and she hasn’t slept well.” She’s woken up with a nightmare nearly every night. Not as bad as the first night, but she still wakes in tears.
“Will you swim with me tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Because that will make her feel better, but it’s the last thing I want to do as I need space.
Lucy’s dripping from head to toe so I wrap her like a burrito, then because it makes her laugh, I toss her over my shoulder. Friends shout good-byes as I go into the house, and Mom and Hannah, the moment they see me, stop their intense conversation that included lots of giggles.
“Yes?” Mom asks like I’m a pest.
“We should leave. Lucy’s tired.”
“Lucy, do you want to go home?”
I readjust Lucy so she’s on my hip. Her thin arms wrap around my neck, and she nods as she places her head on my shoulder.
Mom sighs as if annoyed, but then Hannah reaches over and pats Mom’s hand. “Let them go. I’ll take you home later or you can sleep over in my guest room.” Hannah winks at Mom. “We have to finish our medication so we can make it through the week.”
They cackle as if that was the best private joke in the world. About to tell them to go to hell, I snatch my backpack off the floor, spin on my toes and go for the bathroom in the hallway.
“Don’t be like that,” Mom calls out. “Come back and at least stay for a hamburger.”
“Yeah, come on, Sawyer, stay,” Hannah joins Mom in a singsong voice, and I feel like the butt of too many jokes. There’s whispers then more laughter.
I hand Lucy her nightgown to change into, nudge her into the bathroom, and wait for what seems like a lifetime for her to change. She eventually emerges with her wet bathing suit in her fingers, her dry clothes on her body, and her arms held up to me in an unspoken plea.
She’s getting too big for this, but she’s my little sister and she’s tired. I swing her up on my hip and she nuzzles into me as we head for the front door.
“God, he’s been so moody,” Mom says as I step out into the night and away from her.
VERONICA
What a crappy day, and my English teacher’s response to my email isn’t making it better:
Veronica,
I’m sorry you’re having a difficult time finding a group to work with, but I am adamant about you being a part of one. I understand you have a topic that you’re passionate about, but maybe once you do join a group you could persuade them to switch to your topic.
If you don’t have a group by Monday, I will assign you to one.
I hate my life.
It’s nearing midnight, and I’m sitting on the steps of the front porch. I put down my cell and take my first drag off my lit cigarette. It’s a nasty habit. One people like to tell me will kill me, but their words of wisdom make me chuckle. I’m going to die regardless.
I don’t do it often—rarely really. As in close to never. Only when life has become a bit too much, Dad is gone and loneliness has gotten the better of me. The cigarettes are easy to find. Dad used to smoke like a chimney then quit when Mom was first diagnosed, but he still has one or two when he plays poker with friends.
To be honest, I think that’s why I smoke them. At least just light them and then have one or two drags. I don’t like it enough to actually smoke the entire thing. The smell makes me think of Dad, and right now—I want my father. Really, I would love to hug my mom and have a good cry, but she’s not around tonight. Today flat-out sucked and the loneliness hurts.
Yes, I’m having a pity party, for once. Tomorrow, I’ll pick myself back up, dust off the nastiness and start all over again.
I look at the glowing cigarette then sigh heavily. This isn’t making me feel better. Nothing will, and smoking only creates guilt and will cause a headache later. I grind it out on the sidewalk then smash the rest out with my boot.
Our street is dark, quiet. The moon creating a silver sheen over the old houses. Down the block, a car turns in my direction. It slows as it approaches, then parks. That’s Sawyer’s car, and in the backseat is the silhouette of a child in a car seat.