“I’m sorry she didn’t come to you today,” said Gogo.
Vern closed her eyes and breathed in the early evening air. “It’s all right. I learned something all the same,” she said, and explained the haunting she’d summoned and how two of the hanging bodies had called out her name. Derailed from their prescribed track, they’d tried to reach out to her, consciousnesses in their own right.
“That sounds heavy. Are you okay?” asked Gogo.
Vern shrugged.
“You can always talk to me about anything, all right?” Gogo said.
“Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. What does that do?” asked Vern.
“I think of talking like breathing, or eating. You take stuff in, you expel stuff out. It nourishes you. It lets the old leave. Trees talk to each other, you know that? Through their roots.”
“And fungi through their mycelia,” said Vern.
“Right,” Gogo said.
“What the world has to say isn’t always so good,” said Vern. Breathing heavily, she stood up from the swing. Healing large wounds expended more energy than she had to spare. Fixing the break had worn her, and even though it was only eight, she planned to head to sleep now.
“Sleep in my bed tonight,” Gogo offered, seeing Vern’s fatigued state.
“I spent ten nights in that janky old thing. Never again,” said Vern, but that wasn’t her real reason. A night in Gogo’s bed was dangerous. An invitation to indulge in feelings best left unfelt.
“You sure? I’m going to be up all night anyway. The bed’s no use to me.”
“Up all night doing what?”
“Not sleeping,” said Gogo.
“You do a lot of that.”
“Somebody’s got to keep my demons company, you know?” Gogo said with a small smile, but Vern sensed the seriousness of this confession.
“Just for tonight,” said Vern.
“Sure,” Gogo said, and hopped up from the porch swing to help Vern inside.
Howling and Feral were chopping garlic under Bridget’s direction.
“They aren’t hassling you, are they?” asked Vern.
“Never,” said Bridget.
“We’re helping, Mam,” said Howling, rolling his eyes. Vern smiled and followed Gogo toward her room.
“Hey. Dinner’s in fifteen, you two,” said Bridget.
“I was actually thinking about retiring early,” Vern said. She wasn’t one to skip a meal, so Bridget looked immediately concerned. “I’ll be fine. Just need some rest.”
“She’s gonna sleep in my room tonight,” said Gogo.
Bridget tossed chopped onions into a frying pan full of browned butter. “You sure that’s a good idea?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” asked Gogo.
Bridget grabbed a handful of mushrooms from the chopping board and threw them in with the caramelizing onions. “You been drinking?” asked Bridget.
“No,” said Gogo.
“And are you joining us for dinner?”
Gogo filled a glass of water from the tap. “If Vern can spare me,” she said.
“Vern?” asked Bridget.
“Yes, of course,” Vern said.
Bridget waved them away reluctantly when the pan started smoking, and Gogo led Vern to her room. “Sorry about that. Sometimes she forgets I’m a grown woman. Seems like the longer I live here, the worse it gets, not better. I’m twenty-two, for fuck’s sake,” said Gogo, venting.
Vern settled onto Gogo’s bed. That was just what family was like, thinking they had a say in your life when they didn’t. Back at the compound, Ruthanne had nagged Vern all the time about dressing right, eating right, talking right. That wasn’t something that would’ve changed when Vern turned eighteen.
“Why doesn’t she want me to sleep in your room?” Vern asked.
Gogo sighed and collapsed onto the mattress next to Vern. “It’s complicated.”
“Does she not like me?”
“What? Of course she likes you,” said Gogo. “She’s worried because you’re vulnerable, you know?”
Vern was as close to invincible as a living being got. “What are you talking about? I’m not vulnerable,” she said.
“You are,” said Gogo. “And the fact that you don’t realize that is part of why Bridget’s worried. She thinks I’m gonna hurt you.”
Vern drew her eyebrows in, curious. “How so?”
Gogo, uncharacteristically hesitant, bit the side of her lip before answering. “I’ve got a reputation,” she said. “And it’s well-earned.”