"We talk about things here," Charlie said defensively. "It's part of their whole philosophy."

"Then why-," I started, and could hear my voice crack. "Why couldn't we have done that? Why did we just ..." I searched for the word, but it wasn't coming. I wanted to know why we had retreated to different parts of the house, and then to different parts of the country, scattering when we should have been coming together. I sat down on the edge of Muz's bed and looked at my brother. "Maybe I needed you," I said. "But you were always high, and-"

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Charlie asked, some anger coming back into his voice. There was an expression on his face I recognized, one I'd never liked, one I'd always backed down from. "You're here to tell me what a f.u.c.kup I am?"

"No," I said, standing my ground this time. "But I have been completely alone, until this week. You've been here. You've had people to talk to."

"You could have talked to me," he said.

"It wouldn't have done any good!" I yelled, surprising myself. Charlie glanced toward the open door, and I lowered my volume a little. "You were never there. You haven't been there for almost a year." I stared at him hard. "I should have told Mom and Dad. You were right when you said I wouldn't. But if I had, then maybe ..." I couldn't finish the sentence. It was just one more way in which I'd brought this about, one more reason it was my fault. One more thing I couldn't undo.

Charlie turned the tennis ball in his hands and gave a short, bitter laugh. "You think I don't ask myself that every f.u.c.king day?" he asked. "You think I don't wish that I could do things differently?"

"I don't believe you," I said, hearing my voice shake. "What, you've been here for a month and suddenly you've grown a conscience?" Charlie looked at me like I'd just slapped him without warning-that surprised, that hurt. "I was always covering for you," I said, the words spilling out of me in a torrent. "For years years. And you never had to take any responsibility. And if you'd thought about someone else other than yourself just once once in your f.u.c.king life, this wouldn't have happened." The sentence was out before I could weigh its consequences, or take it back. in your f.u.c.king life, this wouldn't have happened." The sentence was out before I could weigh its consequences, or take it back.

Charlie was gripping the tennis ball hard, looking down at it, his lip twisted, his chin trembling.

"I shouldn't have said that," I said, feeling I'd gone too far.

Charlie shrugged. "It's the truth," he said thickly, still looking down.

"I just wish ...," I started. I took a breath and made myself keep going. "I just wish things could have been different."

Charlie looked up at me. "Me too," he said. Without warning, he tossed me the tennis ball. I caught it, and this surprised me so much that I almost dropped it again.

"Do you talk about him?" I asked, running my hand over the yellow felt. "About Daddy?"

Charlie nodded. "I'm starting to," he said, his voice a little hoa.r.s.e. "Are you?"

I shook my head. "Not yet." I looked up at my brother-my twin-and saw that he looked like I currently felt. We'd both lost the same father. Why weren't we we talking about it? "I miss him," I said, feeling my own chin start to tremble. The words were nothing compared to the feeling behind them. It was so much more than just missing. It was waiting, always, for the phone call that wouldn't come. Waiting to hear a voice that I never would, ever again. talking about it? "I miss him," I said, feeling my own chin start to tremble. The words were nothing compared to the feeling behind them. It was so much more than just missing. It was waiting, always, for the phone call that wouldn't come. Waiting to hear a voice that I never would, ever again.

Charlie looked at me, his lip trembling. "Me too."

"I keep waiting for him to show up again. It's like I can't believe that it's real. That this is real life now."

"How do you think I feel?" Charlie asked. "I'm not entirely convinced you showing up here isn't an acid flashback."

"I'm real," I said. I tossed him the ball, and he caught it with one hand.

"But what are you doing in North Carolina? I thought you were supposed have made it to Connecticut days ago."

"Well, that was the plan," I said, feeling a small smile begin to form. "But Roger and I kind of took a detour."

"Roger?"

"Roger Sullivan. You remember him. We used to play Spud with him in the cul-de-sac."

"I remember that," said Charlie. "So you went rogue?" I nodded. "That's why Mom is mad?"

"Oh, more than mad," I said.

"Wow," he said, leaning back in the chair and looking at me as though he'd never seen me before. "And you ... you came to see me? You climbed in a window?"

"I did," I said. "I just ... thought we should talk."

"I'm glad you did," he said after a pause.

"Hey, Chuck." We both turned to see Muz lurking in the doorway. "We better get going, man, it's five minutes to-"

"Yeah," Charlie said, though he didn't move.

I stood, and as I did so, I saw a familiar book on the bedside table: Food, Gas, and Lodging. Food, Gas, and Lodging. "Are you reading this?" I asked, looking up at Charlie, a little stunned, and hoping it wasn't Muz's. He nodded. "Me too," I said, staring down at it. "Are you reading this?" I asked, looking up at Charlie, a little stunned, and hoping it wasn't Muz's. He nodded. "Me too," I said, staring down at it.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking surprised. "I know it was one of Dad's favorites, and I thought I should check it out." I just nodded, looking down at the familiar cover, wishing we could have all done this a few months ago. When we both could have talked to him about it, when he would have still been around to have the conversation.

"Chuck?" Muz asked again, and Charlie nodded and stood up, and we all headed for the door. It seemed like there was suddenly so much to say, it was impossible to say anything.

"Hey," said Muz, looking at both of us. "Are you going to be going by Richmond at all?"

"I'm pretty sure he means you," Charlie said.

"Um, I don't know," I said. I had thought as far ahead as seeing Charlie, and the fact that there was no plan beyond that was a little disconcerting.

"But you might? You might be going that way?" Muz asked, growing more excited.

"Maybe," I said. "I don't know."

Muz nodded, bent down, and fished around in a backpack that was hanging on the k.n.o.b of the closet door. "Well, if you do," he said, standing and holding a crumpled envelope in his hand, "would you give this to Corey who hangs out at the Dairy Queen?"

"Are you serious?" asked Charlie.

"I need you to," Muz said, extending the envelope toward me. "Please. You can just give it to one of the counter staff, they'll get it to him. He needs to know why I never showed up when I said I was going to. I wasn't holding out on him, I just got sent here. If he doesn't find out, he's going to kill my fish."

"Your fish?" I asked.

"G.o.d, enough about the fish," Charlie muttered. "Why don't you just e-mail him?"

"Oh yeah, that's a great idea," Muz said. "Should I just send it to Corey who hangs out at the Dairy Queen dot com?"

"I'll see if I can," I said, taking the envelope from Muz and smoothing out some of the wrinkles. "I'll try."

"Thanks," he said, smiling at me. "I knew you would. Chuck's always talking about how you're always there for him, and-"

"We have to go," Charlie said, pulling the door farther open. "I'll help you get back down." We stepped out into the hallway and found it deserted, the only sound the gentle trickling of the water.

"Are we late?" asked Muz.

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said, and we all hustled down to the room I'd entered from.

"Thanks again," Muz shout-whispered to me before heading down the corridor. He raised a hand in a wave, which I returned before following Charlie into the room. It was empty-presumably the two girls had headed out to their next activity.

"That one?" asked Charlie, pointing to the open window. I nodded, and we headed over to it. "Well, I guess this is it, then," he said, twisting his hands together.

"Are you okay?" I asked, knowing that we were out of time, but not feeling ready to leave yet. "I mean, you look better. But this place ... are you okay here?"

Charlie looked down a the white carpet and rocked back and forth on his flip-flops. "I think I am," he said. "I think so."

"Amy," I heard whispered loudly from outside. I stuck my head out the window and saw Roger looking up. He looked incredibly relieved when he saw me, and I wondered how long he'd been calling for me.

"I'm coming right down," I called back, and he nodded. I pulled my head back into the room and looked at my brother. "How long are you here?" I asked. "I mean, when do you get to leave?" I hadn't realized until I saw this old version of him, one I hadn't seen in a very long time, how much I'd missed my brother. But it was. .h.i.tting me now, when I was leaving him again.

"Another month," he said. He gave me a small smile. "Not so long."

"Amy," Roger called from out the window, a little louder this time, just as the chime sounded again. Charlie and I looked to the intercom.

The soothing voice, sounding a little less calm this time, announced, "The prelunch session has now begun. Please conduct yourself as quickly as possible to your designated activity, if you have not already done so."

"Okay," I said. Charlie nodded, and we looked at each other. My brother and I were not huggers. I couldn't actually remember the last time we'd hugged. But I wasn't about to shake hands with him. I started to wave when Charlie reached out and hugged me hard. I hugged him back, and it felt exactly right-and something we should have done a while ago.

"Thanks for coming," he mumbled into my shoulder. I nodded, and we separated. "You should talk to Mom," he said. "I've been getting her e-mails, and she's worried about you. I think she's kind of lost without you."

I stared at him. "What are you talking about?" I asked. "She's not lost without me. She left me for a month and barely-"

"Amy," Roger called again. Roger called again.

"Talk to her," Charlie said. "But good for you for doing all this. I'd have barely recognized you."

"In a good way?" I asked.

"In a good way," he said. He smiled, then looked at the window. "Need a hand?"

"I think I might," I said. Holding on to the sill, my arms stretching over it, I swung a leg outside it, and saw Roger waiting down below, reaching for me. I took a breath and swung my other leg over. I looked down, and suddenly Roger and the ground seemed very far away. "Um," I said. "I'm not sure ..."

"You have to extend your arms," Charlie said. "Give me your hand." I looked up at him, and he nodded. "It's okay." I unhooked my arm from around the sill, and Charlie took my hand. He placed it on the edge of the sill, and then helped me do it with the other hand. I extended my arms, and was hanging there in s.p.a.ce. I felt someone grab my foot, and I knew Roger was there.

"Just drop," he called. "I've got you."

I looked up at my brother, who was looking right at me. "You have to let go," Charlie said. "It's okay."

"Take care, okay?" I asked. He nodded, and I smiled at him. Then I let go of the sill and dropped straight down, landing on something soft-Roger. "Sorry," I gasped, rolling off of him and standing up, brushing myself off. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said, taking the hand that I extended to help him up. "But I think we have to get out of here, like, now." He started speed-walking toward the car, still holding on to my hand, pulling me along behind him.

"Why's that?" I asked as I struggled to keep up.

"I think there's a possibility that we may have attracted some attention," he said. "I was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, but that's hard to do when you're talking to a window. People kept walking by and looking at me."

We hustled toward the car, and sure enough, I noticed a lot more white-scrubs-clad people hanging around the entrance than had been there before. And I noticed that now they were all carrying walkie-talkies. "Let's just make it to the car," I mumbled under my breath, and Roger squeezed my hand once in answer.

"Excuse me," a voice behind us said. We turned to see Courtney walking toward us. "I have to speak with you two."

Roger and I looked at each other and then, without discussing anything, still holding hands, we both bolted for the car, running flat out. "Keys?" I asked him breathlessly as we crossed the parking lot.

"Yeah," he gasped. I turned and noticed that Courtney was also jogging toward us. We reached the car, Roger beeped it open, and we threw ourselves inside. He started it and backed up with record speed, and we peeled out of the parking lot.

Roger didn't slow down until we'd been driving for five minutes and it became clear that Promises Kept wasn't sending someone after us to give chase. "Close one," he said, and I watched as the speedometer dropped to his normal non-interstate speed.

I stared out the window at the other cars rushing by, trying to sort out what I was feeling. I had been trying with everything I had to avoid thinking about that morning, trying not to play the memory out to its conclusion. But seeing Charlie, and talking about it ...

"You okay?" I could hear Roger ask from a place that sounded very far away.

I nodded, but turned more toward my window, and closed my eyes. But it wasn't going away this time. It was like I no longer had the strength anymore to hold this back.

"Amy?" I opened my eyes and saw Roger looking over at me, worried. "Are you okay?"

I started to nod, but gave it up halfway through, and shook my head. "I just ...," I started to say, and heard my voice crack. "I'm not okay," I said. He looked over at me and turned down the music. I could feel the memories of that morning swelling behind me. I knew Roger wouldn't look at me the same way once he knew the truth. But I was tired of fighting to hold it back.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, looking at me, then back at the road.

"The Elvis thing," I started. "Why I didn't want to hear it."

"Because of your father," Roger said. "Right?"

I nodded. "We were listening to Elvis in the car," I said. "I mean, we were always listening to Elvis in the car. But we were listening to him when it happened." I swallowed hard and forced the word out. "The accident."

"Oh," he said softly. It was like this wasn't even a word. It felt more like he was laying out a stone for me to step on, so that I could keep going.

I felt my breathing speed up, and I knew I was circling around what I could no longer not say. "The accident," I said, trying to force my voice to stay audible. I took a shaky breath and said it. "It was my fault. It's my fault that he died."

"Amy," Roger said, looking over at me sharply. "Of course it wasn't your fault."

Other people had said the same thing. But this was just what you said to people. And none of them knew. None of them had actually been there. "But it was," I whispered. And I took another breath and told him why.

I'll be right here with you, come what may.

-Elvis Presley.

MARCH 8- 8-THREE MONTHS EARLIER.

I stepped out into the sunlight and slipped on my new sungla.s.ses. I couldn't help wondering what my mother was going to do to Charlie. Being picked up by the police for sleeping on a park bench, still stoned, had to merit some kind of punishment. Maybe this would make my parents finally see what was happening with him. I walked down the driveway, toward the garage, and looked back to the house, where I could hear my mother's voice, still sharply edged with worry and anger.

"And then once you've gotten him," she said as she stepped outside, my father following, letting the screen door slam behind him, "I'm going to need you to stop at the store. So just give me a call when you get there and I'll tell you what we need."

My father gave her a look as he slipped on his ancient sungla.s.ses, aviators with lenses so scratched I was always amazed that he could see through them. "Or you could tell me now," he said, a smile in his voice. "That's always an option."

"Right," my mother said, shaking her head. "We've been through that before."