I sigh and step out of the way as Marvin tries to bite my foot. “I know, I know. Everyone wants me to write the damn essay.”

“No, I mean with Sarah,” he says. “But yeah. The essay thing too.” He lets out a whistle. “Damn, dude. You have a lot of shit to get together.”

Marvin looks up and yells again.

“Tell me about it.”

After I finish working for the day, I head back inside and to the stairs. As I round the banister, I come face-to-face with Ellen and a stack of mail.

“There you are.” She smiles and presses the envelopes against my chest. “More mail.”

“Gee. Thanks.” I take the letters from her hands.

“Anytime.” She moves past me.

I walk upstairs, enter my room, and throw the letters onto my desk. One of the envelopes skids across the surface and hits my laptop, bringing the screen to life. My e-mail window glares back at me with a new message. Stepping closer, I see that it’s from my mom, and my chest immediately tightens.

I haven’t spoken to either of my parents in months.

After Charity died, Mom and Dad went a little crazy. Instead of coping with their daughter’s death, they took their sorrows out on each other. They fought constantly. They grieved endlessly. But not together. They didn’t know how to console each other, so instead they slipped deeper and deeper into their own personal pits of grief.

They separated three months after the accident, and both of them left town.

My dad took a job in Nevada, where he promptly buried himself in his work and took up smoking. He didn’t even bother to say good-bye before he left. I think the thought of making his move “official” with a send-off and a good-bye hug was just too much for him to bear.

But he called me once, after he moved. We spent the entire phone call rehashing a recent NFL game and kept away from any real-life topics. I haven’t spoken with him since.

My mom moved to New Hampshire, where she was far away from Charity’s memory and my facial features. After the funeral, she could barely look at me, the living son who so resembled her deceased daughter. And when she did chance a glance at me, her eyes would flash with pain before quickly darting elsewhere. Maybe she thought putting twenty-five hundred miles between my face and her eyes would make things hurt less.

“I’ll call you and you can come visit,” she said to me the day she left Copper Springs. I lifted her heavy suitcase into the white minivan she used to drive Charity to piano lessons in and leaned down so she could hug me good-bye. She smelled like lemons. She always smelled like lemons.

She squeezed me tighter than necessary and mumbled a bunch of things about taking care of myself, but she didn’t make eye contact. Not even when tears dripped down her soft cheeks.

She drove away, and I watched the white minivan disappear down the street like it was any other Tuesday. Headed to school, to piano lessons, to football practice.

Headed to New Hampshire.

That was last winter. I’ve talked to my mom twice since then, and both conversations were strained and short, like we no longer know how to interact with each other.

So her e-mailing me is a surprise. Not a pleasant surprise, exactly. Just an interesting one.

With a quiet inhale, I sit down at my desk and open her e-mail. It’s addressed to me, but she copied my father as well.

Fantastic.

From: Linda Andrews

To: Levi Andrews; Mark Andrews

Subject: College

Levi,

I know things haven’t been perfect for our family lately, and I know your father and I aren’t helping any by keeping our distance from each other. But the two of us have been talking, and we’re both concerned about you.

As you know, Dean Maxwell is good friends with your father, and he informed us that you haven’t made any attempt to be reinstated at school. What is going on, Levi? Why are you not enrolled?

Your father and I realize that you’re an adult now and can make your own decisions, but we want you to be happy. We want great things for you. We want you to play football and finish college, and go on to the live the life that you’ve worked so hard to earn. And we want to help you in any way we can. Let’s come together as a family to get this resolved.

We hope you’re doing well. And we love you so much. And miss you.

Love,

Mom and Dad

Several emotions pass through me as I reread the e-mail. Anger. Bitterness. Annoyance. The stubborn part of me wants to ignore it altogether and not respond. But the prideful part of me won’t allow it. So I write them back.

From: Levi Andrews

To: Linda Andrews; Mark Andrews

Subject: RE: College

Mom and Dad,

It’s nice to hear the two of you are on speaking terms, like grown adults who are still married should be, but I’m a little confused at why you’re both so “concerned” for me.

I would think that the time for two parents to be worried about their child would be the first few months after that child lost his baby sister. But you guys didn’t seem at all interested in my state of mind or well-being after Charity died. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

I realize you blame me for her death, and honestly I don’t fault you for that. But I was a wreck after the accident. I really needed you guys, and you just took off and went about “finding” yourselves and “starting fresh.” I didn’t have that luxury. I had to stay.

I was racked with guilt and so messed up. I slowly failed all my classes at school and eventually got kicked off the football team at ASU. So yeah, my probationary status at school is a bummer, but it’s far less severe than my physiological status during your flee-the-city phases.

So thanks for your concern, but you’ll understand if I don’t really feel like coming together as a “family” on this one. Clearly, I’ve handled far worse on my own. There’s no need to start helping me now.

Love,

Levi

P.S. In case you were wondering, Pixie’s doing just great too.

I click Send without a second thought and close my laptop.

It’s late, and most of the inn guests are already asleep.

I wait until I hear the TV click on in Levi’s room before I start plugging everything I own into the wall.

We argued today. We avoided each other. And aside from the weird look we exchanged in the hallway this morning and our little spat in front of Zack, everything is back to normal.

Which means I owe Levi for the cold shower I had to take.

I turn everything on and the lights go out. I hear the TV die in the next room and crawl onto my bed with a smile.

“Pixie!” Levi’s irritated voice rings through the walls and I’m feeling happier than a mature person should.

I hear stomping, and then he opens my bedroom door. Just opens it. Like he has the right to just waltz into my room. I could be naked in here; he doesn’t know.

“You’re going out to the fuse box this time.” He steps inside, and now he’s standing just a few feet away, pointing his finger at me.

I’m on the bed, trying to look casual, like lying in the dark playing games on my phone is perfectly normal. The only light in the room is coming from the glow of my phone and the half-moon outside, so we both look blue and soft. And in the blue softness, I see he’s shirtless.

I see Levi without a shirt on almost every morning, but I’ve never seen him half-naked in the dark, and something about it makes my body feel electric.