xv.
i will hold as long as you like / just promise me we'll be alright
mumford & sons, "ghosts that we knew"
(Leland)
Maybe it was the early hour, or a sense of deja vu, but Bonnie was not all too welcoming the next time he knocked on her door. She stared at him with her bushy eyebrows raised and her arms crossed tightly against her chest, and Lee had the sense that she was daring him to rant and rage and demand to see Julie all over again. She seemed prepared for it, this time, ready and waiting.
Lee said nothing. He probably should have been asking for her forgiveness, considering that last time he'd spoken to her, but then it wasn't as if Bonnie was going to apologise to him for keeping all her secrets, was it? She wasn't going to apologise for being just as stubborn, and she certainly wasn't going to apologise for allowing Julie to be terrified for all those weeks. After all, it was pretty clear that Bonnie — and his own mom — thought there were more important things in the world. More important than the happiness and sanity of their kids. He hadn't been able to look Holly in the eye for days now.
Bonnie raised her chin. "She's not here," she told him tersely, apparently long over the pretence of Julie being bed bound from mono.
Well, at least they'd gotten past that.
"And she won't be for a while, I don't think," she added with hardened eyes. "I'll tell her you came by."
Somehow, Lee didn't trust that she would. "Where is she?"
"I don't know. With Sam, probably," Bonnie said, a hint of unkindness in her words, although the suggestion that Julie had become firm buddies with his ex-girlfriend-almost-fiancée didn't hurt as much as it would have done a week ago. He knew better. Knew Julie better.
Bonnie waved a hand to the box he was cradling underneath one of his arms. "You want me to pass that on?"
Lee's fingers pressed into the cheap cardboard. "It's fine," he replied with the same hardness, stepping away with a wave as dismissive as he dared before starting down the ramp and towards the garage. "I'll wait. She'll know where I am."
A few seconds of silence passed during which Lee thought Bonnie was finally going to begin shouting at him. He tensed as he heard her roll her chair forwards, but he knew it was unlikely she would follow. The ground towards the garage turned so uneven that she had trouble forcing her chair over it, and he'd spent enough time at the Blacks' to know she hadn't attempted it since March, when Julie had locked herself in — and probably not for a long time before that.
"Leland." Her voice was quieter than he expected, her face somewhat softer when he looked over his shoulder and resisted the temptation to raise an eyebrow. "I know you care about her, son, but this . . . This isn't something that concerns you."
He didn't break his gaze. "Should I go and get Sarah, then?"
Bonnie's eyes widened a fraction before dipping into a deep frown, cold and disapproving. "I don't know what you know, or what you think you know—" she began, her hand coming to her chest and curling around whatever was held on the end of that cord hanging from her neck there "—but I'll tell you now that you are wrong."
Lee watched as Mrs. Black's fingers idly twisted her necklace for a moment. He had never seen, had never asked what it was she kept so close to her heart — she'd had the leather cord around her neck for as long as he could remember and he'd never questioned it. Probably because his parents both wore their wedding rings around their necks on similar intricately woven chains. It wasn't uncommon. And after George — Mr. Black — had died . . . Well, it seemed rude to ask, so Lee never had. But it was definitely something, evident with the way Bonnie held onto it protectively like it was something that needed to be kept guarded from him. He wondered whether it had anything to do with the journal he'd been reading non-stop for the last few days, if it was another one of the woman's secrets.
Her gaze followed his, down to her chest, and her hand dropped. The frown remained. "Your mom's going to wonder where you got to."
His laugh was flat, as unforgiving as Bonnie's face was. He could hardly hear it over the sound of his blood roaring in his ears again. It seemed as if it rarely ever stopped these days. "No, she won't."
"Lee—"
"I'll wait," he said again, turning his back once more and striding away. And by the time he'd reached the garage, Bonnie had disappeared back into the house. Probably to call his mom — or worse, Sam. Who would turn up first to drag him away? His mom, who was so hellbent on keeping her secrets, or Sam, who was so hellbent on ruining his life? (Who had ruined his life, with her lies and empty promises and her betrayal.)
A grunt escaped him at the thought. Let them come.
He pushed his way into the garage, ready to set himself up on his usual rusty camping chair where he planned to wait all day and night for Julie, if he had to — except . . . There she was, sitting in it already, her arms crossed against her stomach and her chin tucked into her chest as she slept.
She jerked awake when the large wooden door hit the wall, her whole body jumping to full alert even as the sleep cleared from her eyes. He was sure that he heard one of the chair's plastic arms crack underneath her grip as she tensed and leaned forward, preparing to spring into action.
In his surprise of finding her, he blurted, "What are you doing here?"
The ready-to-kill look upon her face morphed into confusion, although she didn't drop her guard. Her new features appeared even fiercer in the early daylight. "What are you doing here?"
"Bonnie said you were out."
Julie looked behind him, at the door which was still bouncing off the wall behind him, and then back. Lee wasn't sure whether he'd expected her to have changed again, but he was relieved to see that, aside from that savage fierceness, she was much the same — the same as he had last seen her, anyway, with her short hair, shabby clothes and tired eyes.
Relieved, yes, but he was still uneasy about it, still in awe of the differences compared to the fifteen-year-old he knew. There was nothing of the carefree teenager in his best friend's face anymore as she scowled at the mention of her mother. She was older. Not just in the way she looked now, tall and strong, all hints of her young teenage years gone, but in the way she acted and the way she'd spoken within his room. Like she had jumped from fifteen to twenty-five and gained all the wisdom and experience of life overnight.
"You saw her?"
"She hates me," he said plainly.
Very slowly, Jules prised her fingers from the arms of the chair, though she continued to scan the scene around her — as if she didn't want to believe it was quite safe yet, as if she were worried she was going to be found by someone else.
"She doesn't know you're in here, does she."
Jules shook her head.
Lee sighed. "You want me to shut the door?"
"No. It's fine," she muttered, stretching her arms up and her long legs out. The rusty garden chair creaked underneath her. "I was just catching up on a few hours. Sam only let me off before dawn."
Lee closed the door anyway. "Why are you sleeping in here?"
"As good a place as any," she said with a shrug.
"It's cold in here."
Julie smiled wanly, hands falling in her lap as she leaned back and relaxed some. "Doesn't bother me."
"No," he said, remembering the warmth he'd felt when she'd shaken him awake, and all that had followed, "I don't suppose it would." He shook his head as if he could rid himself of that dangerous thought. "But normal people, they sleep in their beds, Jules."
When she didn't answer, he sighed. "You look like shit."
She snorted. "Thanks"
"When was the last time you slept? Properly?" he asked before she could continue to be difficult about it. Sleeping in an old chair in her garage was not an answer to be accepted.
"Uh—" Her nose wrinkled as she closed her eyes for a moment, and the shadows underneath them were so dark they could have been bruises. "I don't know. A few days ago. I've been trying to grab some shut-eye in here when I can." She rubbed her face. "Mom's just as mad at me as Sam is, but she can't push herself over without help. And Sam — I try not to think about it, coming here. I bet she'll figure it out soon, though. Or I'll slip up."
His anger flared, but then it had never been too far out of reach recently. "What've they got to be mad about?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Shirking my responsibilities, trying to give away tribe secrets, being a general pain in the ass . . ." Jules smirked, though it lacked any humour. It was more bitter, resentful. Unhappy.
And it was doing nothing for his temper. He shook his head. "You've got to sleep, Jules."
"I try," she said miserably, "but when Sam finally lets me off for a few hours, my mom makes me follow her around to Council meetings and whatever else she can think of. Reckons she's going to change my mind, or something."
Everything she said was just inviting more questions, telling him more things that he had missed out on and knew nothing about. Had only a week passed? "About what?"
Julie looked up at him, leaning back in her chair. She was silent for a long moment while her tired brown eyes searched for something, dragging over every inch of his face before she took a breath. "Why are you here?" she asked instead of answering.
Answers like I haven't seen you for a week and I missed you built up in his throat, but he couldn't voice them. Instead he nodded down towards the box underneath his arm and said, as nonchalant as possible, "Got something for you."
"What is it?"
He suddenly felt embarrassed, but braved it and offered the box to her. It had been a good idea at the time, when he'd escaped the house a few days ago and had driven for miles and miles, thinking and thinking, but now he wondered if he'd done the right thing. If she'd accept it. Jules had never been one for charity.
She reached out for it and gave it a gentle shake. It wasn't heavy, or particularly big, but when she heard something distinctively metal inside of it a smile like no other broke out on her face. "What is it?"
Lee shuffled on his feet, mumbling through his embarrassment, words garbled.
"What?"
Damn him if his cheeks were red. What the hell was wrong with him? He cleared his throat. "Just — something. It's not — it's not a big deal."
She raised an eyebrow, but her curiosity eventually won out and she tore off the tape, ripping half of the cardboard with it. It fell to the floor as she froze, staring at what she'd found, mouth opening and closing in her disbelief. Or, what he hoped was disbelief — because he wasn't sure what he'd do if she was upset that he'd gone ahead and bought it without her.
"Lee . . ."
"It's not a big deal," he said again, quickly. "You found it. I just went and got it."
She nodded slowly, eyes transfixed on the master cylinder she'd been hunting for her Rabbit for months now. The same one she'd been pestering him for a ride up to Port Angeles so they could go and check it out over the weekend.
He shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't a big deal. It was not. "We were gonna go anyway, right?"
Julie looked back up at him, and he felt his stomach clench when he saw that her eyes were lined with silver. She swallowed thickly, hands shaking as they ghosted over the metal before her. He knew what it meant to her. He'd wanted to do it, knowing that she wouldn't be able. Thinking that Sam might not have let her.
"I'll — I'll pay you back. Every cent. I promise."
Lee shrugged again. "If it makes you feel better. Or if you really want to give me something then you could just — you know, not disappear on me again or anything. Mono was a pretty poor excuse, you know. The idea that you were on drugs was more convincing."
Julie laughed, but the sound was choked like a sob had escaped her instead and she hid her face, busying herself by trying to put the top of the box back together. Carefully, like she wanted to protect what was inside. "I can't believe you remembered."
"You only mentioned it, like — oh, I don't know—" He rolled his eyes with feigned exasperation. "Every day. How could I forget?"
"I did," she whispered, her tears finally spilling over without abandon. "I forgot. I made myself, because I didn't . . ." She looked up at him, clutching the box tightly. "Thank you."
He nodded, voice failing him as she sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"S'pose I'll never sleep now," she said with a shaky laugh, "not 'til this is in." But he didn't laugh with her, and her forced grin turned desperately sad. It was quiet for a long moment as they looked at each other. Her face fell. "Lee, it's not — it's not a goodbye present, is it?"
"What? No! Geez, Jules. It's not a . . . No. Fuck."
She blinked the last of her tears away. "It's not?"
"No. It's not. Is that what you really thought?"
"I thought . . ." Julie stared at him as if she might find the answer she wanted without having to force herself to ask for it. She seemed as reluctant as he did to acknowledge what had so far been left unsaid.
He said it anyway. "I figured it out, Jules."
If she was surprised, she didn't show it except for the deep, steadying breath she took. She closed her eyes. "And?"
"And what?"
"And," she said, bracing herself with a huge breath, "what do you think?"
Lee willed himself to remain upright. He didn't know what he thought, how he felt — not even now, not after four whole days. The whole thing was so unbelievable that he'd stared at the journal he'd stolen for hours and hours, had read it front to back three times over before his mind started working again and been capable of coherent thought.
The last year of his life had suddenly come together, just like that, and he was still reeling. Everything he had suffered with Sam, the secrets, the lies . . . He knew, deep down, that it was all true, and yet he couldn't wrap his head around it. That it had happened to Sam, and then Julie. That it was real.
You've been hearing it all your life.
"I haven't told anyone," he managed to say eventually.
"I don't care about that," Julie scoffed. "I care about — well, you know." He didn't. "Is it . . . Are things going to be weird now?"
"Because you turn into a great big dog or because—"
"A wolf."
"Dog," he insisted, trying not to stutter against the revelation which had finally been said aloud. He'd known, of course, but hearing it . . . "If I think about fluffy Labradors then it doesn't seem so bad."
"Fine, a dog," she allowed, laughing breathlessly. It was a nervous sound, but even though she looked slightly worried they smiled at each other and something eased in his chest to the point it was no longer painful. He might have not been able to say it, but he had missed her.
Julie got to her feet and placed the master cylinder atop her workbench. When she faced him again with clearer eyes he still had the thought that she was apprehensive, that she was still being careful — like she thought he might start yelling at any minute, might run away screaming.
He did neither. "You really scared the shit out of me, kid."
And then she was crying again, her face crumpling awfully as she flew forward and sagged against his chest, her hands twisting in his shirt. She couldn't speak, not as her body was wracked by violent sobs.
But her tears no longer scared Lee. He had dealt with the worst of them, had long learned that for all Julie was like Adam — who was tenacious and passionate, fiery and strong — she was also like Aaron: sensitive and soft in all the right places, intense and gentle.
Adam faced things head-on, always. He wore his heart on his sleeve, come what may. But Aaron didn't fly so easily off the handle like his twin; he bottled things up until he couldn't take it anymore; he crashed and burned under the weight of it. And that was Julie now. She had dropped that final defence, and it would be a long, long time before she calmed.
So Leland did the only thing he could. He'd done it before. He wrapped his arms around his best friend — his only friend in all ways that counted, that truly mattered in spite of who she was, what she was — and he held her tight.