Frost

I stared at the chair, searching for some evidence of what had happened. It looked perfectly normal. Still, I didn’t trust it enough to climb back up on it. After I’d physically calmed down, I decided to work on the closet instead, cutting down the foam and installing the lock. Once I had the foam down to the right size, I covered it in an extra tapestry and nestled it into the space. It fit perfectly. I’d even cut out one corner to accommodate a metal scrollwork grate in the floor. I wasn’t quite sure but assumed the grate had some purpose. Maybe it let air up from the basement, which would explain the way it had stayed cool on hot days. I took a couple of throw pillows off my bed and tossed them in.

Installing the lock required a bit more patience—measuring, drilling holes. When I’d finished, I stood inside the dark closet and slid the small bolt back and forth, back and forth, happy with how smoothly it worked. I left it in the locked position, turned on the small camping lantern I’d bought, and curled up on the mattress, enormously pleased with my new setup. Still a bit achy, though, from my fall, I reached for Cubby, opened her up, and found a pain reliever.

“David wants us to live together,” I said.

That’s not going to happen.

Cubby’s words came to me easily now whenever I was in the closet. Like I’d realized before, the closet—its smell, its familiarity—was what let me into my subconscious. I didn’t even need Cubby here, although I usually still brought her in; she made me feel less alone.

“I have to leave here,” I said. “And living with David would be the best thing I could imagine.”

I’d never mean to hurt you

.

“Hurt me?”

All I want is to protect you. If you can’t do it yourself.

You are myself, I thought. I shivered and reached up to unlock the door.

Don’t go, she said.

I was pretty sleepy. I let my arm fall back down.

There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re weak

, she said.

I had given into David, when I said I wouldn’t.

In here, she said, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

My head felt strange, heavy. If nothing mattered, then it wouldn’t be a problem for me to just lie down, take a little nap. . . .

Chapter 29

FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS, I divided my nonstudying free time between being with David and working on my room. Because painting edge-work around windows is so much more difficult than covering big areas of open wall, it took longer than I expected. But the meditative quality helped keep my mind off how much I missed Viv and Abby. And, in the end, the effort was worth it. With the paint, plants, shelves, and a new furniture arrangement, it was the nicest room I’d ever seen at Barcroft. I could tell how impressed David was when I showed him. “You did this?” he kept saying, eyes all lit up. He was still talking about it the next day as we sipped coffee at senior tea.

A change of expression on his face made me glance over my shoulder. Abby was headed in our direction.

“I think I’ll give you some space,” he said.

I brushed muffin crumbs off my lap and tossed my napkin in the trash.

“Hi,” I said as Abby stood in front of me. I scooched over on the small love seat. “Want to sit?”

She shook her head. Her nails were newly painted deep purple. I was suddenly conscious of my chipped and uneven ones. All the work I’d been doing wasn’t conducive to pretty fingernails.

“I want to make sure you know that you’re not coming home with me for Thanksgiving,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Oh? I hadn’t really been thinking about it.” I was surprised the lie made it past the grapefruit-size lump in my throat.

“Well, you need to make other plans.”

“Don’t you think, maybe, we’ll . . . we’ll be okay by then?” I folded my hands so my nails, which looked more disgusting by the minute, weren’t visible. “And, I mean, I always go with you. It’s our tradition, right? Remember last year, how funny your mom was with the turkey? Remember, you did that imitation of her during dinner?”

I dared to look up, and thought I glimpsed a bit of a softening in Abby’s face. She shrugged. “Yeah, but . . . just make other plans, okay?” She turned to walk away, the black-and-white wool skirt we’d bought together at Urban Outfitters swishing against the top of her boots.

“Abby,” I said. I didn’t know what I was going to follow it with. I just couldn’t stand for our interaction to be so brief. For it to end like that.

“What?” She turned back to me.

“You should come downstairs and see all the stuff I’ve done in my room,” I blurted.

“What stuff? Something to do with all the noise you’ve been making?”

I nodded. “Celeste moved across the hall, you know, so the room’s just mine until Kate gets back next semester. I painted, built some stuff. If you and Viv want to come down and hang out, we don’t have to worry about Celeste being there or anything.”