Lay Me Down

10. The glacier.

{Cary}

The sound of the worship band warming up and people chatting seeped in through the office door. Pete checked the clock on the wall, his forehead wrinkling a little. "I can run you home, unless you want to stay for service?"

Cary shook his head. "I need to shower," he said.

He followed behind Pete's shoulder to the foyer and tried the blend into the coat rack when Pete went to talk to another man about leaving. There were people milling around, clean people with smiles on, chatting with coffee in their hands while the sound of the worship band came through the sanctuary doors.

A group of Eastglen kids were lounging at the café tables, and Cary felt like they were watching him. Probably they weren't. Then one girl's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. She turned and spoke urgently to the others, and then they were looking at him for sure. Cary kept his face hard and turned away from them. He had his fists shoved under his elbows so tightly that the cuts on his arm throbbed faintly.

Pete came back and said something Cary didn't pay attention to. He followed Pete out the doors like there was a thread tying them together, one end anchored in the mess of his chest.

When they pulled into the Whites' driveway, the whole family was in the yard to meet them—Jon's two sisters in their Sunday dresses and Melanie on the doorstep, shading her eyes in the spring sunlight.

"Peter?" she called when Pete got out of the van. "I thought we were meeting you at the ... oh."

Cary climbed out of the passenger side and stood beside the vehicle.

"Cary was at the church," Pete said. "I brought him home for a shower and something to eat. This afternoon, we'll clear out my study to make it into a room for him."

Melanie crossed the lawn and embraced her husband, her eyes shining over his shoulder at Cary. "I'm so glad," she said. Cary put his eyes on the clouds wisping apart in the sky above the house.

Tabby wrinkled her nose. "How did he get so dirty?"

The screen door banged and Jon came down the steps in a rush, saying, "Sorry I'm late." He stopped short, staring across the sunlit yard at Cary. "You found him." His eyes went to his father. "Is he staying?"

Pete nodded and said something, but the roaring in Cary's ears drowned it out. He leaned against the van and squeezed his eyes shut. All he could hear was the sound of ice grinding over the house he used to live in, destroying it, and leaving nothing but the scrape of its passing. He hung onto the door behind him to stay on his feet.

When he opened his eyes, Jon was in front of him, his jaw sticking out like he was mad. "You couldn't call? You couldn't tell me you were okay? Where the hell were you, Cary?"

Cary lifted his shoulders, shoving off the van without looking at him. "I'm here now. Don't fucking hug me or anything."

"Don't pull that asshole act with me—" Jon came at him, his fists connecting with Cary's body.

Cary sucked in his breath and wrapped his arms hard around Jon, feeling the heat of his face crushed against his shoulder. The force of Jon's push shoved him back into the side of the van and drove the air out of him. He hung on, trying to get his breath past the stabbing in his side.

Jon went limp, and Cary threw his arms off him, his heart in his throat. Pete was looking at him across the lawn, poised like he was about to come over. Jon slumped against the van beside him, still in one piece, still breathing. Cary's breath was ragged, and he tucked his arm tightly against his ribs. He was cracked again—something hot and dark was pushing up past the icy cold. He put his head down and walked across the grass until Pete was in front of him, blocking his way up the steps. He didn't lift his face, just stood there waiting for Pete to tell him what to do. Get out or go to the basement or whatever.