Where We Used to Roam Jenn Bishop (red white royal blue TXT) 📖

Chris, were going to make the drive from their small town in northeastern Wyoming all the way into Denver for me. I wasn’t totally buying Mom’s “That’s how excited they are to see you.” More like, that was how bad they felt for my mom. Bad enough to spend ten hours round-trip in a car to pick me up.

I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. The last thing Mom and Dad needed was a tantrum from Emma. Besides, ever since that moment in the cafeteria when I told Kennedy and Lucy my plan, I’d started to think maybe it could happen. Maybe Wyoming could be an adventure.

Once Dad dropped me off at the airport, he and Mom would drive Austin down to Cape Cod, to the closest abstinence-based rehab facility they could find that had good ratings and an open bed. He’d be there for thirty days, and then, at the end, if everything went well, they’d let him come home.

Home. That was the part Mom and Dad were most worried about. Austin would need to learn all over again how to have a real life, without any drugs.

My suitcase was laid out on my bed, packed with shorts and T-shirts, a bathing suit—did people even go swimming in Wyoming? There aren’t any beaches, but there must be lakes, right? A pool? Plus jeans, my lucky sweatshirt, some long-sleeved shirts in case it got cold at night, and a dress in case we went somewhere fancy. Mom said we might go hiking, so I dug around in my closet for those hiking sneakers I’d gotten a few years ago when we went to New Hampshire for a week. Did they still fit?

Knock-knock.

I had them on both hands like mittens when I turned to see who it was.

Austin stood in the doorway with a hand in his pocket. He didn’t look like a drug addict, at least not like the ones I’d seen around Harvard Square before, all spaced-out and skinny, dark circles under their eyes. Austin wasn’t as tan as he used to be from being outside all afternoon at track practice, but his arms were still muscular. His hair had gotten so long he could tuck it behind his ears.

“Looks like you’re ready to go,” he said, stepping into my room.

I glanced at my suitcase. “I don’t know if any of my clothes are cool for Wyoming.”

“You probably need a cowboy hat. Or some boots.”

“Yeah, that’s what I need. Cowboy boots.” I knew he was trying to be nice, but I couldn’t. The whole thing still smarted.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and handed me a piece of paper. When I unfolded it, I could see he’d scrawled out the address for the rehab center he’d be at. His handwriting had always been so bad, but I could still read it. At least, I was pretty sure.

“I’m not allowed to have my phone with me, but they said you can write. If you want, I mean.”

“Austin.”

He shook his head. “I should have never—I’m sorry, Em. I’m really—”

I didn’t know what to say back to him. If he was really sorry, he would have stopped. If he was really sorry, I wouldn’t be leaving for Wyoming tomorrow morning. If he was really sorry, he would have been there for me so I could have told him about what happened at Camp McSweeney and he would have helped me figure out how to make things right with Becca and what I was even supposed to do about Kennedy. Could I trust her again? Accept her apology?

But no. He wasn’t around then, or the months before. Not really. He wasn’t depressed—or maybe he was. He was high. He was on drugs. He didn’t care about me or Mom and Dad. Just himself.

I reached down for my backpack and slipped the paper into the front pouch.

“Look, I know I’ve ruined your summer plans. What’s Becca even going to do with you gone for the whole summer?”

Just hearing her name gave me another pang of guilt. But Austin didn’t seem to notice that it took me a second to say, “She’ll survive.” I hoped that was true. At least now that school was out, she wouldn’t have to listen to other kids taunting her with meows.

“Hey, I bet you’ll find your people in Wyoming. They might wear cowboy hats and hang out with prairie dogs on the weekend, but they’re there.” He cracked a smile, trying to get me to follow. “Okay, guess I’d better pack. You’re way better at it than I am, and if I don’t finish soon, Dad’s going to breathe down my neck even more.”

Once he was back in his room, I zipped up my suitcase and set it on the floor. I wasn’t sure Austin got what I was doing for him. Traveling across the country to stay with strangers for the entire summer so Mom and Dad could focus on him. Didn’t he wonder why I wasn’t more upset, more resistant? But then, he hadn’t really been thinking about me or anyone else in this family for a while now, had he?

Maybe it’d finally occur to him while he’s at rehab. He didn’t just do this to himself. He did this to all of us.

From my desk I grabbed the sheet of paper Nisha had handed me when I passed by the art room right before lunch. She’d told me to share it with Kennedy and Lucy, but I couldn’t. It was hard enough telling them I’d canceled on the camp.

The local arts council was running a contest for anyone ages twelve to eighteen, with a deadline of September 1. I’d have the whole summer to come up with something. What I’d said to Kennedy and Lucy in the cafeteria, I’d made up on the spot. I didn’t exactly believe it. But maybe I was right. Maybe an artist really did need to get away to come up with something new.

I folded the sheet