The Distance to Home

by Jenn Bishop

  “I call top bunk!” I yelled downstairs so Haley could hear. We always did dibs for top bunk.

  I ran back downstairs to grab my bag, took it upstairs, and started unpacking. I put the clothes Mom had folded into the bureau drawers and waited for Haley to come up. Finally I heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  “Haley! Did you hear me? I called top bunk.”

  She popped her head in the room. “Yeah? Cool. This time, you can have top bunk and bottom bunk. You can switch each night.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’m going to stay in the nursery.”

  Last year, Aunt Julie and Uncle Dave turned the tiny office at the end of the hall into a nursery for my little cousin, Chloe. “You’re staying in the baby’s room?”

  “Yeah,” Haley said. “They’ve got the daybed in there. That way I won’t keep you up when I’m talking to Zack or my friends.” She sounded so cheery, like this was such a great idea.

  “But you always stay in this room,” I said. “With me.”

  “Quinnen, I’m sixteen. I need my own space.”

  I can give you space, I thought.

  Haley turned and went into her room—her new room—and I threw the rest of my clothes in the bureau. I didn’t care if they were neat and folded anymore. Who was going to see them, except for me? I had the room to myself.

  I turned on the little night-light, climbed up to the top bunk, and crawled under the covers. There was a little ledge up here, where I used to put a cool rock or an action figure whenever I had beaten Haley to calling top bunk. Haley always put a book on it when she stayed up here. The springs creaked as I turned over onto my side.

  Haley was already on the phone in her room. The walls were so thin I could hear everything she said. “It’s okay that you say it. Really, I…” She laughed. It was a new laugh. Her Zack laugh. “Okay. It’s late. I…I love you, too.”

  I rubbed the sheet in between my fingers and closed my eyes.

  I didn’t know who my sister was anymore.

  I look down at my watch. Hector’s taken at least two seconds longer between the last couple pitches. He’s slowing down. He’s thinking too hard.

  “Come on! Strike ’em out,” the man in front of me yells.

  “You got him, Hector!” Casey screams.

  “Mofongo!”

  “Ma-what?” Casey looks at me like I have ten heads and none of them is wearing a Bandits cap.

  “It’s Spanish,” I say. “It’s like a good-luck thing, for Hector.”

  “Can I say it, too?”

  I think about our pact. Hector didn’t make me pinky-swear I wouldn’t tell Casey. But still. It’s our thing. I shake my head. “No. He just wanted me to say it. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Just you, huh?” Casey says. He turns back to face the game.

  The batter swings and misses. Hector’s struck him out. His second strikeout this inning. It’s working! Dad would say I nipped it in the bud. Well, if I told him. He and Mom think I’ve been tagging along with Brandon when he goes to the park. “Yeah, Hector!”

  Everyone is clapping and cheering, except for Casey, who’s looking at his phone. He never takes his phone out during the game. He knows it drives me crazy.

  “Aren’t you going to cheer for Hector?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” he says. “In a minute.”

  Whatever, Case. I catch Hector’s eye as he heads back into the dugout, and he waves at me.

  “He waved at me. Casey, you missed it. He waved!”

  Casey groans.

  —

  After the game, Mrs. Sanders takes me and Casey to the new Mexican restaurant in town. She’s all jazzed about their special gluten-free menu. She drops me off at my house afterward. “Thanks for the ride and the burrito!” I tell her as I hop out of the van. I still can’t believe that Hector won tonight. He pitched like a pro. Maybe even better than Brandon.

  When I walk inside the house, Mom, Dad, and Brandon are all in the living room.

  So are Brandon’s bags. All four of them.

  “Isn’t the road trip next week?” I ask. But I already know it is. I wrote it on my calendar.

  “Brandon’s got some exciting news.” Dad is smiling, but it’s so wide and toothy it looks like he’s pretending. “Tell her!”

  “The manager called me into his office after the game,” Brandon says. “They need me up at Double-A. We’re about to head over to O’Hare to see if I can catch the last flight of the day.” He keeps nodding as he says each word, like he can’t believe it’s real.

  “But…” I finish the rest in my head: I was finally starting to like you. “That’s…” The right word doesn’t come immediately. “…awesome.” I look at Brandon, then at Mom and Dad.

  “It’s all happening kind of fast, isn’t it?” Mom says. “We were just getting used to having you around. We’re sure going to miss you.” Her eyes are tearing up, even though she never seemed super-attached to Brandon.

  “Can I come with you to the airport?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Dad says. “Come on, let’s load ’em up!”

  Brandon grabs two of his bags, Dad takes another, and I take the last one out to the truck. Brandon doesn’t say a word this time about me not being strong enough. He knows I am. Dad pulls the cover over them once they’re all in there, and we get in the cab.

  “When are you going to pitch?” I ask Brandon as Dad backs the truck out of the driveway.

  “Tomorrow. Can you believe it? I’m so stoked. Some of the guys I’ll be pitching to have played in the majors. Did you know that? All that stands between me and the majors now is Triple-A.”

  “Why did they pick you?”

  “Well, I’ve got the goods, for one. But really, they know I can handle it at this level. I’ve made five starts and shut ’em down every time. They said they want to see what I can do at Double-A.”

  I nod.

  “Oh, and the guy who was supposed to pitch tomorrow tore something in his shoulder, and they needed someone who had had enough rest.”

  “So it’s you.”

  “It’s me!” Brandon takes his buzzing cell phone out of his pocket. I can only imagine how many texts he’s going to get over the next couple hours. “Oh, shoot! I still need to call Amy. And try my parents again.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Dad says. “You make all the calls you need. We won’t be at O’Hare for at least an hour.”

  While Brandon’s on the phone, Dad and I don’t talk. We don’t need to. Brandon is doing enough talking for all three of us. Maybe more. I know I’m not supposed to listen to other people’s phone calls—that it’s rude—but what else am I supposed to do? Look out the window? Play the license-plate game? It’s late at night, and the roads really aren’t that busy.

  When Brandon calls Amy, he sounds excited about being just a state away from her. And when he calls his mom, she’s flipping out so much I can hear almost every word she’s saying. A whole lot of “Oh my goodnesses.” I hope she can handle herself when Brandon makes the big leagues. Otherwise, she’s going to be one of those parents who can’t even sit in the stadium, the kind who have to be outside, pacing back and forth. Brandon’s dad comes onto the phone, and now Brandon sounds like he’s got something caught in his throat. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was going to cry.

  “Arizona,” he says. “Yeah, Pop. Just like in spring training.”

  I glance at Brandon. He’s not crying, but he might have something in his eye.

  “Can’t wait to see you, too. Love you. Bye.” He puts his phone down on his lap. “My parents are booking flights right now. They’re gonna be at my game tomorrow.”

  “I bet they’re so proud of you,” Dad says.

  “They’re excited,” Brandon says. He can’t stop drumming his hands on the door. It would have driven me crazy earlier this summer, but now I don’t mind it so much.

  For the rest of the ride, the three of us talk about how we think the Bandits are
going to do against their next opponent and which Bandit will end up with the highest batting average and the most home runs.

  As Dad takes the exit for the airport, I have this weird feeling in my stomach. It’s not butterflies and it’s not a stomachache from the burrito. I think people call it déjà vu, except I don’t totally know what that means. Still, I’m almost sure that’s what it is.

  Dad pulls up by the sign for United and puts the truck into park. Brandon hops out. Even though I’m in the middle seat and I’m not leaving, I hop out, too. Dad gets Brandon’s bags out of the back for him.

  “Hey, Mr. D?”

  “Yeah,” Dad says, putting the last duffel bag down.

  “Thanks for letting me stay with you guys. It was nice having a place to come home to every night that felt like home.”

  “Anytime,” Dad says. “I’m glad we could help.”

  Brandon crouches down so he’s at my level. I brush a piece of hair out of my face so I can look him in the eye.

  “I’m gonna miss you, squirt,” he says.

  “Me too.” I swallow hard. “I don’t know what the Bandits are gonna do without you.”

  “They’ll be fine,” he says. “You keep an eye on Hector for me. I think it helped him out a lot—you being there for him at the game today. He’s an ace. You know that, right?”

  I nod. And then I don’t know what I’m doing because my arms are wrapped around Brandon and he’s hugging me back, tight, and lifting me off the ground.

  “Well, I’d better get going. If there’s one flight I can’t miss,” Brandon says, “this is it.”

  “Have a safe trip,” Dad says. “Text me to let us know you got in all right.”

  We both get back in the truck before the airport policewoman gets mad at us for double-parking. Even after I watch Brandon walk through the sliding glass doors and I can’t see him anymore, I keep glancing back at the airport. I stare at the terminal in the side mirror until we’re too far away and it hurts my neck to do it, and then I close my eyes.

  When I open them, we’re on the highway. I look up at the sky. We’re too close to the city to see the stars. The sky’s all orange and yellow and brown. Those aren’t sky colors. But as we get closer to home, the sky turns back into that deep shade of blue, and the stars come into view.

  “Is someone else going to stay with us, now that Brandon’s gone?” I ask Dad.

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He clears his throat. “We’ll see.”

  I hate that answer. It’s just a grown-up way of saying no.

  —

  It’s after midnight by the time we get home, and all I can hear are the crickets and the sound of a train whistle in the distance.

  “Hey, kiddo?” Dad finally speaking startles me as we make our way to the front door, the moon lighting the way. “Your mom and I would really like to come to a Bandits game with you. For all of us to go together as a family. How about next week, when Casey’s on vacation?”

  “The Bandits are on the road. But they’ll be back for the weekend.”

  “How about Saturday, then?”

  “I guess.” I wish I could tell him that it’s not the same. We can’t do anything “as a family” anymore. It’s not possible. One of us is missing.

  I head upstairs while Dad goes into the kitchen.

  The door to the room Brandon was staying in is open. I peek inside. Mom has already changed the sheets and made up the bed for guests. There are vacuum marks on the carpet.

  It’s like he was never here.

  I go into my room. At least it always looks like someone lives here. I’m glad Mom hasn’t brought her cleaning operation into my bedroom. I change into my pajamas and toss my clothes into the right piles on the floor, but then I notice something out of the corner of my eye.

  Two brand-new baseballs on my bookshelf. And a note underneath.

  I hop over the piles to get to them.

  Something is scribbled on each ball, exactly the same. I think I can make out a B.

  I open the note, written on the back of the scratch paper we keep by the computer.

  Quinnen,

  You didn’t think I would forget, did you? I know you need a memento of the time you lived with a baseball player before he was crazy famous and his signature went for thousands on eBay. One’s for you, the other for Casey.

  Casey told me you used to be a really good pitcher. You know, there’s this Japanese knuckleball pitcher who plays pro ball—a girl. I saw her pitch once when she was playing for a team in California. She’s tiny—I bet you’ll end up taller—but, man, can she throw.

  Don’t give up too early.

  Just saying.

  Anyway, you better come watch me when I make it to the majors. I’ll leave tickets for you and your parents. Maybe even Casey, if he’s lucky.

  Bandits forever!

  Love,

  Brandon #34

  I hold one of the balls in my hand and look closely at the signature. Brandon Williams. I have an official baseball signed by Brandon Williams. I take it into bed with me, placing it on my left side as I lie down and flip through the new Sports Illustrated for Kids that came in the mail. I hear Dad come up the stairs, brush his teeth, and head down the hall to his and Mom’s bedroom.

  And then all I hear is silence. I don’t hear Brandon putting down the toilet seat. He was the loudest of anyone ever, I swear. I don’t hear him trying to talk quietly on the phone to Amy or typing on his laptop. And I don’t hear him playing Xbox with the volume down real low.

  I didn’t think I could ever miss someone who wasn’t Haley. Didn’t think I needed someone in my house who wasn’t my sister.

  But I do.

  I drop my magazine to the floor and walk over to Haley’s room. I close the door gently behind me. Nobody comes in here anymore. Or if they do, they don’t touch anything. Everything is still the way it used to be. The laundry piled on the edge of her unmade bed. All of her books on the bookshelves. The moon casts a glow over her computer; the screen is coated in dust.

  It can’t stay this way forever.

  I turn on the light and try to see her room the way one of those interior decorators from those HGTV shows that Mom always watches would see it. “Looking for the potential.” Haley’s room is almost too big for one person. It’s at least twice as big as the room Brandon stayed in. You could fit twin beds in here easily and still have room for other furniture.

  I turn off the light and head back into my room. Somewhere in my desk mess is a big pad of drawing paper from art class. There must be some sheets left. I toss aside old math assignments, handouts, and magazines until I find it.

  There isn’t enough space on my desk, so I clear a spot on the floor and lie down on my belly. I sketch ways to rearrange Haley’s room using furniture from the guest room, just like an interior decorator, and then I color it in with some markers.

  I draw and draw and draw, not even thinking about how late it is or that I’m supposed to be sleeping. At least it’s not quiet anymore. The markers squeak on the page, but in my head there are other sounds. Guys laughing as they come in from a game in their grass-stained uniforms. ESPN on all the time. We could fit three baseball players here each summer, between Haley’s old room and the guest bedroom. I’m sure of it.

  When I finish, I sit up and look at my drawing. I’m not as good a student as Haley was, but I usually get an A in art.

  But now all those sounds are gone and all I can hear are the crickets and the clock in the hallway, and it seems like the thing that I thought would fix everything is actually doing something else. It feels like I just took a big eraser to my sister. To everything that was left of her.

  I crumple up the paper and throw it toward the trash can. It misses, and I leave it there.

  I grab the ball from Brandon and go into Haley’s room. The clock on her nightstand is still blinking from when we lost power in the winter. Nobody came in and reset it. I turn the clock so it faces the wall. I cra
wl under the covers, even though they don’t smell like Haley anymore, and this time I don’t tell myself that I can’t do it. I tell myself, It’s okay, Quinnen. It’s okay.

  And out loud I tell Haley’s pillow, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Quin-nen…” The voice came out in a singsong.

  Someone flipped up the shade, and sunlight streamed into the bedroom. It was our third day in the Adirondacks.

  “Dad?” I glanced at the travel alarm clock I’d put on the ledge by the top bunk. “It’s seven o’clock. That’s too early for summer.”

  “Too early? It’s never too early for an adventure.”

  “What adventure?” I asked. I sat up so fast I whacked my head on the ceiling. “Ouch.”

  “How does a hike up Old Black Bear sound?” Dad said as he opened the door to the room where Haley was staying.

  “Like torture,” Haley groaned. “This is supposed to be a vacation.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said, rubbing my head.

  Dad popped his head back into my room. “There are doughnuts for breakfast, and Mom is making some lunches to take to the top. You girls just need to get dressed and brush your teeth, and we’re all set to go.” He headed downstairs.

  Haley stumbled out of her bedroom toward the bathroom.

  “Maybe we’ll see a bear,” I said, loud enough for her to hear. I’d always wanted to see one. Not at the zoo—I’d seen plenty at the zoo—but up close. Well, not too up close. Close enough that I could take a picture of it with the zoom.

  “Yeah,” Haley said. “Maybe it’ll eat me so I won’t have to go on the hike.”

  —

  “Slow down, Quinnbear,” Dad said. “We need to wait for Mom and Haley to catch up.” Dad and I were always the fastest on hikes. Mom and Haley usually dawdled.