“And in fairness, I don’t think he picked it.”
Val frowned. “He picked the Army. Though I’m not sure he did it because he wanted to do something dangerous, so much as because he thought it was his only good option?”
“Why should that have been his only option?”
“The thing he talks about—the noise . . .”
Julie waved it away. “I’ve never figured out what that was about. He looks happier than he’s looked in a long time.”
“I guess. It’s just maybe we should have tried harder to help him with that, or to help him figure out what came next, so he didn’t go off and make this decision on his own.”
“We did try. You ran with him. We had a million conversations about what he might want to study, and visited a million schools, and helped him with a million essays. What more were we supposed to do?”
“Maybe we should have asked.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure he would have answered.”
Val wished she thought that were true.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SOPHIE
Sophie heard all kinds of things if she pretended to sleep. That was how she’d found out she wasn’t a candidate for brain surgery, and how she’d learned the phrase “intractable seizures.” Sometimes she understood the things she overheard. Sometimes someone explained later or she looked up words, and the mysteries sorted into neat boxes.
All in all, her parents were pretty good about telling the truth, but often it took a while. They talked it out between themselves before telling her, even when it was something that concerned her. The “brain surgery” conversation took place in her hospital room. “Intractable” in the car. The two best places to learn things were on the couch when they were talking in the dining room, or pretending to sleep in the back seat.
When she was little she would add in the occasional fake snore, but she had since taken a theater class and learned that the trick to acting was not overacting. “Most people playing drunk exaggerate,” the teacher had said. “Real drunk people try hard to come across sober.” Sophie thought that was an odd thing to explain to middle schoolers, but she filed that information away, too.
The hardest part was when she overheard something major and knew they were never going to tell her. Money stuff. Money stuff because of her. Seizure stuff they thought she wasn’t ready for. It was about her; why wouldn’t she want to hear it? She deserved to know.
Now the thing David said—that he was being deployed. She already knew the word; they used it in school when discussing current events. How long did they plan to keep this from her? David had said he wanted to wait until the end of the visit, and Julie had supported that, and Val hadn’t said anything. David had called her “squirt,” too, like she was a baby. It was one thing to have your parents lie to you; another when it was your brother.
What else had he not told her? Sometimes she hated being so much younger than David. It had always been cool having an older brother; she had counted on him to look out for her, even if he’d pretended she bugged him when his friends were around. Now he’d come back acting like a grown-up, and she was stuck as the only kid. If that was how it was going to be, she was going to make sure it was hard for them.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered to David when he nudged her awake to go into the house. “I missed you.”
The truth, exaggerated for maximum effect.
• • •
The next morning, Saturday, Sophie was all smiles. Some of her mood was legit and some was an act. Once she started smiling, it was hard to figure out where one ended and the other began, but she was both happy and mad, and she would let only the happy show.
It didn’t help that David was already downstairs making French toast. French toast was her favorite, and she never got to have it. Ma would make it too healthy, hiding vegetables in the batter. Mom would research a dozen recipes online, maybe buy the ingredients, then abandon the project before she ever got around to cooking. David had started the coffee machine, too. She loved how coffee smelled and hated the taste.
“I missed you,” she said again to David, still calculating truth to sting. She sat at the end of the table where she could watch him at the counter.
David mixed batter. He smiled without turning. “You missed me, or you missed French toast?”
“Both.” Truthful again.
“I’m going to have to use that gross sprouted bread. It’s the only one in the house.”
Sophie made a face. “Will that work? Peanut butter bounces off it.”
“I’ll make it work.”
“I could go to the store and get real bread. Fake bread. Whichever is which. The other one.”
He turned, a surprised look on his face. “Are you allowed to go to the store on your own now?”
“No, but I could do it.” Sophie shrugged.
“Somehow I thought they’d go easier on you if I wasn’t here. I don’t know why I thought that.”
“Me, neither. It’s the same. I can’t go anywhere on my own. I think they would have me sleep on their bedroom floor like a dog if I was willing.”
“Why aren’t you?” David pulled a slice of bread from the bag and dunked it in the batter. He poked at it, pushing it deeper.
“Why aren’t I what?”
“Willing to sleep on their floor? Woof woof?” He scratched an imaginary flea from behind his ear with his hand.
Sophie looked for something to throw at his head, but didn’t spot anything and settled for a “Jerk.”
Julie stumbled into the kitchen. She grabbed a mug from the cabinet, filled it with coffee. Fingers wrapped around the warm mug, she slid into the seat opposite Sophie but turned the chair to see both kids. “Who’s a jerk?
