Find You There

by Brianna Bennett

“Luca! Rider!” a familiar voice called to them, and a clear bubble umbrella bounced toward them, shielding Luca’s girlfriend and the boys’ childhood friend Carrie Sanderson from the hairstyle-destroying droplets. Once she reached them, she pecked Luca’s cheek and offered her hand for him to take. He did so, but only because Henry Sanderson, Carrie’s dad and Senator Sherwood’s campaign manager, was glaring at them from the driver’s side of his Cadillac Escalade. Tall and spindly like a tree, Henry’s personality was comparable to the pet rock Luca’d had when he was seven.

  “So, are you guys excited?” Carrie asked them when Luca tuned back in to current events. “Five thousand dollars raised is a huge milestone.”

  “‘Excited’ isn’t the right word, Carrot.” Carrie made a face at him, letting go of Luca’s hand to put both fists on her hips. Rider smirked, and Luca had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. When will Carrie learn that he uses that nickname on purpose? Just to get under her skin?

  “Richard Rider Sherwood Jr., how many times have I told you not to call me that?”

  “About as many times as I’ve asked you not to use my full name,” Rider shot back, an almost-undetectable edge to his voice. Carrie frowned, noticing it but not saying anything. She met Luca’s gaze, and he nodded imperceptibly to her. I’ll see if he’s taken his meds, he thought, wishing for the billionth time that they could actually communicate telepathically. “Well! We ought to go make ourselves presentable. Luca?” As if pulled from a daze, he met his brother’s concerned gaze and plastered on a fake smile. Fake it till you make it, Luca thought, despite knowing deep down that neither of his friends believed him.

  “You need more time for that than Luca does,” Carrie told Rider, who rolled his eyes in response. “Is it a crime for me to want a moment alone with my boyfriend?” Rider made a displeased face but shook his head, taking Luca’s suit for him.

  “I’ll be right in,” Luca offered, and Rider nodded, making his way to the convention center’s main entrance without another word.

  Chapter Two

  Luca and Carrie ducked under an awning away from the hubbub of the gathering crowd, standing by a fire exit. Fat water droplets continued to fall to the earth around them, but Carrie’s eyes were as bright as ever as she stared him down.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him, getting straight to the point as usual. “You’ve been really quiet and that’s just . . . not like you.”

  “Just nerves, I think,” Luca answered, and Carrie stared at him disbelievingly. “I’m fine, I promise,” he continued, pressing his lips against hers briefly, then taking off toward the bathroom with a wink. I’m not fine. I feel guilty as hell for flirting with Lyric. Carrie deserves better. Hell, so does Lyric, and she doesn’t even know it. Before he was out of earshot, he heard Henry call Carrie by her full name, and he could perfectly picture him pointing to the spot next to him, as if Carrie was a disobedient dog, and resentment curdled Luca’s stomach. He’s such an ass. No wonder he and Dad get along. Carrie presumably joined her dad, and Luca hurried into the convention center’s bathroom to change. Rider was already standing in front of the mirror, fixing his tie, and he met Luca’s eyes in the reflection.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, and Luca played it off with a shrug. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  “She’s just being a worrywart. Not a big deal.” They held the stare for a few seconds more, but Luca broke the connection first and changed his clothes as fast as he could. Once he got to his tie, he unlocked the stall door and said, “Could you give me a hand?” Rider shot him a smile and approached, smacking his hands away so he could fix the pathetic attempt at a Windsor knot that Luca had been struggling with.

  “Can dress you up but can’t take you anywhere, Luc. Honestly, you should be the family disappointment, not me.”

  “You’re not a disappointment, not to me or Mom, and we’re the ones that really matter.” Luca put a steadying hand on Rider’s shoulder. His brother stepped back to observe his handiwork, swallowed hard, and shoved trembly hands into his pants pockets. “Thanks,” Luca offered, and Rider sucked on his teeth. Luca turned toward the door and pretended he couldn’t hear Rider’s pills rattle in their bottle, the lid hitting the tiled floor, or the heavy swallow that followed.

  Cash on the table and a scrawled “working late” on a sticky note were the only indications Lyric and Rhythm had that their dad was even home. That, and the slice of golden light escaping from beneath his office door. Otherwise, the rest of the house was as silent as a tomb. Chuck and Elena Meadows were still technically married, but their mom lived in a condo on the other side of town. Though she was finally in remission, this last flare up had practically torn their family apart.

  It’s hard to believe that it’s been six months already, Lyric thought, but shoved the emotion tornado down before it could overwhelm her completely.

  “Cho’s Garden or Mamma Mia’s?” Rhythm asked, snatching the cash from the table. “Is tonight Cadence’s late night? I forget.”

  “Yeah. She’ll be home between nine thirty and ten.” Their sister studied nursing at the local community college, though as far as their parents knew, she was majoring in music theory. Lyric hated lying to them, but she knew they were better off oblivious.

  “Lyric, could you come in here, please?” Mom had asked as recently as eight months ago. She and Dad sat across from each other at the kitchen table, cups of steaming coffee in front of them.

  “Guys, can we please not do this now? I’m going to miss the bus.” Dad raised an eyebrow and gestured for Lyric to have a seat, communicating everything without opening his mouth.

  “Chuck, please,” Mom stated quietly, and Lyric’s hands grew sweaty. She nervously wiped them against her jeans. “You know what we’re going to ask,” she continued, pinky pointed outward as she lifted her coffee mug to her lips.

  “No, I don’t know what I want to do with my life, and I don’t want to waste your money on a degree I don’t care about.”

  “I could make a few calls and get you into any music school in the country. With your natural singing talent, I don’t understand why you won’t . . . ,” Dad returned, trailing off at the end. Lyric tried not to make her wince too obvious. “You know what we expect of you and your siblings. We named you after the music that brought us together, after all.” He glanced at Elena, who smiled into her coffee cup.

  “I know, Dad,” Lyric replied. I wish I didn’t.

  “Leer?”

  “What?” Lyric realized that she’d never answered his question about dinner. “Oh, um. Whatever you want.”

  “Pineapple and bacon pizza? Mamma Mia’s secret ingredient is—” he asked hopefully, and Lyric made a disgusted face, pretending to gag even as Rhythm rolled his eyes. “And you call me the dramatic one.” He flicked on the kitchen light and found an empty whiskey bottle next to the basement door, which made him freeze in place.

  “If you say some kind of illegal drug, Rhythm, I swear. Besides, pineapple on pizza is enough of an abomination, but to include bacon?” She shuddered. “I’ll eat anything but that.” Lyric didn’t see the bottle at first, but when she did, she fell silent. “Working late, my ass,” she muttered. He was probably passed out in a drunken stupor on his futon. She raised her hands and tried not to be disappointed again. Fat chance. “You know what, forget it. I’m not even that hungry.”

  “Lyric, come on. He’s going through a lot, and it’s not like this is his first bender—”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she demanded sarcastically, turning on her heel to face him. Rhythm didn’t respond, his jaw clenched. Lyric swallowed hard. I don’t want to fight, but I will if I have to. “Ry, even you have to admit that this is screwed up. Mom should be living here, with us. And that’s just for starters.” Her voice broke, and she sniffled, blinking back tears. “We didn’t even get a chance to celebrate before Dad kicked her out.”

  “She left voluntarily.” Rhythm hurried to disagree, and Lyric scoff
ed. “What? Do you remember it differently?” he challenged.

  “Yeah, I do, actually. He was drunk off his ass and basically called us his possessions.”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Lyric.”

  “Open your eyes, Rhythm! Dad isn’t the hero you think he is!”

  “Well, he’s not the villain you and Cadence think he is either! If you were here more often, you’d see that!”

  “Abandoning the woman you claim to love when she’s coming off of chemotherapy seems pretty villainous to me. Downright evil, actually.” Do I even want them to get back together? she wondered. Mom would have to be some kind of saint to take him back, but I wouldn’t put it past her, especially if she thought it was what we wanted. Brought back to the disagreement, Lyric continued. “Second, unlike you, I actually have a job, so you’ll have to forgive me for not being in two places at once!” Rhythm opened his mouth to respond, but Lyric shook her head. “Forget it.” She hurried up the steps to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  “I would like to thank all of my supporters for their generous donations so far. Together, I am confident that we can honor our revolutionary history and take the future by storm!” Richard Sherwood stood at a cherrywood podium, suit and tie perfectly pressed, with shoes so shiny you could see your reflection in them.

  The crowd of supporters whooped and waved “Sherwood for President” yard signs. Most of the audience was white and male, but there were some pink-clad antifeminists sprinkled into the mix as well. Along the back, reporters from every local news station had their cameras trained on Rick.

  For their part, Luca and Rider politely clapped from their spot on stage, and their mother smiled from her place a few feet away from the podium. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and a quick glance in her direction showed Luca that she was shaking. She kept twisting her engagement ring around and around. The methodical movement seemed to calm her down. I don’t think it matters how many of these events I have to suffer through. I’ll never get used to the feeling of people watching me. I know I should be able to ignore it, but I just can’t. Rick’s words faded to white noise as Luca surveyed his crowd of supporters, eyes not landing on anyone in particular for longer than a few seconds at a time.

  Suddenly, Rider locked up next to him, and then his brother was on the floor. Overdose? Luca thought wildly. Complete chaos ensued as Luca and Marjorie fell to their knees beside Rider. Foam edged Rider’s mouth, and he shook violently, his skin deathly pale and slick with sweat. Marjorie managed to roll him onto his side in case he vomited so he wouldn’t aspirate, and Rick stared down at Rider as if this was a poorly timed prank. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be any help. Out of the corner of his eye, Luca saw Henry barely holding Carrie back from being beside Rider, but he couldn’t hear anything over the roar of white noise in his ears.

  “Somebody call an ambulance!” someone shouted. It could’ve been him; it could’ve been anybody, but all he could see was Rider.

  BOOM.

  After letting out a cry of fright, five-year-old Lyric inhaled as much air as she could fit in her tiny lungs and ducked under the water for safety. She watched through the pool’s waves as clouds darkened the sky. Someone was shouting, but they were so far away that it might well have been a different world. Lightning crackled and thunder crashed, and the longer she stayed underwater, the more Lyric’s lungs ached. Panicked, she opened her mouth, and water rushed down her throat. Paralyzed by fear, she forgot how to swim for a moment until a dark mass splashed into the water and pulled her to the surface.

  Black dots appeared in front of her even as they put her on the ground on the edge of the pool. Lyric began to cough, chlorine and liquid burning her nose and throat on their way out.

  “Peanut, it’s okay. You’re going to be just fine,” Rhythm soothed, rubbing circles on her back as she finished choking on pool water. Tears came unbidden, and she threw her arms around her brother’s neck, crying into his shoulder. “Don’t say anything. It’s okay. You’re okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m around, got it?”

  Lyric’s eyes opened even as the memory of Rhythm’s voice receded to the back of her mind. I’ve been terrified of thunderstorms ever since. It doesn’t help that they always seem to happen when something is going wrong. It’s like God is mocking me. To her chagrin, she was immediately reminded of Shawn’s response (or lack thereof) when she’d confided in him about this memory and her resulting fear.

  “Why would you be so stupid as to be outside in a storm? It’s not like they come out of nowhere. There’s always plenty of warning beforehand,” he asked with his husky laugh. I can’t believe I used to think that was sexy. Now it makes my skin crawl.

  “What, you’ve never done anything stupid, even if it didn’t seem stupid at the time? I was five,” she snapped defensively, her throat tightening as she turned away from him. They had been in the basement of his parents’ house, and he’d cornered her, crowding into her personal space. The closer he got, the more her throat closed up, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough to push him away either.

  “Come on, Songbird, don’t be like this. I was only teasing, you know that. I’ll protect you from the storms.”

  Once upon a time, that nickname had weakened her knees. Not anymore. I can’t believe I let him get away with so much shit. All because I didn’t want to be alone. Being alone would’ve been better than being with him, especially once he forced me to— She inhaled shakily and shoved that thought from her mind. He doesn’t deserve my time or energy. He doesn’t deserve my time or energy. He doesn’t deserve my time or energy. She repeated the words to herself until she herself convinced that she believed them.

  She sat up in her bed, barely able to discern her pieces of furniture from the walls and carpet in the near-total blackness. She leaned over to her bedside table and clicked on her lamp. Fuchsia-colored walls screamed back at her, complimented by all-white wooden furniture. If I ever have kids, I’m absolutely not letting them pick the colors we paint their bedrooms. If they ask why, I’ll just say it’s because they may vehemently dislike their choices when they get older. I know I do.

  Still, Lyric loved the smoothness of her furniture, the well-loved comforter of her bed, the buzz of the fan as it spun lazily overhead. The sounds of distant sirens and honking horns. Cars passing by outside. The glow of the moon before she put the shade down. The sensation of fresh air sweeping through the room from the cracked window. All of these sensations together had always grounded her when her world felt like it was coming unglued, which happened often when she remembered the less pleasant points of her relationship with Shawn. I control my mind. My mind does not control me. I control my mind. My mind does not control me.

  The day Rider was diagnosed with bipolar disorder was the day that Luca’s childhood had ended. He remembered it more clearly than he remembered most things from his childhood, and he imagined that had something to do with just how traumatic it was to learn that your brother was sick. And not just sick with a cold but sick with something he couldn’t control, much less fix. It broke Luca’s heart to see Rider so defeated when all he’d ever done was win. He’d won at everything he’d ever done, and it didn’t make sense to Luca why he would look like a loser now. His brother wasn’t a loser; he knew that. But if his brain really was working against him, could he ever be considered a winner? How, exactly, do you win in a fight against yourself?

  “Lithium overdose.” Dr. Gabrielle Goswami’s grave diagnosis hung in the air like a condemned criminal at the gallows, bringing Luca back to the present. Claymoor didn’t have its own hospital, so Rider had been rushed to the county’s medical center. He’d needed his stomach pumped, and there had been a few points where Luca genuinely worried that he would die. Still, he managed to pull through. Thank God.

  Their mom gasped at the doctor’s diagnosis her hands covering her mouth as she stared at Rider in abject horror. For his part, Rider kept his gaze focused on the corner of his ho
spital bed, his jawline feathering as he clenched his teeth.

  “You little shit,” Dad seethed, words coming out like steam from a flat iron. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? To sabotage me!” he accused, advancing toward Rider. Luca wordlessly stepped in front of their father, raising a challenging eyebrow. Rick narrowed his eyes and stepped back. Dr. Goswami cleared her throat. A faint Indian accent belied her words.

  “Senator Sherwood, please remain calm, or I will have you escorted off of the premises. Intentional overdoses are extraordinarily rare, and truthfully, the fact that it happened at such a public event may have saved your son’s life. You should be grateful that someone called the ambulance so quickly.” She shifted her weight from one side to the other. “That said, I’m going to make a recommendation that may be upsetting for all of you, but I truly think it is in Rider’s best interest.” She paused, closing her eyes as if mentally preparing herself. She opened her eyes again after a few moments of tense silence. “Based on tonight’s events and last year’s near-fatal car accident and after consulting with a neurologist, I believe that Rider should be committed to a mental hospital for his own good.”

  For the second time in the same night, complete pandemonium ensued. Marjorie, Rick, and Henry all started talking at once; meanwhile, Luca was too stunned to say anything. Carrie came over to him and took his hand, grounding him in reality without saying a word. Suddenly, someone whistled, and a hush fell over the room. Rider lowered his hand from his mouth, still staring at the corner of the bed.

  “I want to talk to Luca and Carrie. Alone,” he said. “Please.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Goswami said, gesturing for Rick, Henry, and Marjorie to leave the room.