by Meg Leder
I sit back in the chair, stunned and hurt.
I don’t know why he wouldn’t want the police to go after the person who did this.
I don’t know why he’s pushing me away.
And then a dark wave of understanding sweeps over me, stealing my breath, the realization leaving me reeling.
Finn in first grade, his quiet days, the anger inside him.
When he pummeled Johnny on the playground, his words. You can’t hurt her, too.
His bruises back then.
His bruises at the airfield.
Johnny’s threat after the boxing match.
The fights he and Johnny get in aren’t just everyday brother fights.
I hold my hands tight, so Finn can’t see the way they’re shaking, and I lean forward. “Did your brother do this?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Finn, please, look at me. Did Johnny do this?”
He still won’t meet my eyes, but at his brother’s name, his whole body shudders, and I know I’m right.
“Him and another guy,” he mutters. “If it was just one of them, I could have held my own.”
“Oh my God,” I say, shaking my head, tears streaming down my face. I’m sick to my stomach at how I’ve failed Finn for all these years, how everyone has. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I can’t stop saying it.
Finn reaches out, grabbing my hand. I can barely see his eyes with all the swelling.
“Stop. It’s not your fault, okay?”
“You should tell your dad at least.”
Finn exhales, letting go. “Where do you think Johnny picked up the habit, Parker?”
I feel sick all over again. “My parents can help. Or Carla.”
“Parker, I messed up things all those years ago when I went to the neighbors. It’s my fault the police arrested my dad. Johnny’s got two strikes and I’m not sending someone else in my family to jail, okay? Let it go. I’m asking you to do this for me.”
“Why do you want to protect him?” I finally ask.
“He’s blood. Promise me you’ll let this go.”
I look at him, the boy who told me he could fly, who made me swear not to tell his secret all those years ago, who’s asking me again.
“I don’t know if I can,” I say right as the nurse comes back in the room.
“He should probably get some rest soon,” she says, picking up the chart at the end of Finn’s bed.
“Okay, yeah, I’m heading out.” I’m relieved at her arrival. I don’t want to make a promise I’m not sure I can keep. “When will he be discharged?”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “The doctor wants to make sure there’s no internal bleeding.”
I lean over to kiss Finn’s forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Call if you need anything.”
But he grabs my hand firmly, not letting go. His eyes search mine, panicked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t tell anyone about my brother. Promise, Parker. You have to promise me.”
“I promise,” I finally say, trying to hide the reluctance in my voice.
His whole body relaxes at my words, his shoulders releasing into the sheets, his face losing its hardness, his eyes drifting shut.
“Thank you,” he says, the relief in his voice breaking my heart all over again.
Fifty-Three
“HOW’S FINN?” RUBY ASKS, searching my face when I meet her in the lobby.
“A mess,” I say. “But the nurse is watching him, and it’s good he came to the hospital. They want to make sure he doesn’t have internal bleeding.”
“Crap,” Charlie mutters. “That’s serious.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, turning more carefully toward my brother. I can feel it starting as soon as I look at him: a restless anger, my hands twitchy, my thoughts sharp.
For the first time in my life, I’m pretty sure I could actually hurt someone.
I want to plow a car into Johnny, want to hear the thud of his body as it breaks against the fender.
I want to curl my fingers into a fist and hit Finn’s dad right in the face for letting it happen, for hitting Johnny first.
I want to hear cartilage snap. I want to see blood coming from a nose.
Focusing on the anger is the only way to avoid looking at the black hole of guilt behind me, for not realizing what was happening earlier, for not helping my friend.
I should have known.
It’s not enough.
“So,” I say to Charlie, trying to keep the volume of my voice at an acceptable level for a hospital waiting room. “Why were you at the boxing gym with Finn? Were you picking him up for the art fair?”
He takes a careful breath. “No, not exactly.”
“Charlie, why were you at the boxing gym.” It’s not a question this time.
“Um, I think I’m going to go check on Finn? Or go to the cafeteria?” Ruby says, nervousness making her fidgety.
Charlie watches her leave before stretching his neck, rubbing his head, bracing himself. “I was there for beginner boxing lessons,” he finally says.
“Boxing lessons,” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
“With Finn?”
“He doesn’t know I was taking them. But trust me, it’s not a big deal,” he says. “You don’t need to worry.”
It’s not enough.
“I’m fine,” he continues, motioning to his body. “Totally one hundred percent healthy, boxing and all.”
It’s not enough.
I can’t save him.
At that point I don’t know if the “him” is Finn or Charlie, but I’ve had it. The last nine years, the last two months, the last two hours—all of it rushes inside me like a tornado whirling into existence.
And the eye of the storm? Pure, quiet anger, a “no” startling in its clarity.
“I’m not worried,” I say, my voice steely. “Livid? Irritated? Infuriated? Yes. But worried? No.”
“Parker,” Charlie starts, his voice mildly exasperated. “Come on.”
“Boxing? Why in the world would you do that?” I shoot back.
I watch my brother transform: his expression tightening, his shoulders jutting back, every muscle in him rigid and defensive, ready for this fight.
“Because I’m not a dying boy anymore.”
It’s his mean voice. But I don’t back down.
Instead I drive my finger at his chest with each word. “Then stop acting like one!”
“I have!” he yells.
Charlie’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him, his whole body stiff with it. But then, like he’s reminding himself, he sucks in his breath and breathes it out slowly, flexes his fingers and stretches, before he continues, forcing calm into his voice until it comes on its own. “Listen, I know I wasn’t great at the beginning of the summer.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Can you just listen?” he snaps.
I nod warily.
“People expect that when you hit remission, everything will just go back to normal. I expected it the first time. But I’m not normal. Instead I’ve got this tangled mess of dark, angry stuff inside me . . . here.” He touches his chest. “And there are times I hate everything. You, Mom, Dad, Matty, school, baseball, everything. It doesn’t make sense, I know. And at the beginning of the summer, I wasn’t dealing with it in the right ways. I fully acknowledge that.”
I snort, but he ignores me.
“But, Parker, I’m changing now, I really am. Being with Ruby helps. Doing things on my own terms helps. Talking with my therapist and the support group helps. I know my body is still healing, that I have to be careful. I really do. But watching Finn box that night at the Fight to the Death?” Charlie whistles. “I got why he does it—he just loses himself in that ring. He takes all the tangled stuff inside him and makes it work for him. I wanted that. So, I signed up for lessons.”
“But—”
He holds up his hand. “Before you freak o
ut, yes, the coach knows I had cancer. We’re only using the bag. I’m not in the ring with people. But when I put on those gloves and swing? It’s like when I used to pitch. I know I’m in control, that what happens next all comes down to me. It’s good because things are good, Parker. They’re finally good, okay? Do you get that? I’m sorry you found out this way, but I need you to trust me on this, please.”
I think of how when I’m trying to throw a pot, I’m so focused on making, I forget the anxious voices in my head.
I think of Finn describing boxing, how during the contest I saw the storm in his eyes finally clear.
But then I think of Finn in that hospital bed, of the bruises on his ribs, of how he’s broken.
I think of Charlie sailing across the river, of Charlie letting go, of Charlie leaving us all behind.
I want to trust him, but I’m so scared if I do, if I let go of my grip, something bad will happen to him.
“It’s not that easy,” I start.
“Ugh!” he yells. “Parker, for fuck’s sake, will you give me a break? I’m not like you, doing everything perfectly the first time around.”
I ignore the dig, how wrong he is about me, and shake my head, folding my arms across my chest, holding myself tight. “You can’t box. You have to stop. No more.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“No. You stop now, or I tell Mom and Dad. And I don’t care if you tell them about the internship, Charlie. Do it. I don’t care. If that’s what it takes to keep you safe—”
Charlie cuts me off again. “God, enough already! I was never going to tell them, all right? I’m not going to do that to you!”
I freeze.
“What are you talking about?”
A tall orderly comes over to the two of us, his voice polite. “Um, could you two please keep it down?”
“Not now,” Charlie barks, and the orderly steps back, shaking his head.
I grab Charlie’s arm to get his attention back. “What do you mean you weren’t going to tell?”
“I mean that it’s your decision to share that stuff, not mine.”
I exhale in disgust. “You are unbelievable. This is all a passive-aggressive dig on the fact that you think I tell Mom and Dad too much, isn’t it? You’re not going to tell on me to make a point?”
“I wasn’t going to tell on you because it’s your own fucking business!” he yells, and I flinch, surprise coursing through my veins.
Charlie meets my gaze square on.
“Listen, I get it, okay? I was not happy you got me grounded and into therapy this summer. And the baseball camp stuff last year? I was fucking furious with you. But . . .” He looks away, at the floor, at the ceiling, at the people around us, then back to me, his voice softening. “I get it, Parker. I get that you have to make hard decisions for people when they can’t do it themselves. I get it, okay? But there are also times you need to step back and let people figure it out for themselves, to listen to them instead of ratting them out. That’s how I feel with your internship. The decision to tell is up to you, not me.”
My heart skips at his words, and hot tears well in my eyes. I shake my head. “But you’re blackmailing me because you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Parker.”
“But I heard you. With Ruby. You hate me. You said it’s not easy having me as a sister. You said it’s like torture.” My words end in a choked sob.
He rolls his eyes, the height of exasperation. “That’s not at all what I said. What I said was that it was torture watching you do all this shit you hate out of some sense of obligation to me. Because of me, you’re going to be a doctor. Because of me, you spent most of high school studying and taking SAT prep tests and doing all the right extracurriculars. Because of me, you’re going to Harvard. But you hate it. I didn’t deserve cancer, okay? But that doesn’t mean you’re responsible for making that right. And until you get that, we’re both going to be stuck in the shitty in-between place—remember that?”
I nod, caught in the middle of a storm of tears.
“It’s time to stop worrying about my future, Parker, and to start making your fucking own.”
When I meet his gaze, even though he still looks angry enough to burn down the whole city, he’s also crying.
They’re angry tears, the kind of tears that can only come when there’s nothing left holding you back.
In the hallway behind him, I see our parents and Ruby heading our way. They don’t look terrified, so Ruby must have filled them in on what is going on.
“It’s Mom and Dad,” I say to Charlie.
He wipes his wet face with his arm and then turns in their direction, trying to smile.
Ruby grabs his arm, her face worried. “Is Finn okay?”
“Yeah.” He pulls her close, kissing the top of her head.
I look to our parents, trying to get ahold of myself. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you guys to tell you Charlie was okay.”
“It’s okay, hon. I’m sorry we missed your calls. Your dad and I were at the park and I left my phone at home and his reception was bad.” Mom shakes her head. “I’m just happy to hear Finn’s all right.”
“What happened to him?” Dad asks. “Ruby was saying something about a fight.”
In the split second I’m debating how much to tell Mom and Dad, a girl with white-blond hair walking behind them pauses and does a double take when she sees me.
My heart stops.
It’s Laurel from the internship.
Move along. Move along. Please move along.
But she leans closer. “Um, hi?”
She never remembered my name at the internship. Surely she doesn’t remember me now?
“Um, Parker, right? I’ve been wondering how you were doing. Mono, right?”
No no no no no.
Like it’s been biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to return, my eyelid twitches.
Mom and Dad have confused looks on their faces, but Ruby’s expression is growing increasingly alarmed, and Charlie’s clearly trying to piece together who Laurel is.
“Not exactly,” I say quickly, “but now’s not really a good time.”
She ignores my attempt at dismissing her. “I was soooo surprised when I heard about you leaving. Getting in was such a competitive process. I can’t imagine how awful it would be to have mono and to miss out on the intern—” she starts right as Charlie moves, blocking Laurel from our parents.
“Guys, I have to tell you something, since I figure you’ll find out soon enough. Parker caught me drinking on Friday.”
Mom turns to him, startled.
My mouth opens, then shuts again, everything around me happening too fast.
“What did you just say, Charlie?” Dad asks.
He shrugs. “I had a bad day at tutoring, so I used my fake ID and bought some Jack Daniel’s on the way home from therapy. Parker found the bottle in the car.”
I try to focus on keeping my balance, the waiting room dizzyingly bright.
“You were drinking and driving?” Dad yells, and Mom’s shoulders fall as she shakes her head, the heartbreak evident on her face.
At that, Laurel cringes, beating a steady retreat. I see Charlie register her departure, and he nods at me, but I’m unable to move, watching the scene in front of me play out like I’m not part of it.
“But, Charlie, we were hanging out on Friday,” Ruby says, and he shakes his head firmly at her.
“That was Thursday night, Roo.”
“I can’t believe you, Charlie,” Dad says, his face as red as Charlie’s was a few minutes ago. “Throwing away your health? It’s selfish and asinine. What is wrong with you?”
Mom clears her throat. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about this, but we’re having a serious conversation when we get home, Charlie,” she says, her voice scarily calm, before turning to Ruby. “We can drop you off on our way, okay?”
Ruby nods helplessly.
“You
might as well enjoy the ride now,” Dad says to Charlie, the anger in his voice just barely controlled. “As it’s the last time you’ll be seeing Ruby or anyone other than your therapist and tutor for a long time.”
Mom and Dad start toward the exit, Dad shaking his head in disgust, Mom clutching her purse against her side. Ruby watches them go before turning back to Charlie, pure anguish on her face.
“But you lied,” she says.
Charlie pulls her into a hug. “I’ll explain later,” he says, resting his chin on her head. “It’ll be okay.”
He meets my eyes then, and I shake my head at him, holding myself tight.
“Why?” I ask.
He mouths the words, and they are clear as a cloudless blue sky.
I got you.
Fifty-Four
AFTER AN AWKWARD RIDE back from the hospital, in which the only people talking were Mom and Ruby, home feels like relief. As soon as we get in the house, I motion for Charlie to follow me upstairs.
I need to ask him why he did this for me.
But before we get far, Dad stops him at the bottom of the steps.
“We need to talk.”
“Can’t it wait until dinner?” Charlie asks.
“Now.”
Charlie lets out a heavy sigh and turns, reluctantly, to follow Dad.
I freeze on the steps, unsure of what to do.
This is on me.
Charlie is in trouble for something he didn’t even do because of me, for me.
But as if he can sense my hesitation, he looks over his shoulder, gives me a brief shake of the head.
As soon as they’re out of eyesight, I sit on the top step, where they can’t see me, pulling my knees close. It reminds me of the year Charlie and I tried to stay up to see Santa, hanging out at the top of the steps until our parents caught us there, half asleep and confused, and made us go to bed.
I hear Mom say, “Have a seat, Charlie.”
He clears his throat. “Listen, I’m sorry. It was a one-time thing. I won’t do it again—”
Dad interrupts him. “You sure won’t do it again. Because you’re grounded. No cell phone. No car. No computer.”
“Come on,” Charlie says. “That seems kind of extreme. I’m eighteen.”