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

Mom says. “About Austin. That’s on us. And, honey, I know you feel guilty for what happened with Becca on the trip, but from the way you told it at least, it sounds like Kennedy shares in the blame.” Mom manages to find another tissue in her purse, and I use it to wipe up my hands. “You know, Dad and I expected you to be a bit more resistant about going to Wyoming. Now it’s starting to make sense.”

“Have you seen her—Becca?”

Mom shakes her head. “Between everything with Austin and the store, I haven’t had much free time. Honestly, I’m so lost in my own head, for all I know I walked right past Dr. Grossman at the grocery store without even noticing.”

Something nudges me in the butt right then, and when I turn around, Austin is lifting his head up off the pillow. His eyes flutter open and latch on to mine. He keeps blinking like he’s not sure I’m really here.

“Hey,” I say, pivoting my whole body so I’m facing him.

“You came back.”

I slide off the bed, taking a few careful steps toward my brother like I’m in one of those stores with breakable pottery.

He looks better than the last time I saw him. Clean-shaven. Healthy. Even though he’s in the hospital. It doesn’t add up.

His eyes get glassy, and he scrunches up his whole face. “I ruined your trip.”

Was that how he still saw it? My trip? He didn’t get it. Or maybe—maybe he did. Because he looks upset, finally, for all the pain he’s caused. “You didn’t ruin it,” I say, surprised by how much that feels true. In spite of the circumstances, I had a great summer in Wyoming. Well, until now.

But I needed to come home. I needed to see him.

“It was my choice to come home,” I say.

Maybe it wasn’t only that Austin took me for granted. I took it for granted too, having a brother like him. The kind of brother he was before drugs got in the way and messed everything up. That wasn’t the real Austin, the past six months. But this Austin, the one lying on the bed right now in front of me, that’s my brother.

I rest my hand on his bed. The blue hospital blanket is covered in tiny fuzzy nubs.

“Did you make it out to Yellowstone yet?”

I don’t tell him I only got to spend barely a day there. I just nod, rubbing a little blue nubby between my fingers.

“You get to see a buffalo up close?”

“I did,” I say. I tell him about last night, how I stayed with that baby buffalo until I knew he’d be okay.

What I don’t say, what I can’t even try to without bawling all over again, is how I wish I could do the same with him. Just stay there and protect him, not let him do anything that could hurt him. Just stay there forever, keeping watch.

Austin drifts off to sleep again. “The drug they gave him this morning left him a little groggy,” Mom says. “Takes a while to wear off.”

I sit back down on the bed, taking care not to squish Austin’s feet. “What happens now?”

“They’ll be releasing him tomorrow morning,” Mom says.

“To us?”

She nods slowly. “And then we’ll try something different. One thing I’ve learned from the support group is that abstinence-only isn’t the best path forward for most people. Medication-assisted treatment is.”

“What does that mean, though?”

“Austin would be taking a medication and getting regular counseling—”

“He’d still be taking drugs? But isn’t that what we’re trying to fix?”

“Yes, Emma,” Dad says. “To both. Substance use disorder, it’s a disease. A complicated one. I know it doesn’t always look that way, but we have to remind ourselves that. And educate others. This is no different than Austin having cancer or diabetes. And it might take several attempts to achieve remission.” He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.

“I know you wanted to believe that after this first stint at rehab, everything would get better,” Mom says. “Dad and I did, too. But the hard part comes now. And we can only take it day by day. All of us. Especially Austin.”

Dad steps in. “What Mom and I are trying to say, E, is that this hard work is Austin’s. It’s not your job to watch over him. If that’s anyone’s job, it’s ours. We’re the parents. But we can’t go back in time. All we can do now is provide our love and support, and be honest with each other. We’re learning on the fly now. All of us.”

I glance over at Austin, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The green line of that machine he’s hooked up to, bouncing around. Up, up, up, then down. Up, up, up, then down.

Suddenly the lack of sleep from last night hits me, and all I want is to crawl into my bed and sleep forever. I search Mom’s and Dad’s faces, wondering how much they’ve wanted to do that too. Just crawl into bed and never come out. But they’re here instead. Because they love Austin that much.

“Can someone take me home?”

Mom and Dad wordlessly duke it out for a moment until Mom says, “Sure, Em. I’ll take you.”

Someone must have just washed the hospital floor because Mom’s running sneakers squeak on the linoleum as we make our way to the elevator. It comes right away, and when the door closes behind us, I’m surprised by the calm I feel.

Maybe it’s that I’m so tired. Maybe it’s from telling Mom and Dad everything, finally. Maybe it’s from seeing Austin with my own eyes after a month apart.

Or maybe it’s this, what I know now—I can’t turn Austin back into the person he used to be. Dad’s right: we can’t go back in time. Austin’s sick. He has a disease.

But I can still fix things with Becca. We can go back to how we used to be. I need her now more than ever.

And I