*Playlist: 'Brighter days' - JJ Grey & Mofro.

{Kadee}

Kadee kept swiping the screen of her phone to check if it was on. No messages. She braided and unbraided her hair, trying to decide. She could just go over to Kurtis' place. That's where everyone was. No one was answering her texts, but she could just drop in. She'd done it before. When she'd been Kurtis' girlfriend.

She got up and shoved her phone in her pocket. She was going to go crazy if she had to sit in her room, alone, for one more hour, waiting for someone to message her back.

She went for a drive to get a Frappuccino and some perspective. She found herself cruising aimlessly in the rundown neighbourhood west of her, and then down the street with a certain row of shabby brown duplexes. She parked across the street, looking at Jon's house. He probably wasn't home, but she could just ring the bell and see. Of all her friends who were around for the summer, Jon was the one who was most likely to still find a smile for her.

The clatter of hammers startled her when she got out of the car. Over the low peak of Jon's house, she could see a couple men in the air, working on the roof of a new garage. No one answered the bell, so she went around the side of the house to see if one of the guys was Jon.

Pastor Pete was coming down a ladder leaning against the side of the garage. His bearded face was flushed, and his shirt was off, tucked into the back of his shorts. He was totally old and furry, but he had a surprisingly decent set of abs. Kadee giggled and looked away.

"Son, I'm going in to make us some lemonade!" Pete called up.

Kadee crossed the grass, giving him her shiniest smile. "I'm just here to see him—can I go up?"

Pete's eyebrows lifted and his mouth laughed back at her. "Be my guest."

She had clambered up to the level of the roof when Pete called up: "Cary, you got company!"

The smack-smack-slam of the hammer abruptly went silent, and Kadee's mouth rounded at her mistake.

Cary came over the peak of the roof, leaning against the incline. He had a ball cap jammed over his unruly hair, and his broad shoulders were bare, pink with sunburn. His work boots clomped down the rear side of the roof, and he snatched his T-shirt off the stack of shingles on the corner.

"Um," Kadee said. She couldn't help watching the way the muscles on his body flexed when he pulled his shirt on. "Sorry. When he said...I thought you were Jon."

He flicked her a flat look. "Don't come up here in those shoes. You'll break your neck."

She backed down the ladder, her stomach sinking. She felt like she was stuck in mid-air, no gravity, no direction, and if she couldn't find something to hold onto, she might fly apart. Now that she was here, she realized how badly she wanted Jon to be here too, to go somewhere with him to hang out— somewhere other than Kurtis' cave of a garage. She stepped away onto the grass, tugging the end of her braid through her fingers, trying to decide what to do.

The ladder rattled noisily behind her as Cary climbed down in big steps. She took a breath and turned. "Do you know where Jon is? He's not answering my texts."

"Thought he was with you." Cary took his work gloves off and shoved them in his pocket, looking sideways at her. "He went with friends from church. Your boyfriend and the rest."

She had one of the hairs at the base of her hairline wrapped around her finger, and she tugged it out, the little pop of pain making the colors brighter in the yard. "He's not my boyfriend. Anymore. We broke up. So. We're still friends and everything, but—"

Cary was giving her that look that said he didn't believe a word of it. She drew her eyebrows together, pointing her finger at him. Regardless of how shitty she was feeling, she wasn't backing down for anyone anymore. "That look. How do you know when I'm not being real?"

He lidded his eyes. "Bullshit was pretty thick where I grew up," he said. "Seems like it went with the neighbourhood."

"Well." She crossed her arms. "Yeah. We're not still friends. I kind of...burned that bridge. No one's talking to me right now." She touched the cell phone on her hip. The device was as dark and silent as it had been for the past 48 hours. "I grew up with all of them since we were in preschool. If you're not one of them...you're nobody." She swallowed against the thickness in her throat.

"Yuh," he said drily.

Pastor Pete shouldered out the back door with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, which he set on the picnic table. Cary turned like Pete was his boss, and he was waiting for directions. Pete glanced from him to Kadee.

"You want to take a break for a bit?" he asked.

Cary shrugged. "Sure."

Kadee stood awkwardly by the ladder, watching Cary step onto the deck and pour two glasses. He shot a look back at her. "Thirsty?"

She smoothed her braid over her shoulder, letting out a small sigh of relief. She needed someone to give a shit about her life today.

They sat silently next to each other with their backs to the picnic table. She considered him from under her eyelashes as he took a long pull of the lemonade, his eyes on the garage roof. She'd heard her parents talking about Cary's family, about the shock of something like that happening in their neighbourhood, and such a well-known figure going up on trial for child abuse. Cary was loose and relaxed in the sun, his Adam's apple bobbing and his muscled arm flexing against his shirt as he drank. It was hard to imagine him as the survivor of the horrific things her parents spoke of softly, when they thought she was too busy on her phone to be paying attention.

The skin on his hands caught her eyes. It was pale to his wrists where his gloves had been. There were scars running over the bones of his wrists, faded pink and smooth. When he set his glass down, she saw more on the inside of his arm, scribbled dark against his tan.

She put her eyes on her drink, swirling the ice cubes in the glass. How long had those been there? She had lived just a few blocks away for years and never looked closely enough to notice.

"This seems to be working out okay for you—living here," she said to break the silence.

He slid her a sideways look. "It's okay."

She'd thought he would be more positive. "I mean, it's pretty amazing that Pastor Pete would fit another teenager into his family. I've never heard of someone doing that before. And you look good—um, you look like you're doing good. You know, better than before. More, like, human. Like you're not just keeping in the dark all the time, all kind of pale and skinny." God, she was babbling. How long had it been since she'd had someone to talk to?

His body didn't move, but she saw the flush go up his neck to the tips of his ears.

"It's just so weird, you know? I've actually met your parents. They seemed normal—all polished and money like everyone else. And then when everything came out about... well, it made me feel like there's something wrong with our whole, like, neighbourhood." She put her eyes on her glass, making the ice chink softly against the sides. "I'm totally saying this wrong. I just wanted you to know I was sorry when I heard. I didn't know and I never...never even tried to be nice to you."

Cary took off his hat and scrubbed his fingers through his tangle of hair. "It's fine," he said. "I would have told you to fuck off if you'd tried." He dropped the cap on the table behind them, his black eyes touching her face for just a moment on the way by. "How did you find out? Jon tell you?"

She shook her head. "My parents. I guess the neighbourhood is talking."

His face flinched.

"You're a minor, so nobody knows exactly what happened, but...you can't keep a trial secret in a neighbourhood where half the grown-ups are lawyers."

She watched him take a slow, unsteady breath and realized how that must feel to him. Something really shitty and private had happened in his family, and everyone was talking about it now, speculating. She looked out at the yard, her eyebrows drawn together. "So that sucks."

He sat up straight like he was trying to stretch a knot out of his chest, then curled forward with his elbows on his knees. "He used to hit my mom. You can tell them exactly that."

Kadee looked at the curve of Cary's back beside her, his sun-brown neck and the gap in the collar of his T-shirt where a sliver of skin on his shoulders showed pink and tender. The stories weren't about his mom.

He straightened and rolled his shoulders, looking at her sideways as he took another drink. "So you finally sent that jock asshole packing."

She made a noise with her lips, flipping her hand like it didn't matter. "So long ago. Like, Tuesday. He got all worked up about how—I was going to ruin his football career or something and I just thought—you know what, we're both better off."

His eyebrows drew together, and the way he kept his eyes on her like he was really paying attention was as refreshing as the drink in her hand. She found herself saying the rest, the part she had told only one other person. "I was late this month and...I thought I was pregnant, you know?" She swallowed, remembering the bolt of fear going through her as she counted the days and realized she needed to get a pregnancy test, somehow, without anyone finding out. "And when I told Kurtis, he was all like—you should just take care of it. Like I could...flush it down the toilet or something. Like it wasn't alive and a part of me—a part of us, something we made."

He drew a breath in. "Oh shit." he said quietly.

She ran a hand over her braid to comfort herself.

"So did you?"

She shook her head. "I'm not. My period came. But kinda... too late. We were fighting a lot about—god, I don't know. Everything." She laughed awkwardly, her face heating. "Sorry, I didn't plan to tell you all that. Jesus, you're a good listener—that all just kind of came out."

He made a dry noise, looking out at the yard. "I think you made the right call, if that matters."

It did matter—more than she had realized. "I haven't told anyone else, so..."

He shrugged. "Secret's safe with me."

A new thought occurred to Kadee: Cary held secrets—kept them so safe she'd never known what he'd been hiding for years. Maybe he was still doing it. She checked the house behind them to make sure Pastor Pete wasn't there and leaned in a little.

"Cary, do you know about Jon? Todd said..." She hesitated, trying to read the side of his face. "He said you used to, like, party with them sometimes. With pills you had."

Stillness settled over him like ice crystalizing on the surface of water. He slowly turned his face to her. "What about Jon?"

She bit the corner of her lip, dropping her eyes. She worried about Jon a lot, actually. "He hasn't said anything to you?"

Cary seemed suddenly far away, looking at her from way back in his dark eyes. "Sure. It's a shitty bone to break—I figured he's just trying to deal."

She shook her head, exasperated. "He's not like you or Todd—he's never had any experience to...tell him his limits." Cary's nostrils whitened, but his eyes didn't blink as he watched her. "I know you don't care about doing stuff that's illegal or harmful or whatever, but—Jon is different. You shouldn't just be okay with him messing up his life. You need to talk to him."

Cary turned his face away. He took a long time to answer. "He won't listen to me." His voice was tight. "We don't talk anymore."

Kadee's mouth hung open for a second. "But you...live here. I totally thought you were friends."

Cary's shoulders hunched up around his ears. "Nope. Wish we were." He crossed his arms, his fists clenched under his biceps. "What is he...what is he using?"

She hesitated, thinking back over the summer. "I thought you would know."

He gave her a withering look. "You think I would let Pete's kid do something like that while I'm here? How stupid do you think I am?"

She was shaken now. "I don't know, pills out of a bottle. Like from the doctor's."

"Snorting? Mainlining?"

She made a face. "Ew, no. Just taking them like how you take pills."

"How I take pills," he muttered. "Fuck." He let out his breath, rubbing his hands over his face. The frozen distance in his expression had thawed enough for her to see the lines of strain. "If anything happens to him—Jesus."

Kadee folded her fingers together against the impulse to touch his arm. "Well...I'll talk to him then. I'm not really...welcome at Kurtis' anymore. But Jon still—I think we're still friends." She pulled out her cellphone. "What's your number?"

He frowned at her. "Why?"

She made an irritated noise. "So I can text you or you can text me. About Jon. Here." she held out her phone, the contacts screen open, and he took it, still frowning. "Just put it in here."

He typed painfully slowly—with his index finger, like someone who never used a phone. "I don't check it," he warned.

She took her phone back and texted him her name with flying thumbs. "Now you have me." She flashed him a smile that didn't make a dent in his guarded expression.

He got up and pulled his cap back on. "I should get back to work."

{Cary}

It occurred to Cary, as he watched Kadee sashay out of the yard from the corner of his eye, that she could be lying to him. He hoped she was lying to him. He tugged his gloves back on and climbed up the ladder, hauling a new stack of asphalt shingles to the part of the roof that was still bare plywood. He knelt on one knee to lay them out, reviewing in his mind every encounter he'd had with Jon this summer. Jon had been cranky and unpredictable, but Cary had just put it down to his broken rib and the shit that was between them now. He'd kept his distance and the peace.

A girl like Kadee had probably never broken a bone in her life. She could just be plain wrong.

When the job was finished, he straightened to stretch his back and take in the long afternoon light catching on the roofs and trees of Jon's neighbourhood. He felt something resonate in his chest in response—a thank you for this moment, with his shoulders warm and stinging with sunburn, a job well done, and a peaceful evening ahead with Pete's family. It was more than he'd ever asked for or deserved.

When he came inside, he caught Bea standing on the counter on her tiptoes in the kitchen to reach something in the cupboard. She turned when the door smacked shut behind him, almost losing her balance. "Hey, Cary. You're tall. Can you get down the peanut butter for me?"

He placed his hands on her waist, steadying her and lifting her down. "Where's your sister—and your mom and dad?"

"Jon is at friends' and Tab is at a friend's. Dadda's sleepin' on the couch, and momma's sleepin' in her room, so I'm making supper for us."

Cary set the chair back next to the table. "Sounds like I'm making supper for us." At her crestfallen expression, he added, "You can help."

"Make us pancakes?" Her face was bright with hope. Pete had been too tired for pancakes the day before.

A little smile tugged at the side of his mouth. "Sure, I can make us pancakes." He got down the box of mix, the bowl and whisk. "I'll measure and you can mix."

"Do shapes? I love shapes."

He hesitated. "Sure. I can do shapes."

"You're a good drawer, Cary. You can make me a pony. And a sunrise, 'kay?"

His laugh surprised them both, and Bea giggled back at him. "You think I'm pancake Picasso now? You'll be lucky if they're just not burnt."

Cary had his tongue in the corner of his mouth, trying to pour the batter into the pan in the shape of a pony, when Pete came into the kitchen.

"Daddy, Cary's making us pony pancakes for supper," Bea said from her perch on the counter, a safe distance away from the heat of the pan.

"Sorry I dropped out on you there." Pete's voice was gruff with sleep. He stood looking out the window at the garage. "Did you finish the job?"

"Yeah," Cary said, without looking at him. "You should check it." He started to pour another shape, the batter hissing in the pan.

"I trust you," Pete said. "What do we need on the table? Syrup? Cinnamon sugar? Raspberry jam?"

"Everything!" Bea clapped her hands.

The front door slammed shut, and Cary lifted his head, listening.

"Smells like pancakes." It was Jon's voice, light and relaxed.

Cary set the measuring cup back, hooking the handle on the edge of the bowl the way he'd seen Pete do. He listened to Pete and Jon make polite conversation, trying to keep himself from being noticed.

Jon's arm brushed his shoulder as he reached to get the plates, and Cary stepped to the side to give him room. He checked the edges of the pancakes with the flipper and then turned them over, conscious of Jon passing next to him.

"Where's Mom?" Jon asked.

"Sleepin'," Bea said.

There was a pause, and Cary stole a look behind Jon's back at Pete's face. Jon's dad had his bearded chin propped in his hand, sitting at the table like he was just enjoying having his children around. Pete met Jon's eyes. Cary couldn't read what passed between them.

Jon turned abruptly, and Cary dropped his eyes and drew back, opening the utensil drawer like he needed something there. Jon's face was a thundercloud, and if he hadn't just heard their exchange, he would have assumed Jon was going to haul back and hit him.

"Right. It's August," Jon said. He stuck his head in the fridge, and it was a second before he found the orange juice, even though it was right in front.

"She'll come through," Pete said in an even voice. "You know she always does."

Jon thumped the fridge door shut, baring his teeth in a smile. "Sure, I know."

"These are done," Cary said quietly.

"Did you make my pony?" Bea held out her arms to him, still perched on the counter. Cary let her put her hands on his shoulders and set her on the ground.

"Made you five ponies," Cary said, his lips tugging up again.

She squealed and caught his arm as he was ducking away, tugging him down to her level. "You're my best brother." She had a hand clasped on the back of his neck and her whisper tickled in his ear. Cary straightened up and found himself face to face with Jon in the tiny kitchen.

His face got hot right to his hairline, and he held still under Jon's look, returning it with some effort. He had tried so damn hard this summer to be the kind of person who could live in this house, and he couldn't tell if Jon saw any of that when he looked at him now, or just the same old Cary.

Jon turned aside and set the juice on the table. "Where you going to school next week, Cary?"

"Eastglen," Cary said, checking Pete's face. Pete was sitting back with his arms folded over his chest, watching the conversation unfold. He didn't look angry; Cary took some courage from that.

"They're letting you back?" Jon's voice was light, like there weren't a dozen pointed objects behind that question.

"Yuh," Cary said. There were conditions, and he'd already had a visit to the principal's office with Pete.

"Well, that's good. No more driving you across town."

Cary couldn't find his voice anymore, so he didn't say anything.

"I kinda can't wait for school to start," Jon said. "I've had nothing to do this summer and it's been pretty boring. Not gonna lie."

They sat down at the table, and Pete put out his hands. Cary found himself between Jon and Bea, and he held their hands lightly, as if they might crumple like paper while Pete prayed.

"So what are you going to do with that wad of cash you made this summer?" Jon asked, piling pancakes on his plate and drowning them in syrup.

For a second, Cary didn't realize Jon was speaking to him because the question didn't make sense. "Wad of cash?"

"Yeah, you've been working that good job all summer. What are you going to do with the money? Going to buy a car?"

Cary occupied himself with cutting Bea's pancakes for her. "No. Spent it already."

"You serious? On what?"

Cary lifted a stack of pancakes onto his plate, his neck and ears hot. It wasn't his place to tell Jon his family didn't have enough. "Guess that's my business."

Jon's laugh was sharp. "Guess you're still good at keeping secrets."

"Jon." Pete's voice had some force behind it and Cary made himself smaller between them at the table. "That's not kind. It's not a secret: Cary has to take care of his own needs—running shoes and his phone and supplies for school. He spends his money on the same things your mom and I do."

"That sucks," Jon said into his pancakes. "Working your ass off for school supplies."

Bea clapped a hand over her mouth, and Cary stole a quick look at Pete's face. Pete's mouth was wry inside his beard. "Indeed," he said. "Although I find gratitude sweetens the experience."

Jon lifted his eyes from his plate. He swallowed and it was quiet a moment. "Thanks, Dad," he said. "And good pancakes."

"The pancakes were Cary's doing," Pete said. "Thank you, Cary."

Jon mumbled something around his new mouthful that could have been "Fuck you, Cary," for all he knew.

"Best," Bea piped, holding up her fork. She pointed it at Cary and smiled.

After dinner, Cary locked himself in the bathroom and methodically ransacked the cupboards and drawers. Jon's painkillers weren't there. He put everything back where he'd found it, flushed the toilet and went to his room to try to think.

///

"Kadee came over to see you." It had been a long time since Cary had crossed the invisible barrier across Jon's doorway and he stuffed his fists in his pockets, wishing he knew how to act casual.

Lying on his bed, Jon barely glanced up from his phone. "Yeah, she texted me. We're hanging out tomorrow."

Cary hesitated. He could leave it. If Kadee thought Jon had a problem, she could deal with it tomorrow. He tried his second line. "You have your pills on you? Your mom wants to check when they need to be refilled."

That made Jon look up at him, his eyebrows drawing together. "They're done. We refilled them the last time and I finished them. Like, two weeks ago."

Cary eased back on his heels. "So you don't have any left."

"Why are you being weird about this?" Jon's face was flushed. "Did my mom seriously forget or did you just make that up?"

Cary was silent, looking at him. He couldn't tell if Jon was just angry at him for coming in here, or if he was covering something. He looked aside. "I got worried," he muttered. "You can get addicted to that shit and I haven't paid attention."

"I can take care of myself," Jon said. There was an edge to his voice. "You had a super messed-up life, and I get it. But that's not me. So you don't have to worry."

Cary looked down the hall, remembering Jon balled up and crying with blood on his shirt after Todd had crammed him in a locker last year. "You don't have to say shit like that for me." His voice was dry. "You have problems too."

"I'm fine," Jon said. "I have this house to come home to. I've made new friends. I think I'm doing pretty good." He shoved a hand at Cary and Cary tensed. "I mean, obviously you are too, now. You have that job and a good life here. So—I'm happy for you," he said stiffly.

There was a reason he avoided Jon—this stiff, angry manner made his stomach tie itself in knots. He had just one friend and no idea how to fix the thing that was broken between them. He left without saying another word.

Cary was in his room, buried in a sketchbook, when his phone rang. He startled and stared at the little piece of plastic vibrating and lighting up at the other end of his bed. No one ever called him.

Finally, he picked it up and thumbed it open, clearing his throat. "Yeah."

"Hey, you're there." It was a girl's voice, breathless like she'd been running in place while waiting for him to pick up. "It's Kadee."

"Yeah?" He frowned at the wall of his room, plastered with drawings.

"Did you—um—talk to Jon today?"

"Yeah." He worked a little spit into his mouth. Probably one-word answers were not going to be enough for this girl.

"And? How did it go?"

Cary dropped his eyes, running a thumb over the corner of his sketchbook.

"Cary, are you there?"

"He says he doesn't have a problem. He finished the pills the doctor gave him a couple weeks ago. He's good."

"Do you believe him?"

Cary shut his eyes. He needed to keep the peace. "Yeah, I believe him."

There was a silence. "Well, okay. He just seemed weird when he was on them, and I didn't think the doctor would tell him to take so many. So I've been worried. But if you think..."

Cary held still, her words going off like a string of little explosions in his ear. "How many?" His voice was soft.

"Like three? Or four?"

His stomach tied itself a little tighter, and he smoothed his hand against it to try and keep his supper down. He remembered the label from the first time Jon had brought those pills home. The same as the ones he used to use. "He's supposed to take one."

Kadee drew in her breath. "What happens if he takes more?"

He'd been clean a long time, and the memory still made his spine tingle—the warm glow of well-being, like he was floating above his beat-up body and shitty life. He swallowed. "He would feel really good. Until it wore off. And then he would feel like shit until he could get more. If he kept doing it, he would need more to get that same feeling—of being high."

Kadee was silent. The size of this thing loomed in the quiet.

"You tell anyone else?" he asked roughly.

"No?" Her voice wobbled.

"Anyone else notice? Todd?"

"No! Todd never hangs out at Curtis' place."

It was her word against Jon's...but why would she lie? If she wanted to start a rumour to wreck Jon's reputation, he was the last person she would call. "So why tell me?"

"Because you seem like you would know if he had a problem? And I thought—I thought you and Jon were friends. That you would care if he was screwing up his life."

"He has other friends—better friends. The youth group."

"Oh my god, Cary. The youth group would tear him to pieces if they knew. Pastor Pete's son on drugs, after denying it for so long? You have no idea how much they talked about the locker searches last year, and there wasn't even anything there. If this came out, it would be such a huge scandal. You're like the only person I trust with this. I thought you might...care enough about Jon to try and fix it. Before it turned into a huge thing."

"I can't fix it." There was a cold spot spreading in his chest. Jon had lied—right to his face, like Cary didn't know where a pill habit could end up. "He don't want my help. You're on your own." He heard her take a breath to speak and hung up.

He stared sightlessly at his knees, his hands limp at his sides. Jon had gone out a couple times a week. If he was taking three or four pills each time...where was he getting them from? Where was he getting the money to pay for them? Just because the prescription was done, there was no reason to believe the pills were gone, or that Jon wouldn't just get more.

He shivered and drew his arms against his aching stomach. Was this his fault? Jon had been a good person before he'd come along, and now he was lying about a drug habit as easily as Cary would have himself. He shut his eyes, his throat squeezing. There was nothing he knew how to do to make this better. Except.

Help Jon.

Jesus-God.

Please.

*Here's a little peek behind the scenes: truthfully, lovelies, when Jon White flipped his bike and broke his ribs in the middle of Lay Me Down, I was as surprised as you were. I had to sit with that for a week, thinking about how that might affect the story, before picking up my pen again to write.

Jon White is more resilient than he looks: easy to bring to tears, hard to break. The difficulty of that injury on top of the other things he's been carrying on his own finally broke him, and I realized the writing knew better than I did: that Jon couldn't just keep going like he is. As he bottoms out over these next chapters, shit gets exposed that needs to be addressed between him and Pete, and between him and Jesus. However, not going to lie, breaking up Jon's friendship with Cary was my least favourite thing. Hated every minute of it. You know they're getting back together, right? Just give me time to get us there...*