The Art of Losing(83)

She nodded silently.

“He’s drinking again.”

“I know,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“You need to be stronger for him. He’s only a kid for one more year—you only have control for one more year—and then he goes to college.” She nodded again, her chin trembling. “You can’t let him go to college and drink like he does right now. He’ll hurt himself. Or someone else.”

“I know,” she said.

“Do better,” I repeated. “Help him be better.”

“I’ll try,” she answered.





Two Months Ago



I wanted to go home.

Cassidy should have known better than to ask me to sleep over. The chances of me making it to the end of any party were minimal, even if it was hers.

I started the search for Audrey, hoping she might be willing to leave early, and Mike, who had probably continued drinking until he had passed out on a couch somewhere.

I could hear shouts from the garage, where a raucous game of beer pong was being played on a pink plastic ping-pong table. At the other end of the house, in the kitchen, wobbly Jell-O shots were being passed out by Cassidy’s fourteen-year-old sister, Morgan. Her mouth was red at the corners, and she was laughing at something a guy said as she passed by.

I took a picture of her and sent it to Cassidy. Keep an eye on The Nuisance, I wrote. She’s sampling the merchandise.

I wandered around for a while looking for Mike. I didn’t need him; I drove myself to the party. But I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. And I had to track down Audrey anyway. I needed to make sure she had a way to get home, even if it wasn’t with me.

I threaded my way through the crowd and headed upstairs. It was the only place I hadn’t checked, but I also needed to get my bag from Cassidy’s room. It had been optimistic of me to bring my pajamas in the first place, and now I had to carry them through the party as I left.

The door to Cassidy’s bedroom was closed, but that wasn’t a surprise. She’d told me she was going to lock it so no one could have sex on her bed, in front of her stuffed animals. But I’d spent many nights sleeping in that room, so I didn’t think twice when I reached above the doorjamb, grabbed the hidden key, and opened the door.

I waited for my eyes to adjust in the dim light, so it took me a moment to realize that I was face-to-face with my little sister.

“Harley?” she whispered.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” I said, jumping back a foot.

Audrey’s chestnut brown hair, normally pin straight with tidy bangs, was messy and her light blue eyes were wide with shock. No doubt it was a mirror of my own, both in features and expression.

My anger melted, reshaping into embarrassment when I saw that her shirt was half-buttoned and her shoes were in her hands. The bed behind her was mussed. This was unexpected, sure, but I hadn’t meant to interrupt my sister’s make-out session. I was more curious who it was with.

I mouthed “Sorry” and started to back through the door, but Audrey didn’t scream at me to get out or smile with embarrassment. Instead, her eyes flitted to the floor where a familiar Hellboy T-shirt lay on the rug. I had seen it in that very position many times before. I leaned down and reached for the shirt, holding it out accusingly toward her, but I couldn’t speak.

“Who is that?” Mike’s voice called out through the bathroom door. A second later, he appeared, bare-chested and with his fly half-zipped. His mouth dropped open when he saw me silhouetted in the doorway to the bedroom. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. “Harley. Shit.”

I could see he was searching for a plausible lie for why he was shirtless in a bedroom with my little sister, but he was so drunk that he had to lean against the doorframe just to stay upright. I held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” I said. My voice was a hoarse whisper as my throat closed around a golf-ball-sized lump. “I don’t want to hear it.”

I turned and ran for the stairs, dropping Mike’s shirt on my way. Audrey called after me, but I ignored her.

As I ducked through the living room to the front door, I felt bile rising in my throat. The door to the bathroom opened and I dashed into it, cutting off a line half a dozen people long. I ignored their mutinous cries as I slammed the door behind me.

I’m pretty sure I threw up everything I’d ever eaten in my whole life. I kept picturing Mike, his belly full of beer protruding over his unbuttoned shorts, putting his hands on my sister. Kissing her. On top of her.

My throat was raw, and my lips were stinging when the door opened a crack. Audrey poked her head in.

“Harley? Are you okay?” she said. Her words were slurred, and she had to put one hand on the counter to keep her balance.

I leaned back against the wall and breathed in through my nose slowly. “Get out,” I moaned. “I don’t want to look at you right now.”

Her chin trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “But nothing happened! Just let me explain.” A tear glanced off her nose and hit the floor near my knee.

“If nothing happened, then why are you crying?” I said as I pushed myself up from the tile. I rinsed my mouth out with water and washed my hands. Bloodshot and red-rimmed, my eyes in the mirror reflected a glassy blue. My face was flushed from crying. From throwing up. From the sting of betrayal.