“Why didn’t you get along?” Cody asks. I knew he would; I wanted him to. I wanted a reason to share all of me with him. I want him to know me better than anyone else. I think I need him to.

I take a deep breath before I start, and I turn my body into him, putting my hand on his chest so I can feel his heart beat. I can’t look at his eyes when I talk, they see me too well—like he sees through me—and I know I’ll never make it through the story of me if I have to look at his eyes.

“My mom was a junkie. She had a fling with Mac, got knocked up, and kept me secret for a long time…until she couldn’t take it—take me—any more. I was seven, and she just left me with him and took off. I haven’t seen her since,” I say, realizing how little I think about my mom, how little I remember of her.

Cody doesn’t speak; he pulls my head in closely and waits while I continue. I tell him about those first few weeks, how scared I was to leave my room, how I slept with the light on until I was 16. I tell him about the boy who hit me, and about how my dad woke up that day and finally became my father. I tell him about my daily routine of school, golf, homework, and dinner—all with Mac.

We talk about Caroline, about the time I caught her rocking back and forth on the kitchen floor, counting out sunflower seeds, and starting over every time she lost count. I tell him how much worse she’s gotten since Mac’s death, and he just listens—he doesn’t judge, or tell me what I already know, that I need to get her help.

I talk for hours, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but Cody just lets me go—stroking my hair, chuckling when he should, and embracing me when he senses I’m about to fall apart. By the time I run out of stories, it’s 2:30 in the morning, and I’m fighting to keep my eyelids open.

“You’re tired. You should sleep. We’ll head back tomorrow—if it’s okay with Trevor, I’d like to drive you?” Cody asks. I know if I go with Trevor I’ll be back in time for school. I have a few days left in my semester, and I need to study for my calculus final. But I know the school has excused my absences for the next week given my circumstances—that was the only call I made before we left the airport on our way to Louisville. And Cody’s going to end up tutoring me anyhow.

“That would be really nice,” I sigh into his chest, nestling in and pulling the double blankets up tight under my chin. Caroline keeps the house cold—so much so, I can actually see my breath inside.

I’m fighting the waves of sleep as they lap against my chest, each time pulling me down farther and farther. Cody’s saying my name, but it almost sounds like an echo. I scratch my way back to the surface, just long enough to understand what he’s saying. “Tomorrow, before we go? We should go say goodbye,” he says.

I nod yes and let the final wave take me away completely, but I carry on our conversation in my dream, and I feel my body tense up despite how deep my sleep is. He wants me to say goodbye to Mac, and I don’t even know if I’ll be able to find his tombstone. I didn’t go to the burial, and I never visited.

And I’m not sure if I’m brave enough yet.

Caroline has decided today is a good day for cleaning. Of course, in Caroline’s world, this means pushing all of the boxes against the walls and vacuuming the main hallways over and over until the carpet bends in just the right direction. I swear I can actually smell the fibers burning from her constant mowing when I wake up and find my way to the shower.

Thankfully, her various collections seem not to have made their way to the bathroom…completely—though there are a lot of recipe cards in the two drawers. No recipes, just the cards she’s collected.

The shower takes minutes to heat up, and I stand outside with my hand under the running water, my body wrapped in the towel for warmth, until I feel Cody slide in behind me.

“Cody! Get out of here!” I whisper at him, pushing against his chest, trying to force him back out the door.

“Relax, your aunt didn’t see me come in. I’m pretty sure she’s moved on to the den now. She should be at it for a good 30 minutes,” he says, a crooked smile on his face. He’s nervous about making a joke, not wanting to hurt my feelings.

“Probably an hour,” I say, making the same smirk back at him. He laughs lightly, relieved that he didn’t offend me.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, pulling me close and wrapping me up in a hug while he holds his hand under the running water.

“Okay. You?” I wonder if he even slept. I know he was awake each time I rolled and turned, and his shrug says he probably didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.