The Insomniacs by Marit Weisenberg

Author:Marit Weisenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13

Back in the absolute stillness of my bedroom, I closed my tired eyes. I could hear the sounds of dogs barking, the muted wail of sirens, and the forlorn bells of a distant train crossing.

I opened my eyes and found my discarded pajamas, then stripped off my shirt. A sudden creaking sound set my teeth on edge. I heard the back door open. Clutching my shirt to my chest, I didn’t move. I listened.

I heard some loud, intentional throat-clearing carry from the empty downstairs.

I’d been so confident that Van was occupied that I’d even changed out of my clothes. Quickly, I reached for an old sweatshirt to cover up, hurriedly putting it on and struggling with an inside-out sleeve as I walked to the top of the stairs to meet Van. What could he possibly have to say? He needed to get back to his girlfriend.

“Wilson!” The shocked surprise in my voice shattered the quiet.

“Is it okay that I came in? Van comes in through the downstairs door, right?”

I realized my hand was clutching a handful of the front of my tattered gray sweatshirt. “Oh my god. You gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

There was an awkward moment of silence. Wilson stood tentatively at the bottom of the stairs while I stood at the top.

“Can I come up?” Wilson asked. It was like déjà vu from one of my initial conversations with Van two weeks ago.

Did he like me? For a millisecond I tried it on—hooking up with Wilson. Would that same illegal feeling, that Johnny Cash/June Carter ring-of-fire feeling I had about Van ever apply to Wilson?

No.

But I was seeing him in a new light. He was hot; you couldn’t argue with that. His body was perfect in that skinny, ectomorph, every-muscle-defined way. Wilson looked like he’d had dinner out with his parents earlier. He still wore a preppy dress shirt but he had changed into long soccer shorts. And the dress shirt was open one button too low. Whether that was intentional or not, I wasn’t sure, but it added to his lazy-rich-boy-who-smoked-too-much-weed vibe.

Yet there was a tinge of sweetness in how he was battling shyness at the moment. Clasping his hands behind his back, Wilson looked both nervous and intent, waiting on my answer.

What would Van think if something happened between Wilson and me? Hypothetically, it was interesting to play out.

“Ingrid?”

I was saved by the sound of the back door opening again, presumably Max coming to fetch Wilson.

“Hey!” Van appeared in the shadows behind Wilson. Van looked to me and then back to Wilson. “What are you doing here?” Van asked Wilson point-blank, an irritated note in his voice.

“I wanted to talk to Ingrid about something,” Wilson responded in a None of your business tone. Then, “Where’s your girlfriend?” Wilson asked pointedly, wanting Van to leave.

Van had been put on the spot and he didn’t answer right away, only making me more curious about how he was going to explain his presence.

“I walked her home,” Van finally said.

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