See You at Harry's(24)

“Here!” Charlie yells, poking his head out from under the table.

“Not you,” I say. “Holden.”

“I haven’t seen him since you guys dropped me off!” I yell to Gray.

“He needs a cell phone!” he yells back. Then he peels out of the parking lot.

“Who was that?” Charlie asks.

“That was Gray.”

“He’s loud.” He pops his head back under the table, then slips out the other side and makes a dash for it.

“Charlie!” I scream. “No running in the parking lot!”

“You won’t get me, Big Bad Wolfie!” He continues his mad dash across the pavement just as a car is backing up.

Brakes screech.

I’m running. Charlie is on his back, still clutching Doll. His face is very calm. “Wolf!” he screams up at me. But he doesn’t move.

The driver gets out of the car and hurries around to the back. It’s Mr. Seymore, a skinny old man who comes into the restaurant all the time for the senior-citizen early-bird discount.

“Jeee-sus!” he yells. “Is he OK? I don’t think I hit him. I didn’t feel anything.”

“Charlie?” I ask. Something is happening in my chest. My heart. It’s beating so fast and so hard. I have to press my hands against it. I can’t breathe. I look down at Charlie, who is impossibly still.

Then he blinks.

I bend down to touch his face with my hand. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?”

“Can’t catch me, Wolfie!” He rolls away from me and dashes toward the restaurant. “Can’t catch me nevah, nevah!”

I take a deep breath. I still feel like I’m in shock.

Mr. Seymore scratches his head. “Miracle I didn’t hit the kid. I could’ve killed ’im! You shouldn’t let your little brother run in the parking lot.”

“I didn’t! He took off before I could grab him!”

“There are rules!” he yells in my face. He’s shaking. I realize I am, too.

“He was so fast,” I say.

My mom comes running out of the restaurant. “Fern! What did you do to your brother?”

I’m still having trouble breathing.

“Fern!” my mother yells.

Mr. Seymore shakes his head. “Can’t believe I didn’t kill the kid,” he says. “Stupid kids.”

My ears are buzzing.

“Fern? What’s wrong with you?” My mom’s staring at me like I’m a child killer.

I gasp for breath.

“He . . . he . . .” I try.

Charlie darts back outside and comes careening into me. “Bad Wolf!” he says, hugging my legs like he always does.

“Did you scare him?” my mom asks.

Sara comes out then, too. “What happened?”

I touch Charlie’s soggy head.

“He darted out,” I say quietly. “I couldn’t stop him.”

My mom gives me a disappointed look.

I pull Charlie off my legs in disgust. “He’s fine,” I say. “Charlie, never do that again! You could’ve been hit!”

He head-butts my thigh. “It didn’t hurt,” he says, rubbing the back of his head.

My mom bends down and kisses him.

And where were you? I want to scream at her.

“He really could’ve been hurt, Fern,” my mom says as she stands back up.

“I know that! But he’s not my responsibility!”

“He’s all of our responsibility. We’re a family.”

“Go, team!” Charlie cheers.

“Then do your share!” I give Sara a dirty look. “I have homework. I can’t watch him all the time.” I’m still shaking from seeing Charlie on the ground like that. Mr. Seymore is right. He could have killed him. But it would have been my fault. Me. The one who’s supposed to save everyone.

Mr. Seymore walks away from us, muttering as he gets into his car.

Sara gives me a look like I am the worst sister on earth. Then she and my mom lead Charlie back inside. I notice they don’t seem to care whether I was in harm’s way.

I walk back to the picnic table and sit there, alone. I look at all the names carved and penned into the tabletop. Mostly there are first names with was here and then the year. Or else there are things like Carrie loves Ben 4-evah. It’s kind of a tradition, I guess, to come here and carve something on the tables, because the tables have become plastered and gouged over the years, and some of the dates go back to when my grandfather first opened the business. People have even carved stuff under the table and seats because it’s so hard to find free space. Holden once suggested we paint over them, and my dad was offended. He said the etchings are what give the tables character and add to the old-timey ambience of the restaurant.

As I study the carvings, I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump.

“Whoa!” Holden says, sitting down next to me. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Where’ve you been? I ask. “Gray was looking for you.”

“He found me. We going home soon?”

“I dunno.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie almost got hit by a car, and everyone thinks it’s my fault.”