“You too,” I say.
“Congrats on your speech. It was really good,” she says, looping her arm through Charlie’s and looking up at him adoringly. “I wonder who’ll be valedictorian next year for your class, babe? I bet half the people in this room will come back to see you graduate. You know I’ll be there.”
Right then, like they’ve practiced it, two of Charlie’s baseball teammates, Steven Reiss and Jake Nolan, call out “McCullough!” in tandem.
A shadow flits across Charlie’s face before he puts on a grin, clasping each of their hands and pulling them into one-armed guy hugs, complete with claps on the back.
They each hug Erin and me too, before turning back to Charlie.
“It’s good to see you on your two feet, man,” Jake says.
“Yeah, we’ve been worried,” Steven adds, brow furrowing, voice serious. “How’re you feeling?”
Charlie frowns at them before shooting Erin and me an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Jesus, you leave a baseball team for one season and everyone turns into total puss—”
Erin elbows him sharply.
Jake flinches at Charlie’s tone, and Steven shifts uncomfortably.
“They’re just being nice,” Erin mutters under her breath.
Charlie shakes his head, dismissing her. “They know I’m just effing with them, right, guys?”
“Yeah,” Steven says, nodding, like he’s willing himself to agree. Jake offers a weak smile Erin’s way.
“Congrats on Florida State, man,” Charlie says to Steven. “And LSU?” he asks Jake.
“Yeah,” Jake says. “Listen, we should probably . . . ,” he starts, hiking his thumb over his shoulder toward the crowd.
“Maybe we’ll see you at Chris’s house later?” Erin says.
“Sure, yeah,” Steven says. “Good to see you guys. And nice speech, Parker.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I watch them leave as Erin turns to Charlie. “Babe, you feeling okay?”
“Never been better,” Charlie says, wincing out a smile, and even I can tell it’s a stretch. But before she notices his expression, Erin’s attention is caught by someone behind us, and she stands on her toes, waving enthusiastically, then grinning as Mr. Franklin, the school’s baseball coach, lopes over, grabs my brother in a big bear hug, and lands two hearty claps on his back. “Charlie McCullough, it is really dang good to see you out in the world again.”
Mr. Franklin has been Charlie’s baseball coach since seventh grade, moving over to coach high school the same year we started as freshmen, and taking the team, with Charlie as the star pitcher, to first place in the state championship last year.
Last September, I’m pretty sure Charlie’s cancer returning was as much of a blow to Mr. Franklin as to my parents. After Charlie went back in the hospital and the decision was made to hold him back a year, my parents went to tell Mr. Franklin in person. When they got home that night, I could tell they’d both been crying again.
“How are you feeling, son? Any word on whether we’ll see you back on the team next year?”
“So far, so good,” Charlie says, which isn’t an answer, but Mr. Franklin visibly relaxes, patting Charlie on the back again.
“Good to hear. Good to hear. Looking forward to state championship number two with you on our team.”
Erin flips her hair. “Coach Franklin, I was just telling Charlie and Parker that I bet most of these people will be back to see Charlie graduate next year.”
“You bet,” Mr. Franklin says.
So quickly I almost miss it, Charlie’s mouth twists in a brief grimace before he projects a reassuring smile at Erin and his coach. “Thanks.”
“Well, looking forward to talking more, Charlie,” Mr. Franklin says. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
As Mr. Franklin leaves, I turn back to my brother. “Dad’s angsting about missing our dinner reservation because of parking lot traffic. You about ready?”
Charlie shakes his head, making that regretful clicking noise with his tongue on his teeth. “No can do. We’re headed to a party at Chris Wilder’s house.”
“Wait, what?”
“I told you. We’re going to a party.”
“You’re not going to dinner with us?” I ask, my words slower to catch up to the disappointment making its way through me.
“Nope.”
“But I thought you were coming out with us.”
“Jesus, Parker. No already!”
I stare at him. I know Charlie and I aren’t exactly close, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to watch everyone graduate without him, but still, I never thought he wouldn’t be part of this night.
I never imagined he wouldn’t spend it with our family.
(I never imagined he wouldn’t spend it with me.)
I straighten, try to push my heart back on the inside. “Did you tell Mom you’re not coming?”
“No, but she didn’t tell me about dinner, soooo . . .” He shrugs, looking to Erin for backup, but she shifts uncomfortably and focuses on rummaging through her purse.
“She probably just assumed you’d know we’re having family dinner because it’s graduation? A major night for us?” I search his face for some inkling he understands.
“You know what they say about assuming. Besides, it’s not exactly a major night for me.”
“Listen, Mom really wanted us to all be together. I think she’s going to be bummed you’re not coming. Will you please just come? You can go to the party after.”
Charlie’s face tightens, and I’m struck again by how much he looks like a stranger. “Parker, listen: I. Don’t. Want. To. Go. To. Dinner. Okay?” He deliberately enunciates each word.
I cringe at the sharpness in his voice, blinking hard and trying not to cry, because I cry too much and I don’t want Charlie to see me like that. But inside, the pressure is coming at me from everywhere, tightening my ribs, flattening my breath, squeezing my heart.
I can tell by the irritation that crosses Charlie’s face that he knows I’m upset, but he doesn’t care.
“Come on, Erin. Let’s go.”
Erin shoots me a regretful smile, but Charlie leaves without looking back.
I stand there, wishing I could tell him that it’s not just Mom who will miss him tonight. That even though I see him every day, I’ve been missing my brother for years.
Four
THE MORNING AFTER GRADUATION, I wake up with a knot knitted behind my ribs like a clenched fist.
My clock says I still have another fifteen minutes to sleep, but my whole body is already awake, alert—my mind clear like a trumpet call: Today is the day today is the day today is the day.
I suck in my breath sharply, and for a second I wish I were sleeping in or going to babysit like I did last summer or getting ready to leave the country with Em.
But enough of that: I need to decide what to wear for my internship orientation.
Thirty minutes later, I’m headed downstairs, freshly showered and wearing navy capris, a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, and my navy-blue ballet flats, with a red striped cardigan slung over my arm. It feels like the right outfit—not too frivolous, not too flashy.
I’m ready.
When I reach the kitchen, Charlie’s resting his forehead in his hands, a giant bowl of Cheerios sitting untouched in front of him.
I grab a bowl, a spoon, and the cereal box, which feels suspiciously light. My suspicions are confirmed when about eight Cheerios plink sadly into my bowl.
“Ugh.”
Charlie raises his head, wincing.
“What?” I ask.
“You don’t have to be so loud.”
When I go to the pantry to find something else, all that’s left is a box of HealthWheat, the disgusting health food cereal Mom wants Charlie to eat because she read about it in a cancer-free book.
“Charlie,” I say, holding the box up and shaking it at him.
“I’m not eating that stuff today,” he replies, slowly straightening, then jamming a spoonful of dry cereal in his mouth, talking as he does. “I’ve had it with garden-mulch cereal. No thanks.”
I sigh, sitting down and shaking the HealthWheat into my bowl, the clumps landing with depressing thuds.
Charlie scans my outfit.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
He shakes his head, chewing.