Page 44 of The Quiet After The Fall

Out.

It takes a while. Long enough that the gray light through the curtains shifts and the room gets incrementally brighter. Never thought I’d spent what feels like hours on my dead brother’s floor, waiting for my body to stop coming apart.

When it passes, it leaves me wrung out and exhausted. I stay where I am for a while, head tipped back against the mattress, eyes on the ceiling. There’s this paint chip that Owen always said looks like a dick. I don’t see it.

I reach for my phone and pull up the app one more time, already knowing, but hoping I’m wrong.

Still blank.

I put it face down on the rug and close my eyes.

I must have fallen asleep because I wake an hour later from my phone buzzing. A tiny shot of hope spreads through me. Sawyer.

But it’s Ella.

Rubbing my eyes, I stand and stretch, letting it ring a few times before answering.

“Hey, I was getting worried,” she says. There’s some noise in the background but I can’t make out details. “Are you okay?”

That’s a loaded question.

“Yeah. I was helping my father out with some invoices and it got late.” The lie slips out easily. “Didn’t feel like driving.”

“Good, I’m glad you stayed then. Your mom called me a little while ago. She wants to finalize the menu today.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“She also mentioned the guest list grew again. Apparently your father added some people.”

“Ella.” I press two fingers against my temple. “I just woke up. Can we⁠—”

“Right. Sorry.” She’s quiet for a beat. “Will you be home later?”

“Yeah. Give me a few hours.”

“Okay. I was hoping we can move some more boxes from my place.”

That’s the last thing I want but I need to get her off the phone. “Yeah, sounds good.”

I hang up before she can add anything else and sit there for a moment with the phone in my hand, telling myself that I’m nothing but a pussy. Then finally, I get up, splash water on my face in Owen’s bathroom, and head downstairs.

My mother’s on the couch, scrolling her phone.

She’s dressed more formally than I expected. A black skirt, and the shirt looks like silk or some other expensive fabric. She even has heels on. Her hair is greasy, though, probably hasn’t been washed in days, and as I get closer, I notice that the buttons on her shirt are in the wrong holes and it looks like she put on her makeup in the dark.

“Knox?” She smiles when she sees me, but her lips move slower than they should. “I didn’t know you were here. Are you hungry? There’s some coffee left in the pot.”

“I’m fine.” I come around the couch and lean against the doorframe. “Where’s dad?”

She looks around the room. “Is he not home?”

“No clue, but he’d usually be stomping around by now.”

Her phone beeps, loud and jarring. She looks down at it, ignoring me. I head over and check out my father’s home office. Empty. Then I check the catch all table by the door. Keys gone.

When I come back into the living room, I have to clear my throat to get her attention again. “He’s not here.”

“He’s probably at the office then.” She puts her phone down and picks up a mug of coffee that’s been on the table in front of her. “A meeting or something.”