Page 82 of A Bittersweet Summer

I throw myself into my chores, bringing the ponies into the dry lot off the grass for the evening. It seems that time can’t go fast enough, but I assured Wes and Roe that it’s fine—I’ve been through this before.

And I have.

Plenty of times.

When I hop into Wes’s truck, we drive in silence, the sun lowering on the horizon. Despite it all, I pull out my phone to snap a picture.

In high school, Gus had an infection he’d gotten from undercooked food at a restaurant. He’d been sick the months leading up to it, in and out of the hospital for a number of issues related to inflammation in his digestive tract. I’d been a senior, and I still remember getting picked up from the school.

I left my car there, going with my dad to the hospital to find my mother crying in the corner. She looked broken—pale. Dark circles hung beneath her tired eyes, and I remember thinkingthis isn’t just killing August. It’s killing us all.

It didn’t, though.

The infection had spread, but he was receptive to antibiotics and recovered fully. At least as fully as he could, all things considered.

We’d gotten through it, surprisingly.

But it kept my parents divorced and my dad distant.

“You okay?” Wes asks, his hand squeezing my thigh.

“Yeah.” I toss him a wan smile. “Old news. Mom said he’s okay.”

But is he, though? Would he tell me? I can imagine Gus, being who he is, might feel guilty for all we’ve sacrificed for him. What if he hasn’t been okay, and he’s been hiding it for the sake of letting me live my life? What if I haven’t been there for him in the way I needed to be?

We pull into the parking garage, and I clutch the Pop-Tarts bag like a lifeline.

The sterile scent of the hospital drags up more memories, and I fight to keep them at bay. With Gus, things have been so good. I can’t allow my fear to run me again. I can’t let it cloud the way I think about the conversations we’ve had recently.

We all need some happy, Cass.

I take Wes’s hand, his boots keeping a steady pace on the shined floors. The maze of a hospital takes us on a walk that rivals the steps I get in on the farm. The cafeteria sits nearly empty, a few nurses sitting sporadically around wooden tables, and hard booths—the kind without cushions.

When we enter the floor, I follow the signs to the room number we got at check-in. Four eighty-two.

I park in front of the room, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Megan sits curled up on the built-in sofa against the window. Up here, the cars look like ants. I’m glad they picked this hospital—more resources.

“Hey,” I say, voice soft.

Gus sits propped up in the bed, his eyes heavy and face thin. He looks like he lost ten pounds since riding with us a few weeks ago. And he’s always been skinny, so the difference is alarming. I begin to understand what Megan said in her text and swallow.

“My beautiful sister,” Gus says, his speech slower than I’m used to. “Hey, Wes.”

Wes keeps my hand in his, removing his hat and placing it on the chair in the opposite corner. “My favorite of all of Cass’s siblings. It’s good to see you.”

Gus scoffs, wincing when he adjusts his position on the bed. “I’m her only sibling,” he gripes. “You’re lucky I like you, Miller.”

Megan chuckles and rounds the bed to hug me. Her grip tightens, so I tighten my own, the bag crinkling at her back. She’s not used to this, so I try to imagine a younger me—a scared Cassidy being dragged to the hospital after school instead of playing with friends.

“How are you holding up?” I ask into her hair.

She takes a shaking breath, and I hold on—refusing to let her slip. It splits my heart in two to see her like this, but stitches it right back up, knowingthisis who Gus has in his corner. This is the person he’s chosen, and she loves him.

She loves him so much.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.