Craig Lancaster - Edward Adrift by Craig Lancaster - Edward Adrift

these coping strategies, I will be happy to provide it. I’ve had practice.

    Donna and I are having coffee at the kitchen table. She is having coffee, anyway. I am having sugar-free hot chocolate, because I don’t like coffee and because Donna didn’t have any chai tea, which I do like. Discovering that was the only good thing to come of my misadventure in Bozeman, although I’m not sure that chai tea was worth a punch in the face from the intemperate young man.
    Donna has a grave look, which I understand. Today has not been easy, nor has it been fun.
    “Edward,” she says. “I want to talk to you about something. I want us to talk about it now so when it comes up tonight when Victor’s home and we all sit down to chat, you won’t be surprised by it.”
    “OK.”
    “I think you’re going to need to go back home.”
    I feel an ache in my stomach.
    “OK. Why?”
    She looks at me, and tears have begun to build up in her eyes. I reach out and catch one on my thumb before it runs down her face. This surprises her. It surprises me, too.
    “I hate to say it,” she says. “I hate it. But this thing is so much bigger and more awful than I imagined, and I think we’re going to need all the time and effort we can muster to save Kyle from whatever’s got hold of him.”
    I agree with what Donna is saying, and I try to communicate this to her by nodding.
    She goes on. “You’re a part of this family, Edward. I want you to know that. When Kyle came home after being expelled, he said he wanted to go back to Billings and visit you, and, honestly, we considered it. We’d still love to do it. But we can’t while he’s like this. It wouldn’t be fair to you. He’s way, way out of control. Do you get what I’m saying?”
    I nod again. I get it. It still hurts me in my gut, but I think Donna is only making sense. She is a very logical woman.
    “I will do whatever you think helps the most, Donna,” I say.
    Donna sets her head down. She grinds her forehead into her arms, which are crossed on the table. Her shoulders heave. She is crying again.
    I sip my sugar-free hot chocolate and I wait for her to finish.
    I’m going home, but there’s nothing for me there.
    I am adrift. I hate that word.

    I’m leaving the bathroom—this medicine continues to make me pee prodigiously (I love the word “prodigiously”)—and passing by the door to Kyle’s room. He cracks it open and speaks to me.
    “Don’t let them make you leave,” he says.
    I look around, afraid that we’ll both be in trouble, but Donna can’t hear him. She’s in the kitchen cutting vegetables for dinner.
    “Kyle, you’re not supposed to be out here.”
    “Screw her.”
    “ Kyle .”
    “Why are they making you leave?”
    If he’s managed to eavesdrop enough to know that I will be going home, he should know the answer to his own question. Still, I tell him.
    “Because you’re being bad and they don’t know what to do. I’ll get in the way.”
    For just a moment Kyle looks mad, and I brace myself in anticipation that he will call me another name that hurts my feelings. But he doesn’t do that. He’s just defiant.
    “So what? They’re doing it because they want to punish me. And you’re going to leave because you want to punish me, too.”
    “I don’t want to punish you.”
    “Then why are you leaving?”
    “Because your mom thinks it would be better if I did.”
    “She’s wrong.”
    “She’s very logical, Kyle.”
    “You’re wrong.”
    “I don’t think so. We’ll have to see what the facts bear out.”
    Donna’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Edward, can you help me with something real quick?”
    “Close the door,” I tell Kyle.
    “Don’t let them make you leave.”
    “Close it!”
    Kyle, at last, does as he’s told.
    I head for the kitchen.
    I’m flummoxed, to say the least. No, I guess to say the least would be to say nothing at all—another phrase that doesn’t make much sense.

TECHNICALLY TUESDAY, DECEMBER