Page 19 of A Bittersweet Summer

Once we are in the field and the halter comes off, though, it’s hopeless.

I step back as she trots out into the field, knickering happily. When I get back to the gate, I can feel Wesley’s eyes on me.

“Planning on sticking around?” he asks, breaking the silence as I latch the gate closed.

“What?” I question, glancing up.

One of those half smiles tugs at his mouth, and I realize Ireallylike seeing those. It’s like happiness is buried there somewhere—just waiting to be dug up and let out. “Thought my sister’s boobs might have scared you off, is all,” he says. “I know I’d be terrified. Hoping you won’t go and quit the job on me.”

I laugh—a robust sound as bright as the spring skies and vibrant grass. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Your sister’s boobs did not scare me off.”

“Good,” he smiles fully, letting a comfortable pause ripple between us like the fields beyond. “The key to the house is in an envelope in the office. We can stop and get it before you leave.”

Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I ignore the text messages from my group chat with Lennon and Ellis, and briefly glance at Gus’s text inviting me to eat takeout and watch our favorite show tonight.

“Wow,” I say, reading the time. “That went by quickly! I’d love to stop and get the key. My lease is over next month, but I would sure love to not drive forty minutes to work.”

“Alright,” he says, nodding toward the golf cart. “C’mon.”

We drive the cart back up to the lesson barn, where Wesley hands me a key to my new home, and something about it feels right.

All of it feels right.

Seven

Cassidy

I’ve always been curious about genetics. For example, I’ve thought a good deal about how and why two people who love each other could have two kids, and one of those kids could endup completely healthy while the other one is forced to navigate a different kind of terrain their entire life.

I don’t envy my brother, August.

But I do sometimes feel responsible.

Maybe I took all the good genes when my parents had me, and he was left with whatever was left over.

Now, I know that’s not logical, but I’ve had a very,verylong time to think about my brother’s health issues, and the musings of a twelve-year-old girl were not always logical.

Old wooden steps terrorize my thigh muscles as I ascend the apartment steps in the breezeway of the complex. Cigarette butts litter the concrete at the bottom of the stairs, and I’m certain some kind of animal has been chewing a hole through the wooden railing because chunks seem to be missing.

I stop at the landing, switching the box I’m carrying to the other arm.

Before I can even knock, the door swings open, and Gus appears. His dark hair can’t decide which direction to reach for at the top of his head. While I tend to help my blonde strands with hair dye every few months, there’s no denying the contrast between us—just one more reminder that he got a different combination from our parents.

And while my brother is in no way ugly, exuding an awkward clumsiness in the long, skinny limbs, and a rich kindness in warm brown eyes, I’m always reminded of the way his liver has never worked right. The yellow color that sometimes overtook the whites of his eyes, growing up.

It gives me a bit of anxiety with him living on his own now, but I try not to let that show.

Gus is proud of what he’s accomplished, and it took him so long to get my mother to let him doanything.

I don’t want to be another person to throw his weaknesses in his face.

That’s not me, and that’s not him.

To me, he’s just Gus.

“Are you ready for the best takeout you’ve ever had in your entire life?” he asks, smiling so big all of his teeth show, even the crooked one on the bottom he’s always hated.

I push past him, setting the box down on the table. “Considering we don’t have the same taste in literally anything save for the show we are about to watch, no.” I chuckle, carefully peeling the top of the box off. “What did you order?”