CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
By the time Maeve and I wake up in the morning, Eva is already ready to leave. I can hear her rustling about in the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to be quiet.
Maeve looks at me as I roll over, our faces inches from one another, her leg resting on top of mine. I used to hate sharing a bed with Thea on family vacations, but this is better. This feels right.
She raises her eyebrows as if to say, Why in god’s name is someone up this early? I don’t ask her about their conversation last night. If I ask, she’ll know that I know and she’ll shut down. I might get more information if I wait it out. If I’m a little bit gentler. But I’ve never really been the gentlest person in the world.
I glance out the window, and my breath catches as I do. Sure, the sun has just risen, but that’s not what my eyes gravitate toward. Clouds dwell on the horizon, so small that I can barely see them, but I know that they’re there. Everything outside is darker than usual, the blue sky faded into a sad gray. It just makes me want to get working on the downstairs wall even sooner, and I wiggle out of my blankets. Maeve pretends not to notice, although I can see her biting her lip as she steals a quick look outside. She can sense it too.
I pull on a fresh T-shirt over my tattered sports bra. My arm is still too sore to lift, so I fumble with the fabric, trying to gently guide my arm through its sleeve. It’s not clean, but it’s been rinsed recently, and I can’t find any stains on it as I inspect the fabric. Emblazoned on the front are the words DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER MIDDLE SCHOOL SCIENCE FAIR CHAMPION. I have never won a science fair, nor have I ever participated in one, but the shirt is a hand-me-down from a cousin, and so I wear it with pride. I also wear it in a vain attempt to erase my horribly embarrassing science demonstration from freshman year. Neither Maeve nor Eva needs to know about my shoddy history with physics.
I slowly rise from the floor, using the edge of the desk chair to steady myself, and walk toward the living room.
I knock on the door hesitantly, attempting to avoid startling Eva. I have a bad habit of doing that. I tend to move silently and appear behind people when they least expect it. When I was five, I thought it was cool, almost like I had some top secret superpower, but most of my family and friends would beg to differ. If I recall correctly, Eva found it “unnerving.”
“Can I come in?” I ask. I shouldn’t be walking on eggshells around Eva. She should be used to me.
I don’t hear anything except for the faint rustle of sheets as Maeve creeps out of bed behind me.
Then the door creaks open in front of me. Eva is standing there, her hair neatly braided.
“Did I wake you up?” Eva asks as I walk past her into the kitchen. She already has her backpack in her hand, her shoelaces knotted. I know what she was going to do if she’d had a few more minutes alone. She’s done it before.
“Not at all,” I reply before pausing. “Why? Were you trying to sneak out again?” She looks embarrassed before shaking her head. “I’m joking, I swear.”
Maeve appears in the kitchen, her hair also braided down her back, although slightly messier than Eva’s neat plaits. I feel like I’ve been left out of a club.
“I’ve got some walking to do,” Eva says finally. “I should probably head out.” She glances tentatively out the window, and I follow her gaze. She’s noticed the clouds too. My blood curdles as I stare at them, looming.
“Unless you want to stay,” I reply, offering a small shrug. Maeve says nothing.
Eva takes a slow step forward, and at first I don’t understand what she’s doing, but then she reaches out and wraps her arms around me, holding me close. It’s warm, if awkward. I’ve grown an inch since we saw each other last. It’s different, she’s different, I’m different. Still, I can’t bring myself to pull away, can’t bring myself to let go. This is the goodbye we never got. Last time I was too tense. Last time I didn’t hug her and then spent the next month wishing I had.
There’s a part of me that wants to beg her to stay. There’s a part of me that’s wishing I didn’t have to. But I’ve spent so much time waiting for Eva to return and make my life work again, I didn’t realize it was functioning without her. Time has gone on. I have gone on. And Maeve is here now, a factor in the puzzle I never imagined would exist. I cannot beg Eva to return to a life that no longer exists.
It’s not that I don’t want her to stay. It’s not that at all. I just can’t do that to myself again. I can’t spend my life waiting for Eva to choose me.
Maeve and I walk Eva down the stairs and out the front door, moving in awkward silence past the remainder of the tree and the hole. We pretend not to notice it, but I know that we all do.
Eva walks out the front door, stopping as she reaches the sidewalk and turning to me. I watch as her eyes flick up toward the tarp covering the roof.
“Good luck,” she says, her voice steady.
“You too,” I reply, hoping that she picks up on all the things I can’t say out loud.
Eva turns to Maeve, who gives her a quick nod.
“Remember what we talked about?” Eva asks, still gazing at Maeve. Maeve just nods, slowly, before Eva turns and walks away. I don’t even have a chance to ask her what she means. I don’t have time to question her about what I overheard.
I watch her leave, disappearing down the road and behind the hedge. Heading toward home. It feels weird for me to not know where home is for her. It feels weird for me to have known her so well, and for so long, and then suddenly feel like I don’t know her at all. She has a new life. She has a new group. She has a new home. And so do I, right?
I turn to Maeve, who grimaces, trying unsuccessfully to make it look like a smile. I reach out and hold her hand, somewhat surprised that she doesn’t pull away. But she didn’t pull away last night, and she didn’t pull away the night before. She won’t leave me like Eva. The cycle won’t repeat itself. Not this time.
“Are you okay?” I ask, half hoping that she’ll spill whatever secret she’s keeping from me now that Eva’s gone. But she’s not ready to.
Maeve nods and says, “Of course.” She pulls me back toward the tree and the hole and the pile of wood. Sawdust still litters the floor, a reminder of the work to be done before The Storm arrives. “C’mon. We better get started.”
“Of course.”
• • •
Maeve positions herself carefully. “Nail,” she mutters, reaching her hand back toward me.
I scramble slightly, rustling through the container and handing one to her. She grips it in her free hand and then turns to me once again.
“Hammer,” she commands, and I pass that to her as well.
I watch as she prepares her supplies with expert precision. She gestures to me wildly and I move forward, placing my good hand on the wood to hold it in place. She steadies her nail, pinching it with her pointer finger and thumb. Then she brings the hammer down with a slam, narrowly missing her fingertips.
“Another,” Maeve says, reaching out behind her. I hold out a nail, but as Maeve reaches for it, I pull it away, concealing it behind my back. “What?” she asks, raising her eyebrows and finally turning to face me.
“What did you talk about with Eva?” I ask, my voice suddenly firm. I need to know. “I heard you last night.”
“What?” A pause, before her face hardens. “Nothing important.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” I warn.
“It’s none of your business.”
“It’s totally my business!”
A few seconds of wordlessness float between us before Maeve finally caves.
“She wanted me to persuade you to leave.”
“What?”
Out of all the people left in the world, Eva is the one person I thought would remember what this place used to be. The one person I thought could comprehend how much this place means to me and why I can’t just let it go so easily.
“She told me where her group is headed and said that we could join her. We might make it if we leave today. Then, once The Storm passes, we can head down to North Carolina. Be safe for once. Stop fighting so hard to survive.”
“Why would she tell you?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t she just come to me?”
Maeve shakes her head. “She doesn’t quite have the best track record of persuading you to leave. She thought I might have more sway.”
I brush off the feeling of betrayal that festers inside me. There will be time for feelings later. “Do you even know how to get there?”
“I do, Liz. We’re not going to make it through The Storm as is. There’s too much work to do, and I can’t do it alone. I know you have some shit to sort through, but surviving is more important than anything.”
“And what makes you think that they’ve got it so much better?” I ask, ignoring the way her words sting. “We don’t even know who they are! They could be just as screwed as we are. And we’ve put so much work into this place already…. Do you really want that to go to waste?” I pause before adding, “Please, Maeve. I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t important to me.”
“You don’t get it,” Maeve says, her voice rising. “It’s so much bigger than what you want and how you feel. I’ve said it before: Staying here is a horrible idea. It’ll kill you.”
“I’ve already told you that I’m not leaving.”
Maeve scoffs, putting down her hammer on the counter. “And I’m telling you that staying isn’t an option. What do you think it’s going to look like when The Storm actually gets here? That we can huddle in the cookbooks section and ride it out? Acid rain and debris will tear this place apart, Liz. We’ll end up burning together.”
“We can do the repairs!” I protest.
“Don’t you trust me?” Maeve whispers, reaching for my hand. I retreat, evading her touch. “We can’t be together if we’re dead.”
“And do you want to be together?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry. “What do you think is the mileage on this thing? The two of us.”
Maeve stops short, her mouth hanging open. Then she swallows and looks down at her feet. But I don’t look away from her. I hope she can feel my stare boring through her skin.
“I do, Liz. Don’t be ridiculous.” She pauses, searching for the right thing to say. “That’s why we need to leave. I don’t want this to end before it even starts.”
“I bet you wish that you’d never come here,” I mutter, my spit tasting like venom. “I bet you wish that you had stayed far away from me, and this place.”
“I don’t. Never. Because I do care about you, Liz. I cared about you two days ago, and I care about you now. We wouldn’t be having this argument if I didn’t care about you. No matter how this ends, I won’t regret coming here.”
“And how will this end?” I ask, unsure if I want to know the answer.
“That’s up to you,” Maeve replies, turning back to look at the hole in the wall. She extends her hand toward me. “Nail.”
• • •
I sit at the counter, watching as Maeve adds a few finishing touches to our new wall, pounding in nail after nail just in case. The whole thing looks like a patchwork quilt if I’m being generous and Frankenstein’s monster if I’m not, but I force myself to hope. It will work. It will have to. And then we can deal with the roof.
Maeve wipes her brow with the end of her sweatshirt sleeve and turns to me.
“You’re incredible,” I say, miming a one-handed round of applause. “You’re a lifesaver. Literally.”
Maeve laughs, finally, and pushes her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to head upstairs,” she says, looking toward me for approval. I nod in response. “Just a quick nap, and maybe a change of clothes, just to clear my mind.”
“Absolutely. You deserve it.”
“And we can talk about next steps in about an hour or two, okay? Think about what I said.”
I nod again and Maeve disappears. I can hear her boots pounding up the stairs before the door to the apartment slams shut behind her. I don’t tell her that I don’t have a watch. I don’t tell her that I’m scared. I don’t tell her that I wish we had more time. I don’t have to say anything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Maeve is waiting for me in the kitchen when I finally make my way upstairs after another hour of work. She sits on one of the stools by the kitchen counter, fiddling with her matchbook. The only light in the apartment is her camping lantern, casting a slight haze over the room. Her eyes are practically glazed over, looking at nothing and everything all at once.
“Are you okay?” I ask. It hits me now how many times I’ve spoken these words in the past few days. The number of times I’ve had to ask. The number of things that we’ve both experienced that allowed for the possibility of either of us being not okay.
Maeve doesn’t answer. She pushes a lukewarm can of soup toward me, half-eaten. “Are you hungry?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Maeve looks up at me slowly. “I can’t do this, Liz,” she says, her voice hard. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“Look, we’ll make it through this,” I murmur, trying to catch her eye.
Another minute of quiet passes between us. It reminds me of a first date, of the horrible pause in conversation when you both know you’ll never go on another date with the other person again. Not in your wildest dreams. I don’t know what I can say to ease the tension. I don’t know if I should even try.
“You’re not listening to me, Liz. I can’t live like this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know what to do.”
This is the first time I’ve heard her say that, and I was beginning to think that I never would. Is this the same Maeve that pushed me out of the way to work on the generator? Is this the same Maeve who had so many solutions and fixed the hole in the wall when I couldn’t?
What’s changed? But then I remember the hushed conversation from last night. That’s the only variable that’s shifted from yesterday.
Maeve looks away before adding, “I don’t know what I can do to stop them.”
Them? At first, Maeve doesn’t realize what she’s said. I can tell by the way her jaw tenses as her brain works out what just came out of her mouth. Then the color drains from her face as her eyes flick around the room, searching for something to say to explain away her slip of the tongue. But it’s too late.
“Who are you talking about?”
“It’s nothing. I phrased that weirdly. I don’t even know what I was trying to say,” she quickly fires back.
But I call bullshit. This all must be connected. Their hushed conversation last night and the fact that they had to leave me out of it. Eva knows something. Something bad. Something dangerous. This is about so much more than a Storm.
Maeve quickly rises from her seat and moves toward the bedroom, refusing to look me in the eye. “I’m going to pack, okay?” she mumbles.
“What did she say to you, Maeve?” I step in front of her, blocking her access to the door. “Tell me.”
Maeve takes a step back, looking at me. “I’m not afraid of you, Liz.”
“Then I’m not leaving.”
Maeve stares straight at me, shaking her finger in my face. “You don’t understand. You leave, or you die.”
“I’m not going to die,” I grumble.
“Fine,” Maeve growls. “You want to know what we argued about? It’s the people from the woods. They’re coming here. They’ll kill us both.”
“What?”
“They’re coming before The Storm, which is why we need to take this opportunity and leave while we still can.”
“What? Why here? Why now?”
Maeve shakes her head. “Apparently you blabbed to that kid in the woods about the generator? This place wasn’t even on their radar until you decided to tell them about it. I didn’t want to tell you, because I didn’t want to frighten you but—” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “You need to know.”
It’s like the blood has been drained from my body, every inch of my skin growing cold. It didn’t seem so major when I was whispering to Benji. I thought I was just talking. Connecting with someone from my old life. I didn’t know that everything was so much bigger than I imagined. My head is swimming, and all I can manage to say is, “This is your fault. Not mine. I didn’t have these sorts of problems before you arrived.”
“This isn’t my fault,” Maeve replies, her voice choked. “Don’t say that.”
“If you hadn’t attacked Becca…”
“If I hadn’t attacked Becca, they would have done god knows what to us. Remember?” And I do remember, but I don’t care. But Maeve isn’t done. “They’re not coming here because of that. They’re coming here to take the bookstore. In and out before The Storm even arrives.”
I take a staggered step back. “Why would they want the…”
Maeve laughs a harsh laugh. “Why wouldn’t they? You have a trade system set up here. There’s a generator collecting dust outside. And when Eva arrived you opened your mouth once again, talking about fresh running water!”
“This place is falling apart!”
“You’re inept!” Maeve barks. “You’re not capable of taking care of a place like this! Not like it needs to be. They are. You’re just a kid who’s too sentimental about an old building. We’re both just kids!”
My heart pangs, but I ignore the feeling. “Why did you lie, then? Why not just tell me? Why hide it?”
“I didn’t know before Eva came. I only found out after I questioned her. I know Eva too well to trust her,” Maeve spits.
“What do you mean?”
Even though my brain can’t make Maeve and Eva compute, I know that this makes sense. The whispering. The angry glares. The harsh words. Maeve was never jealous of Eva. It was something more. The two of them, conspiring together. Against me.
“My friend from the woods? The one who got me banished? That was Eva. Your Eva. I’ve known her for months, ever since she arrived at our camp in the woods. Coming from here, I guess. She was my friend, and she hurt me just like she hurt you. I knew she wouldn’t be here to play happy family.” She pauses. “I didn’t tell you, because I know you too well. I know that you want to stay and protect this place. And I know you don’t want to believe that Eva is anything but the friend you once knew.” She stares straight into my eyes. “Tell me that’s a lie.”
All of this, she hid from me. It was secrets and lies, no matter the intentions. All I can say is “Who are you?”
Maeve scoffs. “You’re being ridiculous!”
“You lied to me. You lied to me, and you had the gall to be upset with Eva for leaving. You’re so much worse.”
Maeve opens her mouth, searching for the right rebuttal. “This was all Eva’s fault!”
“Don’t blame her!”
“Why do you think she came here? To say hello to you? She came here to case the joint, just like that stranger you saw through the window. To confirm that their efforts will be worthwhile, which, might I remind you, you did for her.”
“You’re lying.”
“Eva isn’t as innocent as you think she is. This world changes people, Eva included,” Maeve says. “She’s part of that group in the woods. She’s hurt people.” She pauses. “I knew something was up when she came here. There was no reason she would show up here randomly. It was too much of a coincidence.”
“That’s not true.”
“I hate to break it to you, Liz, but I think I know Eva better than you do. I lived with her in those woods for months. At least, I can see the real her. Not the person she used to be. That’s why I questioned her. That’s why I found out what she was actually doing here.”
Suddenly, this perfect memory of Eva comes crumbling down. The person who was always there for me, who always listened, turns into something else entirely. The person who did what she had to, to ensure that she made it out alive; the person who forgot about me; the person who left to save her own skin.
And with it comes my understanding of Maeve, whom I let into my home. Whom I allowed myself to feel for, to care about, to kiss. The person who made me feel like I was home for the first time in a long time. I let myself care, and this is what happens. Maybe Maeve never cared at all. Maybe I was just the means to an end, nothing more.
“You’ve hurt people!”
“I did that to save your life!” Maeve protests.
“But that wasn’t your first time, right?” I spit. Then, slightly softer: “Tell me that was your first time.”
Maeve doesn’t say anything, her silence enough of an answer in itself. She shakes her head. “We did that to survive. Only when it was necessary.” But that doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t need to hurt others to survive. “I’m trying to be better. I’m trying to do the right thing. The good thing.”
“Some of us never made those mistakes.”
“Eva made those mistakes!” Maeve protests.
But that’s not true. I don’t care what she says. “Eva isn’t like that.”
“You don’t know anything about her anymore.”
“I don’t know anything about you anymore!”
I pause, letting the silence simmer between us. Maeve stares at me, her eyes boring holes into my skin. I don’t look back.
“Where would we even go? To Eva’s group? The group that banished you?” I ask.
Maeve looks down at the floor before shaking her head. “I made that up,” she says. “She didn’t invite us anywhere.”
“You lied about that, too?” I burst out, flames rising to my cheeks.
“I knew you would only leave if you knew where we were going to go.”
“So what was your plan?” I refute. “If I left, were you just going to let us die somewhere else?”
“I was going to come up with something! Something better, I don’t know!” Maeve slams her hand down on the counter, the stress showing as her forehead creases. “I would have figured it out, I swear.”
“So you just expect me to leave? After everything? You want me to leave and go to some made-up place that you aren’t even sure exists? You want me to leave so we can die somewhere else, away from my home.” I pause. “You’re telling me that you’re trying to save me, yet all I’m hearing is that you have absolutely no plan and absolutely nothing to show for yourself.”
“Please, Liz. Leave with me. No matter what you might think, I do care about you. I did all of this because I care about you.”
“Don’t say that. You only care about saving your own skin.” I pause. “I can’t abandon the bookstore.” The thought seems comically small as the words escape my lips, but I pretend not to notice. “It’s kept me alive for so long. I can’t just leave it to die.”
Maeve shakes her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re talking about this building, this crumbling building, as if it’s a person. As if its survival is worth as much as yours. But it’s not. To me, it’s not. Not a chance in the world that I’d pick this place over you. That I’d pick this place over us.”
“I’m not doing it,” I say, my voice firm. “I’m not leaving, even if I do die. Not for Eva and not for you either.” Though my voice wavers, I know that this is the honest truth. I can’t go anywhere with Maeve. Not right now. Not after this.
Maeve glares at me. “I had a sister, too,” she spits. “I had a sister, and a mother, and a father, and people who I cared about, too, Liz. You weren’t the only one. And when they died, I left them behind. Sure, it hurt to leave, but I did it to survive. I did it so that I wouldn’t be suffocated by their memory. I did it so that I wouldn’t starve. Maybe if you could take a second and finally get a fucking grip, you’d realize you aren’t the only one who has lost someone. Allowing yourself to die here? Accepting that? Thea would have wanted better.” She pauses as she shakes her head. “You’ve dug a grave for yourself here, Liz, and there isn’t enough room for the both of us.”
I don’t say anything in response. I listen to the wind whistling against the window. I don’t look at her, either, opting to trace the lines of the wood floor.
I can almost hear the gears turning in Maeve’s head. I can almost read her thoughts. Get a grip, Liz. You’ve screwed everything up. Why won’t you say something?
What she actually says is, “I understand why Eva left.” And that hurts more than anything else could.
My mouth is dry. So dry that my voice barely makes a sound. “You don’t understand,” I mutter, even though it feels only half-true. “You don’t understand at all.”
“No, I do, Liz,” Maeve retorts. “I understand perfectly. Maybe you need to realize that you just don’t have what it takes to survive. Maybe you need to realize that you wouldn’t be so damn alone if you had a backbone.”
It all comes bubbling up. The betrayal. The hatred. The lies. The memories. It all comes swirling into my brain. Maeve is selfish. Maeve doesn’t understand. Maeve is a liar. So I clench my jaw and say the only thing that I have left to say.
“I need you to leave. I need you to go away.”
Maeve turns to me, her animosity melting away. “Liz.”
“Leave. Please,” I whisper. “When I wake up, I want you to be gone.”
She hesitates, swaying just slightly, before turning and disappearing through the bedroom door.