Red At Night. Кэти Макгэрри

“When were you talking to Cooper?”

      Martha’s cheeks redden. “I don’t know. A week or so after the accident. He called looking for you and like always these days, you weren’t home so we talked...about you.”

      I step forward and tower over her. “You don’t need to be talking to Cooper.”

      “He’s your friend,” she hisses with venom.

      For the second time today, I wonder why I’m his friend. The guy treats girls like toilet paper and he should know better than to creep on my sister.

      “You don’t smile like you mean it anymore,” she continues. “You’re quiet and you don’t go out with anyone. He’s worried about you and so am I. I mean, you never invite your friends over anymore.”

      “Who are you really concerned for, me or you?”

      Pain slashes across her face and I immediately regret the statement. What the hell is wrong with me? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

      “But you did,” she whispers. After a few blinks, she lifts her chin and stares at me like she wishes I didn’t matter. For a few seconds, I wish the same thing. It wasn’t my goal to hurt her.

      “Mom invited them over for dinner,” she says. “She thought it would cheer you up.”

      Martha’s starter heels click against the stone driveway as she pivots away from me and heads for the house. She tried wearing real heels last spring and tripped over her own feet and into a coffee table in front of my friends. They laughed. She cried. I did nothing.

      “You’re too good for him,” I call out.

      My sister trembles like she’s on the verge of a seizure before she turns around. “What are you talking about?”

      I don’t know. What is my deal today with not keeping my mouth shut? Martha’s crushed on Cooper since we were young, and I’ve ignored it, but seeing Stella...seeing James Cohen’s grave again...I bet he would have been the kind of guy who protected his sister.

      I force myself to join Martha. Her eyes plead with me to give her hope, causing my shoulders to roll forward as I smash my hands into my pockets. Who am I to step in? It’s her life, right? “No one’s going to be good enough for you.”

      This light forms in Martha’s eyes and air rushes out of my lungs when she rams her body into mine, both arms glued around me. “I love you, Jonah.”

      I still, and I don’t like the surge of guilt crawling into my bloodstream. She tells me she loves me while I say nothing about her standing in front of an oncoming train because she’s worshipping the worst guy at school.

      This affection thing—Martha and I don’t do it. Screw that. I don’t do affection with anyone. Girls I used to date would get pissed because I wouldn’t hug or kiss them in public. Even Mom and Dad have caught on that I won’t hold hands during prayers at church.

      I lay my fingers on her shoulder to try to detach her from me, but she squeezes tighter.

      “When the police showed at the house that night and said there had been an accident, I freaked. I thought...” her voice breaks. “I thought they were coming to tell us you were dead and I didn’t want that. I realized I didn’t want that.”

      My eyes slam shut. I didn’t die that night. James Cohen did and somewhere he probably has a sister who can’t hug him. He’d hug her. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of guy who did before, but if he was here, he would now.

      I wrap one arm around her and awkwardly hug her back. We’ve never done this before and while I should be grateful for it, I’m ready to be done.

      I clear my throat. “Let’s go eat.”

      We enter the kitchen through the garage and sweat breaks out along my hairline at the amount of people in the kitchen. I don’t usually have this type of reaction and I rub at my neck in an effort to force it away.

      It’s my parents and my friends. More than Todd, Jeff, Brad and Cooper. Other guys I’ve hung with over the years are here, too. A couple of guys from Todd’s basketball team. A couple from Jeff’s football team. A few girls are mixed in. Some are girlfriends of the guys. Some people I’ve known since kindergarten. Crap—two exes skulk along the periphery. All of them are people I have spent time with, but not people I prefer to see today.

      Or even tomorrow.

      My mind jumps back to Stella, the cemetery and the brief few minutes of peace I had while sitting under the shade tree next to a dead girl named Lydia. I’d give everything to have those moments now.

      Martha grabs my hand and shoots me a weird look, possibly because of the clammy condition of my skin. Instead of acknowledging it, she smiles and announces to the crowd, “He’s here!”

      And they clap. All of them. Some shout my name. I step back and a hand slamming onto my shoulder blade keeps me from withdrawing into the garage. I spot Dad behind me. He’s the older spitting image of me, and he’s smiling from ear to ear. He pats me on the shoulder again. “You should have told us.”