Where We Used to Roam

by Jenn Bishop

  “No, sorry,” I said.

  “Everything okay, E?” Dad eyed me in the mirror. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  I could ask the same question of you and Mom, I thought as I picked some dirt out of my fingernail. “I’m just tired,” I said. “We didn’t get a lot of sleep.” At least that was true.

  We pulled into the driveway right next to Mom’s car. Austin’s was gone.

  “Where’s Austin?” I asked, stepping out of the car.

  Just as Mom was opening her mouth to answer me, Dad cut in, his tone suddenly serious. “Emma, let’s go have a chat in the living room.”

  Something had to be wrong, because Mom and Dad forgot about my bag in the trunk. This wasn’t about what had happened with Becca, and Dad hadn’t lost his job. The only time I’d ever heard about people having a “talk” in the living room was when their parents were getting divorced. But if that was happening, wouldn’t Austin be here for it? Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe Austin’s absence was on purpose.

  Dad sat in his favorite leather chair while Mom took a seat on the sofa beside me. I picked at a thread dangling from my shorts. “Where’s Austin?” I asked again. “Is he okay?” The worst thought flitted into my mind. Did he get into a car accident while I was gone? Was he dead? No, no. He couldn’t be. They were too calm for that.

  “Your brother’s at an appointment,” Dad said.

  “With a counselor,” Mom added.

  A counselor. What kind? Since when?

  But before I had a chance to ask any of those questions out loud, Mom continued. “While you were at school on Friday, I—” She sucked in a sharp breath and pinched the skin at the top of her nose. “I went in Austin’s room. It had gotten so bad in there lately, I just wanted to clean up the place, let in some fresh air. But while I was tidying up, I found something. Emma, your brother’s been taking painkillers—abusing opioid painkillers.”

  “He still had pills from his surgery? But that was all the way back in December.”

  “You’re right,” Dad said. “That prescription ran out a long time ago.”

  “But I don’t get it.” I shook my head. None of this made any sense. “Where was he getting pills from? And why? His shoulder’s better. He’s better. Right?” Mom’s eyes filled with tears, and for a moment she couldn’t answer me. “Dad?”

  “Austin’s addicted to them.” He stared down at the carpet. “These opioid painkillers, they’re very, very powerful.”

  “So why did the doctor give them to him in the first place?”

  “Emma, it’s complicated,” Dad said. “We didn’t think the amount he got after the surgery was enough to lead to… anything like this.” He held his face in his hands for a moment. “But the problem is, he’s well past that prescription now. He’s been finding them other ways.”

  Other ways? What other ways? Like… like a drug dealer? Had my brother met up with drug dealers? This was like something out of D.A.R.E., back in first quarter, before we switched to art class. Police officers came into health class and told us all about drugs and how bad they were. But the way they talked about it, the videos they showed us? It never seemed like anything anyone I knew could ever, ever, ever do. Especially Austin.

  “I don’t understand. Tell me. Is this why… why…?” But I couldn’t say it. My lips and tongue didn’t work right; they refused to form the question I wanted to ask.

  Because I already knew the answer.

  This was why Austin was changing. This was why everything had been different since his breakup with Savannah. His grades. His moods. All that time he spent in his room. Everything.

  That sinking feeling I had, the one that came and went, it had been telling me something. Telling me that things with my brother were not okay. That feeling was right. Spot-on. But I’d ignored it.

  “So what happens now?” I asked, needing something real to cling to.

  “Dad and I have been very busy the past few days making calls and trying to figure this out,” Mom said. “All of this is still so new. We’ve got a lot of catch-up to do, and we can’t wait around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most of the nearby rehab facilities are full, with long waiting lists. We’re hoping we can pull some strings and find a thirty-day facility with a room for Austin.”

  A room for Austin.

  “You’re sending him away?” I looked from Dad to Mom and back again. She had to be kidding. He didn’t need to go away. Go away… where? How far?

  “Only for a month,” Dad said.

  “But what about school?”

  “One thing at a time, Em.” Mom rested a hand on my bare knee. Her palm was cool to the touch, sending a shock up my leg. “Besides, you only have a few days left.”

  “This is a lot to process.” Dad reached into his pocket for a stick of gum, though he didn’t put it in his mouth, just bent the piece back and forth, back and forth, until it broke in two. “You probably have a lot of questions. Mom and I will do our best to answer them, but if you want to see a counselor, like Austin is right now, we can set up an appointment. We’re lucky: there’s a wonderful psychologist in Cambridge who specializes in substance abuse and helping family members cope.”

  Helping family members. Me? Dad thought I needed help—we needed help—because of Austin? Everything was happening too fast, except also in slow motion. As if that made any sense. But then, nothing made any sense. Austin didn’t have problems with drugs. No, this was all some kind of sick joke. A really, really messed-up joke.

  Mom leaned toward me. “Emma? What are you thinking, hon? This conversation has been too one-sided.”

  I couldn’t think anymore. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to go to bed. Lie down and close my eyes and fall deep asleep. I wanted to wake up and find out that none of this had happened. Not today, or the day before, or the day before that. I wanted to wake up and be a fifth grader again.

  “I’m really tired,” I said finally. “Can I go to my room and lie down?”

  Mom caught Dad’s eye. “You know, a nap sounds pretty good right about now. Mind if I join you?”

  It’d been years since Mom had slept on my bed with me. According to Austin, she did it a lot when I was little. Supposedly I used to be afraid of the dark, but I’ll be honest, I don’t remember that and maybe he was making it up to mess with me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Do you want me to grab your duffel out of the car, E?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t need it right now,” I replied. And then we started up the stairs, just me and Mom.

  My bed was only a twin, but Mom was tall and thin, and, like Lucy, she was good at squeezing into small spaces. I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the bed, facing the door. Mom climbed on behind me, slowly settling into place, her breath warm on the back of my neck. She reached out to undo my ponytail and stroke my hair, combing it with her fingers.

  My hair still smelled like smoke from the campfire last night. When I closed my eyes, I could almost see Becca across the way, sitting all by herself. Meow.

  They were so awful to her. I was so awful.

  My pillowcase grew wet with tears, my nose so thick with snot I had to breathe through my mouth.

  “I know, honey. I know,” Mom whispered.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t know at all. She only thought she knew.

  It wasn’t just those girls in the cabin that knew now. And I guess I should have realized that the second we started playing that stupid, stupid game with Grace Collins and Haven Mulligan. The whole sixth grade knew. And starting tomorrow, when we returned to school with everyone else, it would only get worse.

  “Oh, my girl,” Mom said. “I always thought I was so lucky. I had these two kids and they were so, so good. Such good kids. Not that you and Austin never gave me something to worry about. But it was never anything big. Never anything like…” She sniffled. “At least I don’t have to worry about you.”

  Her saying that only made m
e cry harder.

  I couldn’t tell her the truth: that I was about as far from a good kid as you could get. I’d covered for Austin that night when he sneaked out, when he was grounded back in late March. Had he gone out to buy drugs then? I should have said something to Mom and Dad, even if it made Austin mad at me. Never mind what happened with Becca. For three straight days, they’d humiliated her. All because of me and my big mouth.

  No, telling Mom any of this would only make things worse. I needed to let her believe this about me. That I was a good kid.

  Even if it was a lie.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When I finally woke up a few hours later, it was dark outside and the space beside me on the bed was empty. Downstairs, I heard voices in the kitchen. Mom’s, Dad’s, Austin’s.

  So he was back now.

  From my desk I grabbed my iPhone and crawled back into bed, this time under the covers. I wasn’t ready to go downstairs yet—not ready to see Austin. I still had so many questions.

  But when I woke my phone up, I saw messages covering the whole screen.

  From Kennedy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Can we just talk?

  And Lucy. Emma, please write back. There’s something I think could help.

  None from Becca, though I opened my text thread with her and swiped down, down, down. All those times this spring when she wanted to hang out but I was busy with Kennedy and Lucy stared back at me. She was the one I needed to text. I’m so sorry, Becs. I’m the worst. I don’t even know why I said anything.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to text half of that. Anything, really. What if she didn’t forgive me? I couldn’t take that on top of everything with Austin.

  I opened up the web browser. What was that word my parents had used to describe the kind of painkillers Austin had taken after the surgery? The kind he’d somehow found for himself. Opie-something? When I typed it into the search bar, the word “opioid” popped up. That was it.

  My eyes still puffy, I scrolled through article after article. The smell of chicken tikka masala wafted up through the floor vents, and I could hear the clanging of pots and pans from downstairs in the kitchen as I flipped back to the search page and saw a headline that made my stomach drop.

  OPIOIDS COULD KILL NEARLY 500,000 IN THE US IN THE NEXT DECADE

  Could Austin die?

  My pointer finger trembled as I clicked on the article. I’d read only the first few paragraphs when there was a knock on my door. Out of surprise I dropped my phone on my lap. “Mom sent me to check on you. It’s almost dinnertime.”

  That was all he had to say to me?

  I leaped up from my bed, surprised by the energy that suddenly filled my body as I whipped open the door and pummeled my brother. “How could you be so stupid? Drugs? Austin, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Em,” he said, his voice breaking.

  “Where did you go that night? I covered for you.”

  “Emma, it’s not your—”

  “Where did you go? Where?”

  From downstairs, Dad this time. “Dinner!”

  I stared my brother down. “You have to tell me.”

  Austin raised his voice. “No, E. I don’t.” He slammed his fist against the wall, so hard I was surprised he didn’t break through it. He cursed—not at me, though. At himself. His whole face crumpled like a used paper lunch bag. I’d never seen my brother like this. Not ever. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? What else do you want me to say?”

  “That you’re not going to die.” The words came out of my mouth before I had time to consider what saying them out loud to Austin right then would do.

  The quiet in the hallway was overwhelming as Austin held his head in his hands. A million seconds passed. “That won’t happen,” he finally said.

  But when I caught his eyes, they looked so dead. Like he didn’t have any faith in the words coming out of his mouth either.

  All I could think about were those articles I’d read online. And that number. Five hundred thousand. Already, over a hundred people had died from opioid overdoses in Massachusetts just this year. Did he know? If he did, how could he have ever done this? How could he have started?

  Mom was right. He should have never played football.

  I stomped back into my room.

  “So, are you coming down?” he finally said, his voice calmer now, as if all this fuss was about dinner. Who could even think about eating? “What should I tell Mom and Dad?”

  “You’re pretty good at lying—you figure it out.” I slammed the door behind me, my heart in my throat, and climbed back into bed.

  I got it now, why Mom and Dad were sending him away. That article made it clear. Austin needed a restart. He needed to get away from everything that reminded him of the person he’d become the past six months.

  “Emma?” It was Dad who came up, Dad who knocked on my door, letting himself in before I’d even said he could. But then, I guess we were done with that now. Austin had blown their trust, blown it for the both of us.

  “Emma, we’d really love to have you at the dinner table.” Dad sat at the edge of my bed.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I know.” He squeezed my feet through the covers. “Your mom and I haven’t been that hungry the past few days either. And you know that’s saying a lot for both of us. But we have to stick together. We’re a family.”

  “Are you mad at him too?”

  “I’ve wrestled with a whole lot of feelings the past few days. It probably wasn’t the worst thing for you to have been away. I’ll be honest, Em, we’re all just trying to do our best right now. And for me that means trying to understand Austin and what he’s been going through. Addiction is a disease. It’s not a choice Austin made—it’s chemical. And it’s caused him to behave in ways that aren’t like him. All this time he’s been struggling with this on his own, but from now on, it’s a team effort. You know your brother; he’s always at his best when he’s part of a team. With help, I believe he can beat this. And we’re working very hard to get him the absolute best help out there.”

  A team effort.

  “What do you say? Do you think you could come down and join us?”

  I didn’t think I could do it, sit at the table with my brother like everything was going to be fine. So I lied. “I think my stomach’s a little upset,” I said. “From the long bus ride. Can I come down for some cereal in a bit?”

  “Sure thing, E.” Dad pulled down my shades before leaving the room.

  He left the door ajar on his way out, and for a while I just lay there listening to the three of them downstairs. The clinking of silverware against the plates. I couldn’t remember such a quiet dinner in my house. Used to be, Dad would have some silly story from work—the sportscaster Mike was always up to something. And Mom usually had a billion questions for me and Austin about what had happened at school. And Austin would be filling them in about practice or a track meet. Used to be, I was the quietest one there. Just listening to all of them, or trying to open my mouth in time to share a story from school.

  In the shadows of the hallway, I could almost see Austin as he stood there when I told him my biggest fear. I shouldn’t have ever said it out loud. It was too big, too scary. Not just for me, but for him.

  And that look in his eyes when he replied? Like the person he was the most angry with was himself?

  I wanted to forget that more than anything, but I was afraid I couldn’t.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mom dropped me off at school Tuesday. She said I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to, but the last place I wanted to be was home with her and Austin. I could still barely look at him. Plus, I had to get through only three more days and then we’d be out for summer.

  Kennedy and Lucy were waiting for me by my locker. For once Kennedy wasn’t her bouncy Tiggery self. More like Eeyore. “Emma,” she said. “Please. Can we talk?”

  Down the hall, I could hear it starting up a
gain. “Meow? Meoooowwww.” A math teacher popped his head out into the hallway and yelled, “Enough of that!” He muttered, “Kids these days.”

  “Emma?”

  “No,” I blurted back. “We can’t. I have a lot going on right now and—” I remembered the name Mom had given me, of the counselor at school. Mrs. Dwyer. Mom had said she’d call her first thing and if I needed a place to go, any time, I could hang out there. “I have to go,” I said. “Sorry.”

  I pushed past them and into the crowded hallway as the bell rang to signal five minutes till homeroom. I would survive the next three days, even if it meant spending my lunch periods in the counselor’s office.

  * * *

  As I was packing up my backpack at the end of the day, Lucy stopped by my locker. I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever hung out with just Lucy. Even when Kennedy was out sick for a few days this winter, Lucy was too—and it was strange seeing her without her other half.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  I was about to tell her I had to run when I realized that wasn’t fair. Lucy wasn’t Kennedy. She hadn’t told the entire grade about Becca’s kitty blanket. She was just best friends with the person who had.

  “Have you seen her?” she asked.

  At first I thought she meant Kennedy, but then I realized she meant Becca.

  “Not today, no.”

  I wasn’t sure if Becca had even come to school. After everything that happened, I figured the last person she wanted to see was me, so I hadn’t tried to walk to school with her. It was a C day, which meant she had math at the high school. Maybe she’d gone straight there?

  “Oh.” Lucy grew quiet, but she didn’t leave. There was clearly something else she wanted to say, but if she didn’t say it soon, she’d be saying it to my locker because I had track practice. Well, not really much of a practice since all the meets were over. But the coach wanted us to get together for one last run as a team. “Ken really didn’t mean this—any of it. She feels so bad, Emma. Please, hear her out.”