Not to be all stalkery, but I wasn’t sure if you got my last e-mail? If you did and are just too busy, I totally get it. I know I can be a lot sometimes! But if you didn’t, maybe you’re not getting this one either? Hmmm.
Also, I was rereading the note I sent you and realized I had a you’re/your error in there. SORRY! If Finn hadn’t been bugging the crap out of me when I wrote it, I would have caught it. So embarrassed. It’s Finn’s fault.
And again, sorry if I’m too much.
Sincerely yours,
Ruby Collie
My eyes hone in again on “a lot” and “too much,” and something in my heart hurts.
I immediately feel awful that Ruby was waiting for a response from me, that she would think it has anything to do with her, that under all her bright light, she worries.
That part of Ruby doesn’t remind me of Em.
It reminds me of me.
I start a response.
Ruby, hi!
I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you until now. My life has been kind of intense the past few days and my head isn’t in the best place, so I haven’t been on e-mail a ton. I’d still like to hang out sometime, though. I’ll write you when things calm down, okay? And please don’t worry—it’s not you at all. I was really happy to meet you.
xox, Parker
I put aside my laptop and lie down. Mustard pads across the bed to my side, purring immediately and intensely.
He nestles his head against me and gives my hand small rough licks, like he’s grooming me, and I let myself relax for a second.
But before he gets too settled, my e-mail chimes. He gives me a crabby nip as I pick up my laptop again.
It’s a response from Ruby.
Hi, Parker.
Thanks for your note! I’m sorry to hear things are intense lately. I get it. Sometimes being in my own head is a lot for me—maybe that’s what it’s like for you too? I know I don’t know you that well, but if you ever need a friend, I’m here. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Your hopefully future friend Ruby
I lie back, in awe of her kindness. What would it be like to be that open with people you didn’t know?
Happy I’m paying attention to him again, Mustard gives my hand another lick, then butts his head against my palm, reminding me he’s there, and for a brief, lovely second, I don’t feel so alone.
And then I think about Charlie, about what he said to me at the river, about how I told my parents, about the anger in his eyes when he found out.
I scrunch my eyes shut and wait for the forgetfulness of sleep, hoping when I wake up I won’t be a mess anymore.
Sixteen
EVEN THOUGH I’M SITTING directly across from him as he drives down I-71, Charlie hasn’t said more than five words to me since I passed him in the hallway on Sunday morning.
That evening, after my so-long-it-wasn’t-right nap, I emerged from my room briefly for dinner. But Charlie didn’t join us, and based on Dad’s irritable mood and the circles under Mom’s eyes, I didn’t question his absence.
The next day, when we were getting ready to leave for the Schneider and Hall annual Memorial Day picnic, Charlie announced to our parents that he was going to skip it this year.
“No way,” Dad said.
“Come on,” Charlie said. “It’s my last night without tutoring homework on my plate.”
“You think you’ve earned my trust back after twenty-four hours? At this point, I don’t know if you want to stay home so you can try your hand at arson or do multiple lines of cocaine!”
“For God’s sake,” Charlie muttered.
“Phil,” Mom started, but Dad held up his hand.
“I don’t want to go to this picnic either, but we’re all going if it’s the last thing this family does!”
The picnic itself wasn’t much better.
When Dad’s colleagues weren’t asking me about Harvard, they were talking about the humidity. And when they weren’t talking about the humidity, they were talking about how great it was to hear Charlie was in remission.
“It’s been a big relief for all of us,” I said to Dad’s boss when he asked. “I feel like we can all breathe again. Don’t you agree, Charlie?” I asked, smiling, willing him to stop sitting at the edge of the picnic table, sullen, and to join me in the conversation.
He met my eyes evenly. “Actually, I don’t,” he said. “Not at all.”
Six words.
I flinched, giving Dad’s boss an embarrassed smile, while Charlie walked away, leaving me there.
We drive under Finn’s message on I-71.
I shift uncomfortably, feeling a little guilty that Charlie’s in so much trouble, but then I stop. This is all on Charlie, not me.
I turn to him as we pull off the highway onto the exit for the hospital and stop at the light.
“So, is this how it’s going to go? You’re never going to talk to me again?”
I wait, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s like I don’t even exist.
The light turns green, and he guns forward. With the sudden movement, the textbooks stacked on the backseat slide onto the floor.
“Nice,” I mutter, looking over at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road. I should let it go, but I can’t help myself. “You know it was for your own good. That’s why I told them, okay? It’s because I care about you.”
Charlie lets out a low whistle, shaking his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, but he still doesn’t say anything.
I look out the window right as we’re passing the colorful mural on Calhoun. I must have missed it on Friday.
We passed that mural every time we went to Children’s for his treatment the first time he was sick. It was the one thing I looked forward to: seeing the rainbow colors blur by from the backseat of the car.
Seeing it now doesn’t help. I close my eyes, but I can’t stop the bad feelings creeping into me again, my body bracing itself as we turn into the hospital drive. I’ve been so consumed by the drama with Charlie, I forgot I was actually going back to the hospital. And this time I can’t blame it on HealthWheat.
Charlie jerks the car over to the curb so suddenly, my seat belt yanks me back. I open my eyes.
“Geez, Charlie! Watch it!”
He sits there, not moving, the car idling, waiting for me to get out.
“Okay, fine. Don’t talk to me. I don’t care. If that’s what it takes to keep you alive, I’m fine with that.” As I unbuckle the seat belt, I spill my purse, and lean down, trying to grab all the contents.
Charlie scoffs. “Yeah, okay, whatever lets you sleep at night.”
I straighten, shoving my cell phone and sparkly lip balm back in my bag. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? You sold me out, Parker.”
“You were putting yourself in danger! You’ll thank me someday.”
“Thank you for what? The fact that my crap-ass summer has now gotten five billion times worse? That I’m grounded from here until God knows when, or that if Mom and Dad catch the faintest amount of alcohol in my system, they’ll take away my driving privileges and probably send me to rehab? Or maybe I should thank you for the fact that now, in addition to support group, I get to go see a therapist two times a week?”
“No. You should thank me for the fact that you’ll be alive!” I yell.
He tightens his hands on the wheel, sucking in his breath, and when he turns to me, his eyes are so furious, I involuntarily shrink back against the seat.
“You know, the other night, the stuff I said . . .”
Sometimes I wish you were dead too.
“I figured it was probably just because I was drunk, you know? But it’s times like this when I wonder if part of me really meant it.”
As that sinks in, I push the car door open, but my legs aren’t working. I lean over, like I’m going to be sick.
My vision is tunneling in, and I want to fold my body over and over until I’m so small, I don’t exist anymore.
My heart’s in my mouth.
It’s happening again.
But even though my body is clumsy and confused like I have extra limbs, I finally manage to stand, slamming the door behind me.
“Aw, come on, wait. You’re blowing this all out of proportion,” Charlie says. “I’m sorry, okay?”