Page 10 of Haunted

“I’ll get it,” Dad says, standing up. His knee cracks and he grimaces. “Think about what I said.”

I can already tell that my mother is upset because she’s making comfort food. She’s cooking meatloaf, and that’s only trotted out for disasters.

Parker is still in the backyard scrolling on his phone when I let myself out the sliding glass door. He doesn’t look up until I’m only a few feet away, and when he does, something shutters behind his eyes. He slides his phone into his back pocket.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” I say.

“Right. Thank you.” His voice is quiet and raw. He looks everywhere but at me.

It was raspy before today, but after the screaming and the smoke it sounds like something tore. While he was in the shower, I looked it up on my phone. Smoke inhalation, vocal strain, prolonged exposure—it can cause permanent damage. The word permanent sat on the screen and I closed the tab.

“Any news?” I ask. Even though I know the answer, I feel like there’s a concrete wall between us, and I only have a couple of twigs and a hammer to break through it.

He shakes his head.

I hesitate, out of words. “Well—”

“I didn’t say thank you,” he blurts out.

“Oh, well, Mom’s the one who made the dinner.”

“I mean, for earlier today. For everything today. You’re the bravest person I know.”

I want to say something cool. “It was nothing,” I say.

He looks down at my shoes and wraps his arms around his chest.

I take a deep breath. “Actually, it wasn’t nothing. I was scared shitless the whole time.”

He looks up in surprise.

“Actually, I’m still pretty shaken up, to be honest with you. And I was wondering if I could ask you for a hug.”

He nods once and puts his arms gingerly around me, like he’s not really sure what to do.

I pull him in before I can think about it. He goes rigid for a second, then softens, and I feel his hands clutch the back of my shirt. He smells like my soap, which is strange and intimate in a way I wasn’t ready for. He’s so thin. I can feel his ribs through the fabric, his shoulder blades sharp under my palms. I hold on tighter.

When I let go, he is gazing up at me, his face tight. “I’m really sorry about my mom not listening to you,” he says. “When she comes here, I’m going to make her apologize.”

“I honestly don’t care about that,” I answer, and I’m surprised at how true that is. “I just...I wish I could have convinced her to follow me. I’m so...” I don’t know what the word is for how I feel. It’s like an ugly stew of things.

“Thank you. For everything.”

My mother calls for us to wash up.

We’re barely through the sliding glass door when the front door bangs open so hard it hits the wall. Bree comes tearing through the house at full speed, backpack bouncing, and throws herself at me like a seven-year-old cannonball.

“You’re in so much trouble,” she says into my stomach, squeezing me with both arms. “Are you okay? Mom said you drove through a fire. That’s so cool. You’re so grounded.”

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to peel her off. “Bree—”

She spots Parker and stops. She looks up at me, then back at him, then back at me again. “Who’s that? Why is he wearing your clothes?”

“This is my friend Parker. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

She examines him like a scientist examining a new species. Parker looks at me in mild alarm. “Hi,” he manages.

“Parker…” she muses, one finger on her lip. “Oh, wait—are you the one that drew that picture of Lance as a knight?”