11// WHITNEY
I feel like such an idiot. All this time Iâve been worrying about my own problems with the She-Bitches and the lie heard âround the world that I forgot Iâm not the only Connolly in pain here. Yes, Keith, Lexi, Jason, and I have our issues, but somehow weâve all dropped the ball when it comes to looking after Sam. Weâre all he has in this world till we figure out where Dad disappeared to. And how do we help him handle it all?
By pretty much ignoring him completely.
Yep, itâs official: we suck as a family unit.
I run down the narrow path and almost get barreled over by a guy on a bike towing a blue carriage behind it. I hear two girls squealing giddily inside as they pass. This is probably not the safest place for me to walk. I veer off the path and try to put myself in Samâs shoes. Where would I go if I were him? Heâd prefer to sit by a fountain or a park sculpture, thatâs for sure, but since this place is nowhere near as nice as Griffith Park, Iâm thinking the likelihood of a sculpture like the Astronomers Monument being around are slim to none. He doesnât have his bike with him. Hmm . . . a bunch of boys in socceruniforms kick a ball past my head and I duck to keep from getting hit.
âWe just played for at least an hour,â a sweaty little boy whines. âLetâs go to the park!â
Park! I notice a swing set in the distance. Sam once fell off the monkey bars and broke his right arm, so Iâm not sure the park is his favorite in the world, but when his options are a bench covered in bird poop or a swing set, Iâm thinking Iâll find him on the swing set. I walk across the muddy field from last nightâs rain and to the entrance of the park covered in Astro turf. The place is pretty much deserted except for the swings and the large sandbox that has ride-on diggers in it. A few mothers are pushing toddlers on baby swings, but the regular swings are empty. Except for one. Iâm relieved to see Sam going back and forth slowly, the photo box and his sketchpad balanced precariously on his lap. Heâs completely in a trance, staring down at his feet, which heâs dragging through the sand. Iâm so happy to see him. I want to sprint to his side, but I donât want to spook him.
I move slowly, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice the seesaws on the other end of the park. Lexi is sitting hunched over on one end of a seesaw. Behind her, I notice Zak approaching. Lexi has someone who has her back. I focus on my little brother, so I can have his back too. Almost asif sensing Iâm there, Sam looks up. I expect him to be angry to see me. Instead, his oval-shaped eyes, so similar to my own, remind me of a puppy in a store window. I just want to squeeze the kid.
I sit down on the swing next to him and push off. âWant to talk about it?â
Sam shrugs. He opens the photo box and stares at the stack of pictures inside. âI donât remember half these things we did.â He picks up one of us at Disneyland. âI was too young I guess.â He looks at me and his brow creases with concern. âAll I remember is Mom and Dad fighting a lot.â
âMom and Dad didnât fight a lot,â I say almost accusingly and then stop myself. These are Samâs memories, not mine. âI mean, I canât believe thatâs what you remember.â
He laughs to himself. âGreat memories, huh?â
Gently, I take the box from his hands and place it on my own lap. I slow my swing to a stop and look through for something that will spark his memory in a good way. âWe can do better than fights. Letâs see . . .â I pull out a picture of Mom climbing a wooden barricade. Sheâs wearing war paint on her cheeks and a bandana with her company name on it. Think Whitney, I tell myself. Where is this from? Oh, I know!
âRemember this?â I ask, showing Sam. âThis is from
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