by Jenn Bishop
“He’s in rehab—Austin, I mean.” There it is. It’s out. I can almost feel something inside me lift, like my whole body is lighter from having said it out loud.
Licking tortilla chip dust off my fingers, I stare out into the distance. That’s what we came up here to do, right? Watch the storm roll in.
Far off to the west, dark clouds have gathered. The patch of sky below them is the darkest blue-gray. Before coming here, I’d never seen a rainstorm that way. How the rain filled the sky, from the clouds all the way down to the earth.
It’s not just an expression. You can literally see it coming from miles away.
The only way you could miss it is if you were looking the other way entirely.
And I was. I had been, back at home. I’d been so busy falling in with Kennedy and Lucy that I hadn’t realized what was going on with my own brother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Before Tyler has a chance to reply, Delia’s car pulls into the driveway. Is she going to be mad we’re up on the roof? Mom and Dad would be, but Delia’s different.
Sadie steps out first, scrunching her nose as she stares up at us. “What the heck are you doing on the roof?”
Tyler answers first. “Watching the storm. You want to join us?”
“I think I’ll pass, but you two have fun up there.”
Delia squints at us. “Enjoying the change in perspective?”
“You bet, Mrs. Sadowski.”
When she follows Sadie inside, Tyler turns to me. “I’m sorry about your brother. Is that why you came here? To get away?”
I can’t tell him the truth: how it is and it isn’t. How getting away also makes things easier for me. How two weeks from now I was supposed to start that camp in Providence, with my two new best friends who now aren’t.
If I told him the whole truth, he wouldn’t want to hang out with me. And then I’d have no one again. So instead I say, “Yeah,” and leave it at that.
* * *
Eventually the storm draws so close that we have no choice but to come down off the roof and head inside. I’m still stuffed from the chips and salsa, but Tyler’s hungry, so we make PB&J sandwiches and take them down to the den.
There’s a huge table that Delia uses for quilting, but right now it’s empty, so we take it over, dumping out all the stuff from Goodwill. It’s just a start. But spreading it out helps me imagine things in new combinations. See what’s missing and what could be.
I flip open one of the magazines and skim through the pictures, cutting pages out now and then when something catches my eye. A sunset. A cool shot of a bird slicing over the water. The most vivid blue butterflies I’ve ever seen. None of them are quite right for my Becca box, but maybe they’ll work for another one. Maybe something will come together that’s perfect for the art contest.
Tyler thumps the table with a stack of books from his backpack and starts reading the first one. It’s thick—at least twice as long as my buffalo book. Hey, maybe that’s what another shadow box could be about. Bison! I pop over to my room for the buffalo book.
Soon I’m jotting down notes about bison in my sketchbook, not knowing where it’ll take me, but jazzed about the possibilities. Bison may look enormous, but it turns out those guys can run. Up to thirty-five miles per hour in short bursts. Way, way faster than my mom. Maybe even faster than Austin when he used to sprint.
Not only can they move fast, but they can turn quickly while running, like if they need to dodge something. They’ve got excellent hearing and a keen sense of smell, but they can’t see very well for a distance. Like Dumbledore, their body language gives off signs about their mood. A relaxed tail means they’re chill. A stiff horizontal tail means they’re excited. And a tail pointing straight up means watch out. That buffalo is angry and might charge you.
I write it all down, not just because it could help with a shadow box, but so I’ll remember in case we make it out to Yellowstone later this summer.
“I give up,” Tyler says, setting that thick book down on the table. “There are way too many characters to keep track.”
“What’s the book?” He holds it up to show me. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. “Isn’t that an adult book?”
“Yeah. And it’s Russian, so everyone’s name has a bajillion syllables. But I like how it starts.” He flips it open to read aloud. “ ‘All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’ I know that Tolstoy guy is dead and lived in Russia like a hundred years ago or something, but he totally gets it.”
My mind flashes to a few hours ago on the roof—what I told Tyler about Austin. Does he think my family is unhappy?
Are we?
This feels like my chance to ask about why he doesn’t live with his parents. “Your mom and dad…” I start to say, but I don’t know how to finish. I can’t say, are they dead? “Do you… still see them?”
Tyler fiddles with the cover of the book like he’s trying to figure out how much to say.
“I don’t even know who my dad is,” he says. “And my mom… well, I could see her. I’m not going to, but I could.” His eyes flash up at me before returning to focus on his book. He clears his throat. “You’re probably going to find out anyway, so I might as well tell you.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, though I don’t know what he’s talking about. Something Delia would know? Sadie?
“Today was so nice. Too nice.” He stands up, gathering his stuff together. “I guess I should’ve known it would end.”
“Tyler, stop. What are you talking about?”
He zips his backpack up quickly and heads for the door.
“Tyler, wait!” The chair falls to the floor behind me as I jump up from where I’ve been sitting. He’s surprisingly fast, up the stairs and out the front door before I catch up with him.
“Don’t leave,” I say, breathless. You’re my only friend here. “I get it. I do. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Not with me.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head at me. “You don’t get it. You have no idea what it’s like being known as the kid whose mom has a drug problem that landed her in prison. Having the whole thing play out in the news so everyone at the school knows. Everyone.”
Prison? A drug problem?
“Tyler, it’s okay. I don’t care.”
“Look, you say that and I know you think you mean it and that it helps… but it doesn’t. I can already see you trying to figure the rest out. You do, you want to know. Everyone wants to know. That’s all you see now when you look at me.”
I hate that he’s a little bit right, but I know deep down he’s also wrong. There have to be plenty of people who see Tyler for who he is and not just whatever happened with his mom. “Don’t go. Please, Ty. I won’t say that I know what it’s like because I don’t, but—look, I don’t need to know any more. Whatever you want to talk about or don’t, that’s fine. Our unhappy families are different. You were right. Tolstoy was right. I guess Russians do know something besides how to rig the Olympics.”
Tyler cracks a smile there. If there’s one thing I learned from Kennedy, it’s that Russian figure-skating judges are not to be trusted.
“So can you come back inside?” I say. “We could watch something. Gilmore Girls?”
He takes a few steps toward me. “You’ve really never seen it?”
“Not even one episode. You can introduce me to it.”
“Where you lead, I will follow.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll understand in a few minutes. You’re going to love it, Em. You’re a good friend, you know?”
At some point I’ll have to tell him what really happened back home. I can’t let this feeling keep gnawing away at me. But for right now I just need to hear it. Like if I hear it enough, maybe it can be true again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
For the next few weeks, like clockwork, Tyler arrives at Delia’s house every weekday morning while I’m eating my breakfast. So
me days we have a plan for what we’re going to do—like check out Goodwill to see if anything new and weird came in, or go to the library for a teen program (okay, mostly for the free pizza and so Tyler can get more books), or hang out at the town pool so we can spy on (I mean, maybe see) this boy Tyler has a crush on.
On the days when it’s too hot to bike anywhere, we crank up the AC in Delia’s basement and slowly devour a bag of Oreos while working on an art project and reading and binge-watching Gilmore Girls.
We both think Rory has the worst taste in guys and that Lane’s boyfriend Dave Rygalski is clearly the best boyfriend on the show. He read the whole entire Bible for her! Now, that’s commitment. (Tyler skipped ahead to show me that episode—we’re only on season two right now.)
I don’t ask Tyler more about his mom, and he doesn’t offer up any details, and that’s okay. Really.
* * *
On my third Saturday in Wyoming, I’m down in the basement sketching possible interiors for my Becca box when Delia sets a small white envelope on the table beside me. “Something came for you in the mail today.”
There’s no return address on the envelope, and for a second my heart starts palpitating like crazy. Could it be from Becca? But then I notice it’s postmarked Hyannis, Massachusetts. It’s from Austin!
I open it carefully, as if what’s inside is somehow delicate. A single lined sheet of paper, folded into thirds.
Hey Emma,
Thanks for sending me that postcard. I don’t really get much mail here. You can tell not a lot happens when people get all jazzed about mail. Just like you! You always got a little too excited about the mail.
Anyway. Sounds like you’re having fun in Wyoming, so that’s cool. And it’s nice to know they’re taking you on trips with them. Camping? For real? Aren’t you still afraid of the dark and moths? Remember that one time we went camping and you were too afraid to get up and pee in the night and you wet the bed—er, sleeping bag—and Mom thought that human pee actually lured bears so she made us throw out the sleeping bag and you had to share mine?
Yeah. That’s why we O’Malleys don’t do camping. Haha.
Still, Wyoming sounds cool. Especially the buffalo. I know you said you can’t pet them or you might get gored, but, I don’t know, seems like kind of an exciting way to go.
I’m kidding. Don’t get gored by a buffalo, Emma.
Take lots of pictures so you can show me all your adventures. I won’t be here that much longer. Really. I found out how much Mom and Dad are paying for this place and I almost died. So this might be your last vacation for a while.
All kidding aside, you asked how I’m doing. I’m doing good, Emma. Ugh. Well! I’m doing well. I want to stay clean. I really do. And I know a lot more now than I did before. I’m never touching that stuff again, I swear.
I’m sorry, Em. I’m so sorry about everything.
Say hi to the buffalo for me.
Love,
Austin
I must read it five times in a row before I finally set it down for a second. Tears well in my eyes. No one’s down here with me—Delia went upstairs right after dropping it off, almost like she knew I’d need a moment alone with it. But for some reason, I can’t let myself cry. I have to be strong, for Austin. I have to be strong, like Austin.
He doesn’t really say much about himself in the letter. But he says he’s doing well. Of course he is. He’s Austin. The old Austin knew all about working hard. It was what he did—in school, at practice, on the football field. He knows how to put in the work.
He’s going to beat this. I know it. He’s got only two more weeks there, and then he’ll come home. He’s going to show everyone—Mom, Dad, and everyone else—that he’s back to normal.
I’m never touching that stuff again, I swear.
It’s a promise. And I believe him.
* * *
Late Sunday morning, I’m on the front porch reading my buffalo book when an unfamiliar beige sedan pulls into our driveway and out comes Tyler, making a beeline for me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “You know it’s Sunday, right?”
“You said you wanted to know when there’s a yard sale, and Grams’s church is having a big one today and I didn’t know until we went to church and saw it and I don’t have your cell number so I thought—”
“Oh my gosh, Tyler. It’s okay.” I laugh. “I’m just surprised, is all. Does this mean I get to finally meet your Grams?”
Tyler nods, and I head inside to let Delia know where I’m going. I don’t know why it makes me nervous a little, the idea of meeting Tyler’s grandmother. Maybe it’s that I still don’t know more about Tyler’s mom. Two weeks of hanging out every weekday and it’s the one subject he doesn’t talk about.
I get it, though. I’ve been open with him about my family and Austin but real quiet about Becca and Kennedy.
Tyler opens the car door for me, all gentlemanlike, which makes me giggle, and then I slide in. The car smells like vanilla. His grandmother’s hair is shoulder-length and gray, and she reaches a hand back for me to squeeze. She’s younger than I imagined, definitely younger than my grandparents. “So nice to finally meet you, Emma. Tyler’s been running my ear off about you these past couple weeks.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Tyler tells me you’re from Massachusetts, huh? I’ve never been out east myself, but I hear it’s lovely.”
“Her town’s like Stars Hollow,” Tyler says.
“Thank goodness he’s got someone else to watch that darn show with.” His grandmother laughs, tapping on the steering wheel for emphasis. “Those Gilmores talk too fast. I couldn’t stand one more minute of them.”
Tyler rolls his eyes, snickering a little. “Grams has a few opinions.”
“A few, eh? Well, I’m just glad Tyler’s found himself a friend for the summer. Lord knows it hasn’t been an easy year for him. He’s a good kid, though, and he deserves it. It’s just too bad you’re not sticking around longer.”
“I’ll be here through most of August,” I say. “We’ve still got a lot of time.”
“I know, I know.”
“Maybe sometime Tyler can come out and visit me.”
“Fly? All the way out to Massachusetts?” Grams flips her sunglasses up and eyes me in the rearview mirror.
“Maybe next summer. Or at Christmas? We’re stuck in Boston for the holidays anyway because of my mom’s store. Might as well make the most of it.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Grams says. Something changes in her voice, and I can’t figure out why. Does she not want Tyler to travel for some reason? Can’t she see that he’s just itching to get out of this town?
I glance over at Tyler, but he’s just looking down at his lap. I’ve clearly overstepped some kind of boundary.
Thankfully, up ahead I can see the massive yard sale in the parking lot of the Presbyterian church. Table after table covered in all kinds of stuff, blankets spread out on the grass. But that I’m in heaven feeling that usually comes over me when I get to shop for shadow boxes is tamped down by the mood in the car.
Grams heads for one of her friends running the refreshments booth while Tyler and I start wandering the sale. Once she’s out of earshot, I ask him, “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” Tyler says. But it’s not the 150 percent enthusiastic “yeah” I’m used to getting.
I know I said I wouldn’t pry, but I don’t think this is about his mom, so I figure it’s okay to give it a shot. “It’s just, a minute ago, in the car with your Grams, it felt like—”
“She can’t afford to fly me to Massachusetts, Em. But she’s too proud to say it.”
My face goes hot, and I feel like an idiot. “I’m sure my parents could pay. My parents always have frequent-flier miles they don’t use and—”
“Em, stop. I’m not some charity case, all right? Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Okay,” I say. It�
�s the first moment we’ve had like this in two weeks, and I hate how it leaves me with this squirminess in my stomach. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but somehow I did.
I decide it’s better to stay quiet than to try to say something to make things better only to have it backfire. I flip through some books, looking for any by Becca’s favorite authors. The other day I thought maybe I could cut out pages from her favorite books and black out most of the words to make a poem, like we did back in fifth grade, but then I remembered the “book murderer” incident.
Book dismembering is probably at least as bad in Becca’s mind, so scratch that.
I’m detangling a necklace that’s gotten stuck in an old brooch when I hear Tyler excitedly calling out my name.
I hurry over to meet him at the next table. It was probably a jewelry box once, its cover made of beveled glass. Teeny-tiny squares and diamonds, angled in just right. It’s beautiful: the kind of thing you inherit, not what you put out at a yard sale.
I flip it over and find a tag saying it’s only five dollars.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, fumbling in my pocket for some cash.
“Sorry about a minute ago,” Tyler says. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset.”
“It’s okay,” I say. There’s a man working this table. When I hand him the five dollars, he offers me a plastic grocery bag and a yellow sticker to slap on the box to show I’ve paid for it.
“It’s not, though,” Tyler says. “You were just being nice. I wish I could come out and visit. I want to go. You know they have an annual Stars Hollow convention in Connecticut, right?”
“Maybe you can. Look, your Grams is right: a lot has happened this year. Maybe she’s afraid of you being far away. Maybe she’s worried she’s going to lose you, too.” As I’m saying that, it hits me. Maybe that’s how Mom and Dad feel right now about Austin. No one wants to send their kid away. They knew they’d have to for college, sure. Earlier this year, before everything went wrong, sometimes I’d catch them getting all wistful about it. They were so certain he’d want to go far.
