“I know we weren’t close, Drew. I don’t think you liked me at all. But Keith, he was so deep, like profound, you know? I liked it at first, and then it sort of scared me. I thought he wanted something else. But now I think he just really needed someone to tell. A true friend. And I’ve always wondered if I’d done something, would they still be alive. That’s on me, I know that. But if there’s anything you need, ever, you let me know. Okay?”
If I nod, will that make her feel better? Is that what she wants? I feel like I should be angry and therefore deny her any satisfaction or sense of redemption. But that requires bitterness, and I’m already too full of bitterness. So I reject this interaction and remain neutral. I reserve the right to think about this all at a later time. Just not right now.
“Tell me about your sisters,” I say.
Charlie’s lips purse and she sticks her chest out. Maybe she and I aren’t so different. We’re both reactive. We’re both middle children. We’re both competitive. Born rivals.
“Phoebe’s a senior in high school,” she says. “In Lexington. She’s like a math genius, though. She’s already taking classes at MIT.”
“Good for her.”
“And Anna is at Oxford, a graduate program. She’s studying public policy. Oh, and she’s getting married next summer.” Charlie shifts around in her chair. “She wanted to know how you were. She asks about you a lot.”
I nod. I force nice words out. I do not say what I remember about Anna. What I know. She killed a man that night. She and Ricky. They were drunk and they hit a hitchhiker on a moonlit New Hampshire road after screwing around in the middle of the woods. They stopped and they touched him and they left him in the bushes on the side of the road. Then they burned their clothes and never looked back.
I didn’t put the pieces together at first. I was too young. But when we returned to Massachusetts, I happened to read an article about the hit-and-run in the Boston Globe. And I knew. But I kept my mouth shut. And when it came to my brother and his pain, I guess, Charlie kept her mouth shut, too.
No, Charlie and I really aren’t so different.
I successfully navigate my way through the rest of my cousin’s visit. I ask questions about her life. I make eye contact at all the right times. But in the back of my mind, what I’m really thinking about is Keith and how his sense of duty seeped into his bones all those years ago, twisting and reshaping him into something far different from me. Something nobler, but brittle.
I’ll never know what kind of magic my brother believed in. What I do know is that more than anything, Keith wished for less suffering in this world. And when he couldn’t make that happen, he lost faith in change.
He lost faith in everything.
I let Charlie hug me again when she leaves.
Not because I want to, but because she does.
chapter
forty
bonding
Lex and Jordan visit five times over the next six weeks.
They always come together.
The first time they visit, they let me know it was a black bear that killed that guy in the woods. They both trip over their words, eager to tell me about the hunter who tracked the animal down and shot it. I’m not eager to listen, but I do. The second time they come, they bring food: a plate of oatmeal cookies wrapped in plastic, a six-pack of Coke, and some of those protein bars I like. By the third time, I figure out that they’re definitely dating. Or something. It’s written in the way they tease and touch—their jokes that flow like ritual, the spark between them vividly alive. I am curious. The attraction part is a given, but maybe opposites really can coexist in peace. I mumble something about hadrons at their next visit.
Lex mishears me. “Hard-ons? Seriously, Winters, I think this place has turned you into a pervert.”
I laugh before I can be embarrassed. “Hadrons. That’s what it’s called when quarks are joined together by force.”
“I know what you’re talking about,” Jordan says. She sits beside me. Her words and movements feel measured. Maybe she’s worried what I’ll think. Of her. Of them. Of myself. But when Lex runs outside for a smoke, I tell her I think they’re good for each other. They deserve to be happy.
She smiles. “You deserve happiness, too.”
We sit on my bed and look out at the lake. The trees are all bare. Winter is close.
“You’ve gained weight,” she says. “It looks good.”
“It’s the medication.”
“Or maybe you’re hungry.”
I think about this. “Maybe.”
“Will you come back to school?” she asks.
“Yeah. After the holidays, I think. But I’m going to be a day student. Teddy’s family has said I can stay with them. My mom went to college with his father. They’ve all been, just cool, you know, about this.”
“So do you feel better? Has being here helped?”
“Helped what?”
Jordan rolls her shoulders. “I don’t know what to call it. You say you’re not depressed. You say you’re not suicidal or hearing voices. But you agreed to come here.”
I look at her. I take her in. That short hair. Those dark, dark eyes.
Yes, it’s helped, I want to say, followed by, But you’ve helped more.
It doesn’t come out like that, though. My body surprises me. My throat closes up. Tears brim, then spill, wetting my cheeks. A flash flood of misery.