always got up at the crack of dawn so he could squeeze an hour of surfing in before heading to work. No
way
could he still be sleeping! He used to get annoyed with us if we slept past nine, even on the weekends.
“Okay.” Jack’s voice was distant. Like he definitely wasn’t listening and he definitely didn’t care. Without meeting her eyes, he threw the ball down, took a running leap, and kicked again. This time, even harder than before.
BAM!
Mom shook her head. She was annoyed, I could tell, but didn’t have it in her to ask him again. She let the door slam behind her as she went back inside.
“One big happy family,” said Patrick.
I ignored him. Walked up the driveway and sat down about ten feet from where Jack was kicking his ball.
Jack Cheddar
.
He was beautiful. Just a beautiful, sweet, sullen boy. Turning nine in a few months. A thought popped into my head.
What if he’s forgotten me
?
He pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it on the ground. Then he sat down cross-legged on the grass, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a deck of cards. I’d been teaching him how to shuffle over the summer. He’d nearly gotten it. But his hands were still just a little too small to master it. He split the deck in half like I’d shown him (fewer cards makes it easier), but when he went to make the bridge—trying to bend the cards in a smooth, rounded arch—they slipped out of his fingers and flew all over the grass.
“Shoot,” he muttered.
“Try again,” I called out. “Use your thumbs this time.”
He repeated the same exact steps, but just like before, the cards went flying. “Damnit!” He gave up and went back to kicking his soccer ball.
There’s nothing I can do. I’m totally useless. A complete and total waste of space.
“Well, not technically, since you’re not
technically
taking up any space,” Patrick said. “You know, if we’re being technical.”
I smacked my hand against my forehead. “Oh my god, do you EVER shut up?”
He smiled. “Not really.”
I would’ve come up with some kind of witty retort, but the sound of yelling caught my attention. I got up and walked over toward the kitchen window to get a better look. There they were. Mom and Dad. Sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. An untouched mug of coffee sat in front of him; an unread newspaper and empty plate in front of her. She was crying. He had his head buried in his hands.
“You’ve got to stop,” she said. “How much longer are you going to put us all through this? How much longer are you going to put
Brie
through it?”
Me? They’re fighting about me?
“I need to understand,” he said. “I can’t let it go until I do.”
“You’re obsessed,” Mom said, her voice breaking. “You can’t fix her. She’s gone, Daniel. When are you going to accept it?”
“It doesn’t make sense, Katie.”
“She’s
gone,
Daniel, listen to yourself.” She got up from the table and carried her plate to the kitchen sink. Turned the hot water on, so steam began fogging up the window where I was peering in. I leaned in closer.
“She was healthy,” Dad continued. “We were on top of it. Her heart was healthy.”
“Or maybe it wasn’t.” Mom was crying again. She paused to wipe her tears away. “Maybe we were wrong.”
“No!” Dad slammed his fist down on the kitchen table suddenly, knocking over the sugar bowl. The sound made Mom and me both jump. “An acute massive coronary in a fifteen-year-old girl? Tissue doesn’t just tear, Katie. A heart doesn’t just split in goddamn half!”
“Calm down,” said Mom. “Jack can hear you.”
Dad took a deep breath. Looked like he was trying to collect himself. “My team has never seen a case like it,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Brie could help us save other people—to make sure something like this won’t happen again.”
“It’s not your fault, Daniel,” Mom whispered. “It’s not anybody’s fault.”
“That boy had something
way
could he still be sleeping! He used to get annoyed with us if we slept past nine, even on the weekends.
“Okay.” Jack’s voice was distant. Like he definitely wasn’t listening and he definitely didn’t care. Without meeting her eyes, he threw the ball down, took a running leap, and kicked again. This time, even harder than before.
BAM!
Mom shook her head. She was annoyed, I could tell, but didn’t have it in her to ask him again. She let the door slam behind her as she went back inside.
“One big happy family,” said Patrick.
I ignored him. Walked up the driveway and sat down about ten feet from where Jack was kicking his ball.
Jack Cheddar
.
He was beautiful. Just a beautiful, sweet, sullen boy. Turning nine in a few months. A thought popped into my head.
What if he’s forgotten me
?
He pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it on the ground. Then he sat down cross-legged on the grass, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a deck of cards. I’d been teaching him how to shuffle over the summer. He’d nearly gotten it. But his hands were still just a little too small to master it. He split the deck in half like I’d shown him (fewer cards makes it easier), but when he went to make the bridge—trying to bend the cards in a smooth, rounded arch—they slipped out of his fingers and flew all over the grass.
“Shoot,” he muttered.
“Try again,” I called out. “Use your thumbs this time.”
He repeated the same exact steps, but just like before, the cards went flying. “Damnit!” He gave up and went back to kicking his soccer ball.
There’s nothing I can do. I’m totally useless. A complete and total waste of space.
“Well, not technically, since you’re not
technically
taking up any space,” Patrick said. “You know, if we’re being technical.”
I smacked my hand against my forehead. “Oh my god, do you EVER shut up?”
He smiled. “Not really.”
I would’ve come up with some kind of witty retort, but the sound of yelling caught my attention. I got up and walked over toward the kitchen window to get a better look. There they were. Mom and Dad. Sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. An untouched mug of coffee sat in front of him; an unread newspaper and empty plate in front of her. She was crying. He had his head buried in his hands.
“You’ve got to stop,” she said. “How much longer are you going to put us all through this? How much longer are you going to put
Brie
through it?”
Me? They’re fighting about me?
“I need to understand,” he said. “I can’t let it go until I do.”
“You’re obsessed,” Mom said, her voice breaking. “You can’t fix her. She’s gone, Daniel. When are you going to accept it?”
“It doesn’t make sense, Katie.”
“She’s
gone,
Daniel, listen to yourself.” She got up from the table and carried her plate to the kitchen sink. Turned the hot water on, so steam began fogging up the window where I was peering in. I leaned in closer.
“She was healthy,” Dad continued. “We were on top of it. Her heart was healthy.”
“Or maybe it wasn’t.” Mom was crying again. She paused to wipe her tears away. “Maybe we were wrong.”
“No!” Dad slammed his fist down on the kitchen table suddenly, knocking over the sugar bowl. The sound made Mom and me both jump. “An acute massive coronary in a fifteen-year-old girl? Tissue doesn’t just tear, Katie. A heart doesn’t just split in goddamn half!”
“Calm down,” said Mom. “Jack can hear you.”
Dad took a deep breath. Looked like he was trying to collect himself. “My team has never seen a case like it,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Brie could help us save other people—to make sure something like this won’t happen again.”
“It’s not your fault, Daniel,” Mom whispered. “It’s not anybody’s fault.”
“That boy had something
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