My ringing phone interrupts my running playlist for what feels like the millionth time in the past hour and my brother has officially irritated me to the point that I’m willing to answer just to tell him to stop fucking calling me.
“What do you want, Ethan?” My loud voice is a jarring addition to the tranquil Honey Acres morning. The horses grazing in the field beside my running route look at me wild-eyed, letting out a displeased neigh before scampering away from the fence line, spooked.
The best part about this place is the terrible reception, but there are certain patches that have pockets of service just long enough for my family to invade my peace.
“You’re a piece of shit for never answering anyone’s calls.” It’s a strong start, not unexpected. “You need to fucking grow up.”
No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing or how closely I follow the rules and pray that it’ll be enough, the universe finds a way to humble me.
“What do you want, Ethan?” I ask again, the frustration from earlier diluted by the prickle of his words.
“Dad is in the hospital. Mom’s asking for you; she wants you there. So stop burying your head in the sand and pretending you’re not part of this family, like a selfish prick, and support her.”
You’d expect my reaction to finding out my dad is in the hospital to be more emotional, but my first thought is I wonder how he landed himself in that situation. I’ve been here before so it’s not much of a surprise. When he pawned Mom’s jewelry and the guilt made him drink so much he needed to get his stomach pumped. When he was in a fight at a casino and ended up needing stitches. When he crashed his car, but swore he hadn’t be drinking.
“I can’t. I’m working.”
“Grow the fuck up,” he says harshly. “If you don’t get your ass on the highway in the next hour, I’m going to come to that camp you’re at and drag you home by your hair.”
“Which state are you going to travel from to do that? You’re going to interrupt your tour for this?” Ethan and I have never had that close brotherly connection people talk about. Our seven-year age gap was too big to overcome when coupled with never wanting to be in Dad’s verbal firing line. I’ve always been angry he left me alone, but I’m not sure I would have made a different choice if I were the older one.
“I’m in San Francisco right now. I’m not bluffing, Russ. Ignoring your phone isn’t going to work this time. Show up for your family. You don’t get to bow out because shit’s difficult sometimes.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. I want to tell him that bowing out is exactly what he did to me when he moved across the country and left me to navigate everything alone. Ethan says I’m stubborn and closed minded. That I don’t truly understand what it’s like to deal with an illness so corrosive and that he understands better than I do because he’s in the music industry.
He told me once that he has more memories of when things were good and that’s why he isn’t as angry as me. It’s easy to say you understand and you’re not angry when you’re on the other side of the country most of the year.
“I don’t want to talk to him, Ethan. You don’t get it. He’s so unpredictable. He can be nice as pie or he’s awful and I hate it.”
“He’s sedated. Do it for Mom, Russ. It isn’t her fault.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll see you later. You’ll be there, right?”
“You’re doing the right thing. Drive safe, little brother.”
The familiar sense of dread fuels my run back to my cabin. It’s early so there’s nobody around and the kids won’t be awake yet. Xander did the night shift, so he’s in the Brown Bears cabin with Maya and I don’t want to risk going in to explain.
After a quick shower, I throw a few things into a backpack and head toward the main building. It takes five minutes for me to work up the courage to knock on the door for the overnight leaders door. Jenna is half asleep when she pulls the door open and I’m standing there, backpack slung over my shoulder. “I’m really sorry to wake you up,” I say when I can’t find the words to explain why I’m going.
“Don’t worry about it. Is everything okay?” she says carefully.
I wipe my sweating hands against my shorts and force myself to focus. “If I tell you something, will it stay private? Because you’re my boss?”
She nods slowly, tightening her dressing gown around her waist and leaning against the door frame. “It can stay confidential if you need it to. As long as it’s not a safeguarding issue. What’s happened, Russ?”
“My dad is in hospital and I need to go home for a day or two. I can work back the missed shifts or something. I’m really sorry, Jenna. Is that okay?”
“Oh my God. Of course it’s okay. Are you okay to drive? Is home far for you? I’m so sorry! What’s happened?”
That’s the moment it occurs to me I was so busy arguing with Ethan that I didn’t even ask. When there’s always something, sometimes asking about specifics gets lost in my order of priorities. I’d feel bad, but I could probably think up a handful of scenarios and be close to the real reason.
“No, my parents live not far from Maple Hills. But I don’t really like to talk about my family, is it okay if this just stays between us? I’d rather the team don’t know I’m going to the hospital.”
She nods and I instantly feel better.
“Can you just tell them there’s a personal emergency or something? But that I’m okay. I don’t want anyone to worry.” It’s not that I don’t want my fellow counselors to not know I’m going back to Maple Hills, but there are tons of excuses I can come up with that don’t involve my dad being the topic of conversation.
“Sure thing. I hope your dad is better soon. If you’re going to be any longer than two days, can you call me?”
“Yeah I’ll call, but I’ll definitely be back soon. Thanks, Jenna.”
My stomach sinks the second I see Maple Hills appear on the highway signs and, now that I’m taking the exit, I’m not sure it’s even still in my body.
The gas station coffee I’ve been sipping on is burnt and bitter; the perfect representation of how I feel right now. I ignore the signs I normally take to campus, instead following the ones toward the hospital.
As the building comes into view, I consider that I could turn around now, turn my phone off, head back to Honey Acres and play pretend. I want to run away from this, not have whatever conversation I’m about to have, avoid the people I work so hard to not speak to—but I don’t. I park my truck in the short-stay lot, like the action alone will manifest a quick visit and I’ll be able to head back to a life I’m actually starting to love.
I spot Mom before she notices me in the family waiting area. She looks more tired than the last time I saw her, whenever that was. Four months ago? Five? The bags under her eyes are dark and striking against her pale skin, her hair grayer, face more gaunt. She’s clinging to the coffee cup between her hands as she stares into the distance and once again I’m wondering if I should turn around and leave.
My feet keep carrying me forward until I’m standing in front of her. No part of me on the long-ass drive here considered that I’d have to say something when I arrived and now I’m facing her, I don’t know how to start.
She doesn’t say anything as she stands, throwing her arms around me. With her face buried in my chest, she begins to sob.
“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
“He’d offered to pick up some groceries for dinner and he was hit by a drunk driver,” Mom says, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
“He was hit? Was he drunk too?”
“No! He wasn’t!” She sounds appalled, like it’s totally unbelievable I could ever suspect he might be in the wrong. She gives me a full play-by-play and I know from where the crash happened that he was on his way home from the track. There isn’t a grocery store near that intersection. “You can go in and talk to him in a minute, the doctor shouldn’t be much longer.”