* * *

   The kitchen door somehow managed not to squeak, but the wooden floor in the hallway sent shivers through my nerves. I didn’t dare try to make it past Uncle Gerry’s door. I couldn’t get past without it letting out its tattling war cry. There was a basket of fresh laundry in the living room, so I peeled off my wet clothes and changed there, deciding to crash on the couch for the night, rather than risk waking him. I couldn’t face his questions. Somehow I’d felt responsible for Marti all these years. I had actually fallen into the role of substitute mother quite naturally. Always worrying. Always telling her not to do things that could be dangerous, offering her advice, and taking care of her. It had never been like that while Aunt Grace was alive, but afterward she was gone I’d felt a strong sense of accountability for Marti.
  Strange, because Aunt Grace had never been that kind of a mom. She was like Marti: strong-willed and free-spirited. She loved her daughter and protected her, but she wasn’t like most mothers. Even while Marti was young Aunt Grace let her fly free.

  Anyways, I knew Uncle Gerry would be going out of his mind if he knew what had happened at the beach. You probably think I’m a horrible friend for not telling him. After all, anything could be happening right?

But some part of me just knew to keep silent and wait it out.

Sure enough Marti showed up about half past three. She made it through the kitchen door too but she unwisely chose to risk the floor. Of course its squeak gave her away.

I didn’t sit up. But I whispered to her.

  “Marti.”

My voice was deadly cold. It even scared the crap out of me.

She whirled around and I could see her eyes wide and white with surprise in the glow of moonlight from the window.

 “Meg?” She took a few steps towards the couch, her silhouette, rigid and tense. “What are you doing sleeping out here?”

I bit back the urge to reply with, “I’ll ask the questions here young lady.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that one aimed at me.

Instead I said, “Are you going to tell me where the heck you just were and what kind of stupid excuse you’ve got for hopping in some rich kid’s car? Not to mention,” I added with biting distain riding off my tongue, “leaving me out in the rain with all those wack-jobs.”

  I couldn’t tell for sure in the darkness, but her shadow looked as if it was guiltily hunched over.

  “You don’t understand….”

  “Understand what?” I erupted from my blankets unable to keep my temper down another second. “Understand what, Marti? What more could I do to understand? You don’t ever tell me anything so how am I supposed to understand?” My voice was a furious hiss, dry and bare like dead driftwood floating on a thrashing sea. I flopped back down onto my make-shift bed, dropping my head in my hands.

Marti said nothing. It was at moments like this when I realized how quiet Marti really was.

She knew me better than anybody. She knew if she left me alone for a few minutes, I would remember how much I cared about her. She was right.

  “Are you ok?” I asked in a soft whisper.

Then Marti surprised me by doing something she had never done before. She knelt in front of me and took both my hands in hers and looked deep into my eyes. The lights in hers were stars in a fathomless blue sky.

  “Never.” She whispered back.