The Epidemic Read Free Page B

saving the lollipop.
    Deacon should be here, I think miserably as I crumple a candy wrapper in my hand. He should be here with me.
    But he’s not here. I made sure of that.
    I squeeze my eyes shut at the sudden hole in my chest. I didn’t even give Deacon a chance to explain. And now I’ve left him . . . again. What if I was wrong?
    My breath catches on the start of a cry, but I force it down. I bury it. When it’s only a pinprick of agony, I open my eyes and steady my gaze on a flower pot across from the fountain.
    What if I was right? Deacon himself would tell me to play it safe first. So I will. Even if it feels like I’ve ripped out my heart and left it on a bus to Roseburg.
    I glance around at the shops, feeling suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am in public. Several of the stores start to lower their gates, and I take it as my cue to head back outside.
    It’s not dark yet, but the rain has let up. The hazy evening reminds me of the times I’d sit on Deacon’s back porch, watching the sky clear. We would feel small; our problems as closers felt small. And the universe offers me that same small measure of comfort now.
    *  *  *
    I begin to walk, feeling contented by the slow pace of the town. Eugene houses the University of Oregon, but it’s still quiet here. Peaceful. I wouldn’t mind staying for a while, even though I know I can’t.
    It’s when I cross into another neighborhood, still not having found a place to stay, that I remember a detail from when I was on assignment here. The Saunders family used to own a bike shop nearby. It’s past business hours by now, so I don’t have to worry about running into them—traumatizing them. But . . . they used to hide a key. Maybe it’s still there.
    I continue down the road, and when I finally arrive at the store, the sky has dimmed considerably. The lights insidethe bike shop are all off with the exception of a safety light behind the counter. I check that the street is empty, and then I round the brick building toward the back door.
    There’s a rock in the garden trim that used to mark a hidden key, and I pick it up and dig into the mulch below. But the key is no longer there. I spend a few more minutes searching obvious areas but eventually resign myself to the fact that the family doesn’t leave the key to their business hidden in the back parking lot anymore.
    It’s been years since I’ve been here, and it’s entirely possible that the Saunders family no longer owns the business. But from what I remember, they were dedicated. The shop had been started by Mr. Saunders’s father, passed down through the family. I don’t think they’d walk away from that.
    Frustrated, I set my dirty hands on my hips and look up at the overhead streetlamps illuminating the empty back lot. I only wanted a few hours of sleep; my head is foggy. My heart is broken. I’m completely overwhelmed, and I can’t hold back the wave of sadness that rushes over me. I’ve lost everything.
    I slide down the locked door until I’m sitting on the ground, knees bent. I lower my head into my hands, about ready to fall apart completely. I’m worn down, but not like when I broke with reality the other day. This exhaustion is something different. Like a struggle to figure out how all my problems fit together, only I’m missing a piece.
    I’ve felt this way before. It was about six months ago, anight I’d nearly forgotten about. I was at Aaron’s apartment, sitting on the couch with Deacon. We’d been broken up for nearly two months, and we were just starting to figure out what it meant to be forever friends with no other benefits.
    “Come on, Quinn,” Deacon said from the other end of the couch while flashing that devastating smile. “Turn your frown upside down before I come over there and cheer you up.”
    “I love that you think moving closer would make me happier,” I told him.
    “Sassy,” he murmured, making me laugh.
    Aaron was playing a video game while Myra