Page 28 of Together We Rot

There’s hardly enough space to breathe. Elwood’s chest is smashed into my back and I can feel the rampant drumbeat of his heart. It sounds ready to jump ship into my ribs. I grip his hand tight.

He goes perfectly still.

“We’re looking for my son,” Mr.Clarke announces. “Is he here? Snuck off with your daughter, perhaps?” He says daughter like it’s the worst insult imaginable. Maybe it is. I’m not exactly the darling of Pine Point.

“Last I checked,” Dad counters, his voice shockingly smooth, “my daughter stopped talking to your son over a year ago.” His words hold a much heavier punch. I’m sure it isn’t lost on anyone in the room. A year ago—when Mom disappeared and the first accusation was flung Clarke’s way.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Mr.Greene,” Mr.Clarke returns, and his voice is cut sharp. I imagine him huffing and puffing in our lobby. A navy-blue scarf twisted tight around his throat, a matching coat clutched tight to his chest, probably sneering at all the dust. “He could have come here to spite me.”

I can’t imagine Elwood doing anything to spite anyone.

“Do you see any room keys off the rack?” Dad asks, and I have to hand it to him. He’s carrying this act better than I anticipated. “He’s not here.”

I’m sure that little tidbit will come back to bite me later, but for now it works.

“Doesn’t matter,” Elwood’s dad insists, though he sounds like he’s losing some of his earlier steam. “We still need a top-to-bottom search of the place.”

Elwood’s fingers tighten against my own. Any tighter and he’s going to break my hand in two. I jab him in the ribs and he loosens up.

“It’ll be much easier for you to search the rubble after you’ve demolished it, Clarke,” Dad says. He’s reining in a temper much better than I would. If I were out there, I would have decked Elwood’s dad in the face by now. “You’re wasting your time. Until then, you can’t go through here without a warrant. Sheriff Vrees, you, out of everyone, should know that much.”

There’s a snort on Vrees’s end. “You a lawyer now, Greene?” Silence.

“Sure, that won’t be hard to work up,” Mr.Clarke says. “This place is a walking health code violation.”

Dad snaps something, but it’s too soft to hear. A quieter argument unfolds, followed by the angry stomp of heeled dress shoes. Then comes the sound of creaky hinges and wind whistling in. The blizzard is cut off midscream by the slam of the door.

One second passes. Two and three and four and five.

My father returns and the kitchen door slides to a close behind him.

“Okay,” Dad says, and I feel Elwood’s hand jolt back to his side. “The two of you can come out now.”

CHAPTER TEN

WIL

Elwood looks ready to purge, so Dad, oblivious as ever, starts cooking pancakes.

It’s weird having Dad and cooking in the same sentence. I’m used to Dad and takeout or Dad and Lean Cuisine. I haven’t had an honest-to-God meal in ages.

“Sorry, I’m a bit rusty.” Dad gestures down at what should be pancakes. It looks more like gristle and chocolate. “Forgot they were cooking for a second there.”

I scrunch my nose at the heavy cloud of smoke. I’m surprised the alarm hasn’t started screaming at us. God forbid the sprinkler system kicks in. After he whipped his last platter, Dad threw the pan with all the other dishes in the sink. There’s a whole leaning tower with the pan on the top like a Christmas tree star.

“Thanks,” Elwood mutters, accepting the plate without so much as a curl of his lip. He sounds so shot, so absolutely dead inside, that I can hardly fend off the feeling it stirs in me.

“You’re welcome.” Dad pushes the remaining air out from his lungs in a long-winded sigh.

“I used to cook all the time, right, Wil?”

I remember him serving me and Mom breakfast in the morning—pancakes fluffy and oozing with chocolate. He’d always have a glass of orange juice waiting for me on the kitchen table (the same one collecting past-due bills now). Things were, dare I say, normal.

If you marry someone one day, Mom said once, licking hollandaise off her fork, make sure they can cook. If Dad was in earshot, he’d always follow up with, “So that Elwood kid in culinary class?” which would earn a swat and blush on my end.

“Mm-hmm,” I deadpan, slicing through a miserable chunk on my plate. Chocolate goo spurts out from the center. That’s all he’s going to get from me.

Dad clears his throat and tries again. “I didn’t think the two of you were friends again.”

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