The Art of Losing(37)

Mike’s face came immediately to mind.

A few hours after Audrey fell asleep again, I decided to go home. It was eight in the morning and I was exhausted. Mom still had plenty of energy to hover, and Dad wandered in and out, trying to find distractions. Both Keisha and Dr. Martinez had made it clear that returning to full consciousness would be a long process. The implication was that we could all use a break, but I was the only one who seemed to get it.

I called Cassidy and woke her up. I must have sounded as tired as I felt because she didn’t even sound annoyed when I asked her to come pick me up. She even had coffee and a donut waiting for me in her car’s cup holder.

“I don’t deserve you,” I said as I took a grateful sip. Liquid warmth spread through me. Sweet and milky, just the way I liked it.

“No, you don’t,” she deadpanned. “Luckily, I love you anyway.”

I laughed sadly as I reached for the donut.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Not really. But do you think you could get me a job at The Flakey Pastry? Mom told me to find ‘gainful employment,’ but I’m also thinking of emancipation. I’ll need to pay rent.”





Six Years Ago



I heard my friends grumble, the ones closest to the cabin door. I heard them even before I heard Audrey’s voice. But I knew what was going on. She was back. Of course. This was the fourth time this week.

With a sigh, I climbed off my bunk and went to shoo her out of our cabin and herd her back to her own. It was nearly lights out. We’d both be in trouble if we were out after “Taps” had been played.

“Hey, Audy,” I said quietly.

Her small, freckle-scattered face was red and streaked with tears.

I led her back outside, onto the cabin’s small front porch. My counselor raised her eyebrows at me through the window. I held up my pointer finger, asking her for just a minute. She reached for her walkie-talkie anyway. I knew she was calling Audrey’s counselor to come get her. I didn’t have much time.

I sat Audrey down on the stairs and stood in front of her so we were eye level. Her chin trembled and fresh tears slid from her eyes.

“I want to go home,” she said. It sounded like an accusation, as if I was the one keeping her here at camp. Like she was a prisoner, being forced to make baskets and row canoes and play tennis.

“I know you do, but you can’t,” I said. I tried to be patient. “Even if you called Mom and Dad, they’re in Italy. There’s nothing they can do.”

Mom and Dad had made it perfectly clear why we were at camp. They’d been planning a European vacation for years, before I was even born. Now they could finally do it.

I wondered if Audrey had gotten the same postcard I had—the one with the Roman Colosseum on the front. On the back was a hastily scrawled “Thinking of you and missing you in Rome!” I wondered if that was true. Because I didn’t miss them that much. Yet. I had Cassidy with me, for one.

Audrey was having a tougher time. She had made friends, but at night, she couldn’t sleep because she wasn’t in her own bed. The exhaustion was catching up to her.

Her chest started to rise and fall rapidly. Her face was blotchy. I could hear her struggling to breathe.

A ball of dread formed in my stomach. She was panicking.

I knelt in front of her and grasped her shoulders. “Audy, you need to calm down, okay? Take a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

This was how my dad handled her when she got this upset. Audrey tried—she took three deep breaths in a row—but she was still shaking in her nightgown.

I heard her counselor walking up the gravel behind me and Audrey’s eyes grew wide. She started shaking her head rapidly.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go! I want to stay with you!” She was shrieking by then and gripping me around the waist.

I looked back at her counselor and then at mine. She’d gotten out of bed and was now silhouetted in the screen door. She shook her head. I ignored her. I ignored both counselors.

“You can stay with me tonight,” I said. I knew this could be the end of my new, easy friendships, but I tried not to care. My little sister could share my bed if it meant she would sleep. If it would get rid of the dark circles that had gathered under her eyes.

That night, spooned against my side, Audrey did sleep. I also got some shit for it, but most of the girls understood. They almost seemed jealous that I had my sister to cuddle with. I think maybe we were all a little homesick, even if we didn’t admit it out loud.

The next day, I walked Audrey back to her cabin, and I hung out with her cabinmates for a while. I introduced them to Bear Bear, Audrey’s stuffed bear, by way of a song-and-dance number I’d often perform for Audrey. And an hour later, Audrey was showing them her books and iPod, and they were giggling and listening to music, so I tapped her on the foot and waved goodbye.

“You can come sleep with me again tonight if you need to,” I whispered as she hugged me. But she shook her head.

“It’s okay, I have Bear Bear,” she assured me.

By the end of our second week, I’d only seen her across the mess hall when she’d given me a wave and gone back to laughing with her friends. I walked to her cabin one night while the rest of my friends were getting ready for bed.