Playing the Player(47)

Breathing slowly, I walked to the table. My hands trembled as I lifted the picture frame. I looked into my brother’s laughing face, preserved forever at five years old, the age of his death. The same age as Gillian and Max.

We’d been inseparable. I was only eleven months older than him. Most of my memories were vague, but what I felt in my heart confirmed what my mom always said, that he and I were always together.

“You were like twins,” she said. “You even had a secret language you used around Dad and me, when you didn’t want us to understand your silly schemes.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I closed them and heard his infectious giggle. I saw flashes in my mind, of running after him in the grass, of hiding under a blanket on my bed hoping no one would find us. Most of the images were faded, but I clung to them because I didn’t want to forget.

Only one image was as clear as if it had happened this morning. My legs shook as I let the memory overwhelm me. I let it come, because I owed it to Brian, on this day, to fully remember. I heard the faraway laughter of the grown-ups, the music. Remembered the feel of the damp grass under my bare feet as I ran toward the shimmering pool, beckoning me like a beacon. Heard Brian’s footsteps behind me, his laughter, then his pleading voice begging me to slow down. I always ran faster; it was the only thing I did better than him.

Sinking to the carpet now, I hugged his picture to my chest. Guilt washed over me as I relived how victorious I’d felt outrunning him, sprinting around the edge of the pool. I’d been so focused on myself, on changing course to run back to our parents, that I’d never heard the splash.

I bent my head over the framed photo and wept deeply, sorrowfully, full of remorse and regret.

Desi was wrong.

I did fall apart, but only by myself.



After Mom got home, we sat on the couch in front of the altar full of glowing candles. She drank wine and I drank soda. We listened to her old Carole King albums, which made her cry even when it wasn’t the anniversary of Brian’s death.

Eventually she cried herself to sleep on the couch, just like I’d told Desi she would. I tucked the blanket around her and turned down the stereo volume. It was sweet of Desi to invite me to spend the night, but I needed to stay with my mom. Tonight, we belonged together.

One by one, I blew out the candles. With each puff of breath, I remembered Brian, sent him love, and prayed for forgiveness.





Chapter Twenty-Six


Slade


Tuesday, June 18

After the morning swim lesson, the girl from the park texted me, but I didn’t reply. I felt like a jackass, but I didn’t know how to tell her I wasn’t interested in seeing her again. I thought of how Trina looked when I’d ignored her at the park, and wanted to crawl into a hole.

Shit.

I headed to the mall, but Desi was on break and not in the pretzel shop. I wandered around, buying a couple of shirts and baseball hats I’d never wear. By the time I got home, my parents had already left for a concert in the park. My dad left a smart-ass note: Don’t call the cops if we’re out past curfew.

I made myself a giant plate of nachos, nuking a pile of melted cheese on stale tortilla chips. Nothing was on TV, but I flipped through hundreds of lame channels anyway.

My phone didn’t ping with any new texts, even though I kept checking.

Finally I caved and sent my own. Missed u @ swimming. R u ok?

I regretted it as soon as I sent it, especially when I got no reply.

After thirty minutes, I sent another one. What’s the plan 4 tomorrow?

On the TV, Vin Diesel somersaulted through spraying glass, machine gun waving wildly. I’d inhaled the entire plate of nachos, so I wandered into the kitchen to make more.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I almost dropped my plate as I reached for it.

No plan. Can u pick me up at 8:45? Mom needs the car.

I dumped chips and cheese on the plate and stuck it in the microwave. She didn’t have a plan? Maybe she was sick.

Why did u switch lessons? I hit send before I could chicken out. If she told me it was because I’d pissed her off at the park, then I’d have the chance to apologize. I was pretty sure the knot in my gut wasn’t going away until I did.

No reply.

The microwave beeped. I burned the top of my mouth on the hot cheese. I grabbed a soda from the fridge and slugged it down, cursing myself. I flopped in front of the TV again and focused on the movie.

No reply was exactly what I deserved.

I stared at the screen, unmoved by the body count. Finally, I got up off my ass and grabbed a movie from my own collection. I shut off Vin Diesel and turned on Emma Watson, then made another plate of nachos.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Trina


June 19, Wednesday

Slade’s car pulled into our complex at 8:46 a.m. I was shocked. I figured I’d be waiting at least fifteen minutes. I wasn’t thrilled that he was picking me up, but Mom needed the car. We’d shared coffee and Pop Tarts, then packed away the candles from Brian’s shrine and placed his photo back on the bookshelf, just like a regular family photo. We only set up the shrine once a year now; the first few years Mom had lit candles every day, but eventually she’d stopped.

I took a deep breath as I walked toward Slade’s Jetta. I hadn’t replied to any of his texts last night, other than to tell him to pick me up today. I’d been too drained from my time with Mom, and from reliving all the emotions that came up on Brian’s anniversary. I’d thought about taking the day off, but I knew the best thing for me was to focus on something other than myself. Mom had gone to work this morning; so could I.