been there yet. Hugh’s eyes were locked on the scorched grass and mangled telephone pole, but I struggled to look for more than a few seconds at a time. The thoughts danced around my head with the twisted, fearful sort of awe that I’d always heard comes from a situation like this. Last night could’ve ended much worse for us—did end much worse for some other sets of siblings out there. Some other sister that didn’t get told until too late. Hugh turned to face me and chuckled—the first hint of happiness I’d seen from him all day. “Remember that Community episode? When they rolled the die, and it split the timeline, and Abed turns evil, and the apartment burns down.” I nodded. We watched that show every Thursday night when we still lived at home. Ollie never found it funny, but he watched it with us anyway. “At least we know we’re not in the darkest timeline.” Hugh’s humor would seem inappropriate to anyone who didn’t know him. “It is for those other families.”
M
om was napping when we got home. Her head was against the breakfast table with a half-empty bottle of wine standing in the middle of it. The kitchen island was too consumed with aluminum trays and Tupperware casseroles gifted from
I wanted to believe what Hugh had said earlier. This wasn’t the darkest timeline. Ollie was fine, and Dad had a reason for not telling me.
concerned friends to comfortably sit down. Dad still wasn’t home. She jolted awake at our arrival. Her sweater sleeves had left marks across her face. “Ollie’s in the basement. Don’t wake him up. He’s on lots of pills.” She pulled a plate of bean burritos from the microwave. “Leave these out for your dad when you’re finished. He said he’d be late.” I hadn’t had my aunt’s bean burritos since high school. They tasted different. I wasn’t sneaking around the house, drunk. I hadn’t been out late with my friends. It didn’t feel like that long ago: the immaturity, adolescence, late nights, fun. It felt good being home, no matter the circumstances. Hugh followed Mom upstairs. He was going to spend the night at home until Ollie was back on his feet. I wanted to stay awake until Dad got home. I wanted to believe what Hugh had said earlier. This wasn’t the darkest timeline. Ollie was fine, and Dad had a reason for not telling me. But I also wanted— maybe unreasonably but probably not—to yell at him, curse him, tell him to go to hell. I needed reassurance that he wouldn’t be absent for Ollie this time. But the flannel sheets that Mom always hated swal-
lowed me in their warmth. I hadn’t been in that bed in almost a year.
D
ad still hadn’t come home in the morning. Mom was a wreck, so she had me take Ollie to the orthopedist for a timeline on his rib and collarbone fractures. She obviously cared that Dad wasn’t there, but I was afraid to ask if she’d heard from him yet. Her red eyes made me doubtful. Ollie didn’t speak much in the car ride. The appointment seemed to make him more upset. I couldn’t bear to see the guilt on his face. He was just a kid—not even out of high school. I didn’t know the other kids who had been in the car, but I knew they were his friends. I rested my hand on his thigh, which seemed to jolt him out of the daze. “Have you heard from Dad?” His voice was still raspy. “Not yet, Ollie. I’m sure he’ll be home when we get back.” I worried for Ollie when I left for college. Hugh left the year after me. Ollie’s friends became his family, and now Woodberry Forest School
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