Intertwined

Chapter Twelve

The only reason we stopped staring at each other was because the sound of someone turning the lock at the front door, only to turn it back when they realized the door wasn't locked in the first place, broke through our silent conversation.

"Em, honey, who's car is that?" Rosie called from down stairs.

I looked into Lyall's eyes, trying to fien off the stability he'd already found. Could I hold it together in front of Rosie? And even though it was a small, unimportant worry to have in the face of this discovery, Would she be mad that I had a boy in her house, all alone?

Lyall followed me out of my room, I did a quick glance over my shoulder to see what he was wearing. I never paid attention to that, but if he were to be in something too revealing that would dampen my odds of getting out of this conversation unscathed. He wasn't. It was his classic, a black tee with jeans, a hoodie hung over his shoulders. In a strange turn of emotion, even with the conservative outfit, I'd thought he couldn't look any more revealing.

"Mom!" I choked, jumping down the last few steps.

"Hi, Em... and Lyall," she scrutinized me and then him, "What were you two boys doing up there?"

"Nothing, just looking at some of my artwork," I said too quickly.

"Mhm," Rosie sounded, her arms across her chest and eyebrows raised.

"Oh, my god, mom, I'm being serious, we were just looking at my old stuff. I swear we didn't do anything." I pleaded, trying to get in her good graces for a reason I couldn't understand.

"If that's the case, why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" she asked. I winced at the truthfulness.

"That's my fault, Ms..." Lyall started.

"Mrs. Renege," she said, clipped.

"Yes, Mrs. Renege, we were talking about the math exam he'd forgotten to study for. He'd been trying to cram, and then..."

"And then I forgot that you were going to be home and I didn't really know if you'd allow boys in the house, and I got flustered, but I promise we weren't up to anything bad." No not bad, just debating the odds of my ability to connect with the dead. Just encroaching on the missing cases of the townsfolk. No big deal.

Her eyes squinted for a moment before relaxing, "Alright, well, I don't have an issue with it, as long as you promise." I shook my head fervently. "Now, I'm gonna shower then start on dinner before Mason gets home. Lyall, I'm expecting to put out another plate?"

"Oh, no, he has–"

"Yes, ma'am." Lyall said, cutting me off.

"Alright, you two can head back up stairs, and I'll call you when food is on the table." she waited for a second before saying, "Keep the door open."

I was grateful, even after a few seconds of arguing in the privacy of my room, that Lyall agreed to stay over for dinner. I couldn't be sure that I'd be able to hold myself in one piece when he left. Embarrassment worked wonders to keep my head in the present. I wasn't worrying about the missing people or my innate talent for drawing dead people. I only worried about the equation that involved four people and a dinner table.

Mason came home an hour after Rosie, and as she promised dinner was set out. They'd pulled an extra chair from the garage, another metal one, like mine, for Lyall. Rosie made a simple recipe from an article online, probably pinterest. It was salmon and asparagus, and though I hated both of these items, I ate them dutifully while Lyall stuffed his mouth like he'd never seen food before.

"So, Lyall," Mason said, his mouth semi-full of food, "How long have you been seeing our boy here."

I choked. Out of everything that he could say–