Page 65 of Malaise
NINETEEN
I finish myexam and wait out in the quad for Carver to pick me up. I don’t know how I did, but I’m sure it’s not as good as I could have. There wasn’t a single thing I could do to help me focus on the job at hand, not when we’ve just been dropped this bombshell. Carver’s told me not to worry about it, and I shouldn’t. I mean, he didn’t do it, right? So what do I have to be stressed about?
Still, my phone is trapped in a white-knuckled grip as I wait for it to power up again. The blank home screen stares back at me. Nothing. No notifications, no messages. He said he’d send me one regardless while I was in the exam to let me know if he’d heard anything else.
Why hasn’t he sent anything?
Twelve anxious minutes later, I finally spot the Falcon in the distance from my vantage point sitting atop the brick wall that fronts the school. I hop down, walking out to the kerb as he brings the car to a stop beside me.
“You okay?” he asks as I get in.
I drop my bag at my feet and twist side-on, one leg bent up on the seat. “Why didn’t you message?”
“How did the exam go?” He brushes off my question and checks the mirror before pulling out.
“I was worried,” I snap. “So it probably sucked.”
He chuckles and turns us toward the motel. “You’ve got a couple of hours before your shift, right?”
“Yeah.” I give him a nudge in the arm with a loose fist. “But you’re ignoring my question.”
He sighs, reaching over to take my hand in his. “I didn’t hear anything else from the cops, Meg. But I spoke to Tanya.”
“And?”
“She said they seemed pretty adamant I’d done it. They were asking to see my room, asking if I owned certain items of clothing.”
“What did she do? Did they go through your stuff?”
He chuckles. “Nah. She told them to fuck off and come back with a warrant.” He’s proud of her. It’s adorable.
“You think they will?”
“Yeah. It’d be odd if they didn’t.”
I turn forward in the seat and stare out the windscreen as we pass by the start of the main street. “Hey, do you think we could stop in town before we go back?” I have a legitimate reason to ask, but the thought it might buy me a few more minutes with him if they do return to the motel to arrest Carver isn’t far from my mind.
“What for?”
“I haven’t got any appropriate shoes for Den’s funeral.” I’d gone through the clothes Dad jammed in the bags last night and found a skirt and top that would be okay, but the only black footwear I own are my boots. Positive they’d just love it if I turned up in those.
“Sure, we can stop off.”
Carver drives us around the back streets to a shared parking lot behind the row of stores. He could have had any one of the shopfront parks, but I know why he took us the long way around: to avoid the yellow Serious Crash Unit paint that’s still clear as day on the road at Conway Lane. I haven’t accepted what happened to Den yet—I’m still living in a peaceful state of numb ignorance. If I don’t see any clear reminders of him, I’m all good.
And somehow Carver just gets it. He knew what to do to save me from the stark reminder of how this spiral down into a living hell started, without being asked.
I could kiss him.
In fact, I think I will.
He widens his eyes in surprise as I lunge across the parked car to grasp his face in both hands and show him my appreciation. A small hum sounds in his chest as I tug his bottom lip between mine.
“What was that for?” His hands settle on my hips, their favourite place.
“To say thank you for avoiding… you know.”
He runs his palms up and down my sides and shrugs a shoulder. “I thought seeing the marking and all the flowers there might have been hard.”