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

“Oh, okay then.”

Dumbledore hops off the couch, his tail sashaying with each step.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” I touch my cheek to see if he drew blood. Thankfully, no.

I’m about to go back downstairs for my sketchbook when I hear footsteps from the direction of Chris and Delia’s bedroom. Chris comes in, still in his pajamas too. He’s rubbing his beard and his dark brown hair sticks up in the back. “Thought I heard another early bird. Morning, Emma.”

“Good morning.”

“You always an early riser?”

I shake my head. “Not back home. I think it’s the time change.”

He pops into the kitchen and pulls a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. “You want some?” I nod and he pours me a glass, bringing it back to the living room. “Has Delia told you what I do for work?”

In the five-hour drive yesterday, Delia talked plenty, but I don’t remember her mentioning that.

“I work at the mines, just outside of town.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know much about mines?”

“I used to play Minecraft… but I’m guessing it’s not the same.”

Chris laughs. “Not really.” He explains how the whole reason anyone lives out in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming is because of the coal mines and that he works more than a mile underground. “I could take you down there sometime to see, if you’d like.”

I don’t even like being in basements. Without natural light or fresh air, I feel trapped. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings, so I say, “Maybe?”

“Anyhow, the reason I wanted you to know is because my schedule’s kind of peculiar. I work twelve-hour days, and then I get time off, and unfortunately you got here during one of those stretches where I’m at work a lot, so you may not see much of me for the rest of the week.”

“That’s okay,” I say before realizing that sounds like I don’t like him. “Sorry, I mean—”

“No worries. In any case, I’m sure Delia and Sadie can keep you entertained.” He takes a sip of his orange juice, staring past me out the huge bay window. “We’re so glad to have you here. We’d do anything for your mom. She’s been through a lot lately with your brother.”

I stare at the pile of magazines on the coffee table: The Atlantic, Yoga Journal, Real Simple. You can learn a lot about people from the magazines they leave lying around. Already I’m feeling better about not packing a cowboy hat.

“He’s a good kid. I know he is because he came from your mom and dad. It’s not easy being a teenager. Sometimes it feels like the whole world has changed since I was that age—and now as parents, Delia and I are just scrambling to keep up. Growing up in a mining town myself, I’m no stranger to substance abuse and all the hurt it can bring to a family. In any case, I just want you to know, if you ever want to talk about things, I’m happy to listen.”

When Mom took me to see the counselor in Cambridge earlier this week, it was all new. I was still in so much shock, I barely knew what to say. Barely even knew what I thought. And I wasn’t exactly ready to sit down in an office and talk about it with a complete stranger. But here, now, with Chris? It feels different. “Your family?” I ask.

“My father was an alcoholic.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Chris says. “He was a complicated man. And I loved him very much. Just like you do Austin.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. It stops the tears from welling up in my eyes. Who am I to even think how weird it is to be in this nice house in Wyoming when Austin’s in some treatment facility with no one he knows at all? I picture his room there—blank white walls, no Modest Mouse poster, no Patriots banner. And not even his cell phone to text a friend or me or Mom or Dad. He’s entirely alone. Removed from everything—no, everyone—he’s ever known.

“Emma?” Chris’s voice startles me.

“Sorry.”

“Emma, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s okay.”

But he doesn’t know. There’s plenty to be sorry about. I should have said something to Mom and Dad. I could have stopped it. Maybe not entirely. But maybe if I’d said something, it wouldn’t be this bad. Not so bad that Austin had to get sent away.

But I can’t tell him any of this because he might tell Mom, and she still thinks I’m good. She needs to keep thinking that. Not worrying at all about me. I’m here, in this nice house. Chris is right. It’s okay. It’s okay—for me.

And okay has to be good enough.

I clear my throat. “Maybe we could talk about Austin some other time. I don’t want to make you late for work.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Chris says. And then he excuses himself, leaving me all alone again.

Outside, the sun rises and I’m finally seeing Wyoming in daylight. Mom was right about one thing. The sky here is big. More than big. Endless.

When Sadie stops her bike in front of the library, I’m still panting from the past hour. Maybe Mom could keep up with Sadie, but even after an entire season of track, I barely can. At Delia’s request, Sadie has spent this morning giving me an unofficial tour of town.

“And here,” Sadie says as she hops off her bike, “is the library.” She walks her bike over to the bike rack and locks it, and I follow suit. I’m still fumbling with the lock when Sadie sighs. “Come on!” she says, heading for the entrance.

Finally I get the lock to click and jog after her, out of breath all over again. Sadie stops outside the library’s café. “When I told my mom I’d take you out, I completely spaced about meeting up with my friends. We’ve got this summer school project