, he’d holed up like a hibernating bear, only coming out to scavenge in the kitchen for more snacks than she knew was possible for one human to consume.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, and Josh stood there, headphones sliding off his ears, annoyance peppering his face, tendrils of wet hair clinging to his neck.

Evie sighed. “Can you please try to shower in the morning?” She’d asked him a hundred times.

He shrugged. “I woke up late.”

Evie’s chest tightened as she thought of her alarm clock blaring five minutes before six. As she’d shambled out of her bedroom toward the kitchen for a cup of coffee, she’d heard Josh rustling around in his room, still awake. He hadn’t woken up early—he just hadn’t gone to sleep yet. “Just try, okay? And go outside. Give your eyes a break from the screen.” Evie craned her neck into his room, homing in on a stack of papers spread out on his comforter. “What are those?”

Josh glanced back at his bed, and when he looked back at Evie, he narrowed the opening, trying to block her view. “Nothing.”

“I’m not blind, Josh,” Evie said. “What is it?”

Josh sighed. “Job applications. For the Marathon and Pizza King.”

Heat rose in Evie’s cheeks. “We’ve talked about this. You should spend your summer doing something productive.”

“Working is productive,” Josh said. “It is literally the definition of productive. And we could use the money.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Evie said, her voice snapping through the air like a whip. “And you know what I mean. Working at the gas station isn’t going to get you into college. Priority number one, all right?”

“I know what the priority is. I found that class, and you said I couldn’t go.”

Evie’s stomach knotted into a tight ball as she thought of the Comp Sci class at Purdue Josh had asked her to enroll him in. At first, she’d been thrilled he was taking an interest in his future. Getting Josh into college, out of Creek Water, and into the kind of life she wanted him to have was where she’d focused every ounce of energy for the last seven years.

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