“Well, you don’t have to stop because of me. I feel bad enough as it is that you’re stuck here.”
“I told you the other day: don’t feel bad. I’m not just here for you and Dad. I’m here for me. I’m not ready to go back to school.”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“Probably.”
“My coach was telling me that it’s time for me to go away in the summer, so I can keep skiing. Swimming is good, but it’s not skiing. He thinks two of us—me and Lucy—are ready for Chile. We would spend part of next summer there training.”
My first reaction was that Paige would be thirteen next summer. In Chile. I thought of all those little girl gymnasts in Russia and Romania and, I guessed, the United States who had no childhood because they were always in training. I wondered who the adults would be who would be caring for the kids like my sister.
“Would Coach Noggler be there?”
“Of course not! It’s not like he’s my private coach. It’s, you know, a summer camp. It’s just a summer camp for really good skiers.”
“So, what do you want from me? What’s the favor? Do you want me to lobby with Dad so he lets you go?”
“He’ll let me go. He won’t care.”
“Of course he’ll care! What are you talking about?”
“He loves me, I get it. I just meant he’s in la-la land. I need you to help me do stuff like get a visa and fill out the forms.”
“How long is the camp?”
“Either two weeks or four weeks.”
“Wow. A month in Chile. Not shabby.”
“Think of how easy your life will be.”
I shook my head. “You don’t make my life hard.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’ll talk to Dad,” I said. “I’ll bring it up at dinner tonight. And maybe after dinner you can show me the website for the camp so I can get the full scoop. And I’ll call your coach tomorrow.”
“Thank you. And one more thing.”
“What?”
“We need to make sure I’m not sleepwalking by then.”
“I talked to Dad. I told him.”
“I know, he talked to me, too. But he didn’t seem that worried. And my appointment at the sleep clinic isn’t for, like, six or seven weeks.”
I was relieved. I hadn’t realized that our father had scheduled an appointment. “Have you had another event?” I asked.
“No.”
“Okay, then. You’ll have seen someone at the sleep center months and months before Chile. All good.”
“When’s yours?”
“When’s my what?”
“Your appointment.”
“I’m not going to the sleep center. Not an issue in my life.”
“You know that’s not true. Dad told me it once was. He said you were the sleepwalker before Mom. He wants you to go to the sleep center, too.”
“He does?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s made me an appointment?”
“I think so.”
“Well, that’s news to me,” I said, but I made a mental note to talk to our father about this. I hoped he was merely trying to make Paige feel less singled out and alone, but I felt jittery inside. In truth, I knew very little about my own personal history with parasomnia.
“So, you’ll keep your mind open about Halloween?” I asked, mostly to bring the conversation back to a topic that didn’t cause either of us anxiety. “I don’t want you to be disappointed when you wake up on November first.” I glanced at her and decided that she was at least considering the notion. Then she reached for the radio and scanned the stations until she found a song we both liked.
After dinner, in the dark, I walked toward the streetlights in the center of Bartlett. I had cleared the table, as I did always, so neither my father nor Paige would have to. My sister could do her homework and my father could read or watch TV and sip at his scotch until he dozed off. But then I had a change of heart and decided I would clean up later: I left the dishes in the sink and on the counter, went to my bedroom for my dope and my pipe and one of my college hoodies, and I started off toward the village. At dinner I hadn’t mentioned that the minister had come by, though I had told Katherine that I would let my dad know. Nor had I confronted him about what the minister had said about closure; I hadn’t asked him why he hadn’t spoken to me first. I didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Paige. I wasn’t sure I wanted to have this conversation at all. A memorial service? It was too soon. It angered me that my father was giving up so publicly. First Paige. Now my dad. Didn’t he have an obligation to carry the torch the longest?
Instead I had brought up Paige’s sleepwalking over dinner, and her appointment at the sleep center.
“Yes,” my father said. “It’s not for a little while, but I believe we have Dr. Yager’s very first opening.”
“And me? Paige said you thought I should go, too.”