“April, we’re two people. There’s eight of them.”
“Kayla doesn’t like accepting help, but I would be more than happy to—”
“April!”
“Why don’t we talk about it later tonight?” Sid’s eyes lock with mine. “We’ve got a few things to go over.”
“Will I be there when you’re talking about it?” asks April. “Because I have opinions.”
“No, you will not. You’re going to bed once you’ve finished that chowder.”
She pushes her lower lip out. “Then I’ll eat very slowly.”
April makes good on her promise, but even so, the time slips by too fast. I spend the evening trying to learn the names of the last few boys but get hung up when one of them isalsonamed Tom. The conversation devolves into talking about what a dick Tom at City Hall is. No one asks for the details of my encounter with him today, but Young Tom makes a show of saying that the reason Tom has the last name Sullivan is because hesulliesthe good name of Toms everywhere.
Then a wasp starts circling April’s food and Carlos announces he’s going to “ninja slap” all the bugs pestering us out of the air. I’m too busy watching him flail around to ask who the last couple of boys are, especially since James is subtly sticking his feet in places that might make Carlos trip the entire time.
Overall, the dinner time conversation is loud, obnoxous, juvenile. And harmless. These boys are wonderfully harmless.
Too soon, April finishes her meal. Despite her protesations, she’s rubbing her eyes, so I guide her away from the bonfire to the unit Silas leant us.
“This isn’t fair. I’m missing out on stuff. Being sick sucks.” She collapses onto the bed.
“But… you’re not sick anymore, right?”
“Well, depends on how you look at it. Maybe I’m always sick now.” She sighs. “They seem nice. Sure are a lot of them, though.”
“Do you mind?” I don’t know what I could do about the situation at this point, but I ask anyway.
She shrugs. “It’s all right. I’ll feel great about it if we have our own washhouse.”
“April.”
“Is it so bad to want space?” she asks. “I think… I think I liked theideaof living with a bunch of guys better than… well, this.”
I snort. “Oh, yeah?”
“I’ll get used to it. It doesn’t feel bad, but…” A shiver steals down her back. “It’s stilldifferent.”
“Very different.” I sit next to her on the bed and squeeze her hand. She leans her cheek into my shoulder and for a while, we let ourselves sit in companionable silence. The hum of crickets starts up outside and I can almost make myself believe we’re somewhere in the woods, far away from all of this.
“I want to be good at this.” April’s face is set in a determined frown and I know she means far more than living with men; there’s managing her illness and who knows what else ahead of her. “I’mgoingto be good at this. Doctor Tremblay said I need to catch up on school. I’m going to be good at that, too. All of it.”
“You don’t have to be brave with me,” I say, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she releases my hand and stretches out on the bed. I open her pack and pass her the cedar strips she’s been weaving into a bracelet, so she has something to fiddle with tonight. I blow her a kiss as I head out, which makes her roll her eyes in that predictable teenaged way.
She’s back. I really have my sister back. And a month from now, we’re going to run out of the only thing keeping her alive.
Finally, once I’ve shut the bedroom door firmly behind myself, I release the tears I’ve been choking back all day.
“SO, YOUR SISTER.”Sid blows on the liquid inside his clay mug, sending steam curling up into the inky night air. “She needs injections?”
I don’t bother answering that. We’re seated on a bench on the eastern side of the acreage, the other guys far enough away that their noise around the firepit is nothing but a murmur. Once I had my emotions under control, I came outside and told Sid we could talk if he wanted, and this was the spot he chose. I try not to feel paranoid, sitting next to this relative stranger without a single tree to give cover around us. Despite my spiking pulse, logic tells me this probably isn’t a deadly situation. It’s just so brazenlyopen.
I’m not sure what the exact size of the acreage is, but it feels like a lot. Astolia never had a farm of this size. It’s difficult to defend open space, and so we suffered through low crop yields instead. There certainly wasn’t any land like where we sit now—at the edge of the property, across from a pond filled with sleeping mallard ducks.
“Is it… diabetes?” he asks.
I nod.
