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Chapter 1

"Blood family, that's something we get dealt. Sometimes we get a bad hand. Not much way around it. You just have to grow up and get more family. The kind you get to pick out yourself."

Catherine Ryan Hyde

  "One little change," William Gillespie started, kicking at the empty road with each step. "One little change to this place, and everyone loses their minds."

  "Well can you really blame 'em? I don't think I've seen anywhere stay so similar for so long. It's easy to get caught up in that when it's all you've ever known." Richard Adler was picking at the label of his Old Orkney, his lopsided steps carrying him every so often into Gillespie's side. After a few times, his friend stopped to take the bottle from him.

  "What would you know," he chuckled. "You've had too much to be thinking straight."

  The sky that evening was dull, but the moon still shone through the pale whiskey, dancing on the ground below as the pair started walking again.

  "Yeah, well it wouldn't be the first time someone's been scared of change, eh, Will?" He elbowed Gillespie in the ribs.

  "Oh lay off it, man." He rolled his eyes, reaching for the door of a small home near the town's edge.

  "Are you sure your folks aren't awake?" Adler's tone grew hushed as they stepped inside. "I wouldn't want to give that old man reason to think you've been corrupted. He already hates me enough." They left their shoes by the door, and Gillespie flicked on the living room light.

  "He's been going to bed at nine for years, Rick, you know that. If we got anyone to be worried about, it's my mother." He slumped onto the couch, instinctively taking a drink from the bottle in his hand. Immediately, he started coughing. "Fuck, I forgot this was whiskey," he said, wiping his mouth. Stifling a laugh, Adler reached over, offering the handkerchief from his pocket.

  After collecting himself again, Gillespie turned on the radio next to him. He flipped through the stations, and eventually landed on one playing slow jazz. The two then settled into a comfortable sort of silence. Adler closed his eyes to take in the sound.

***

  He woke up to the sound of the morning paper hitting the porch, his heart making a small jump. As he carefully examined his surroundings, he rubbed one hand on his neck in an attempt to alleviate some muscle tension. Gillespie was still asleep on the couch by the wall. The Old Orkney sat half-empty on the ground next to him. Adler hit his knees as he stood, then he immediately sat back down. A splitting headache made his eyesight go black just for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to make him feel like he might fall over. After a minute or two, he got up again.

  He tucked the bottle underneath the clothes in his small suitcase, trying and failing to make it look undisturbed. So instead, he decided to change into clean clothes and use the dirty ones to split the difference.

  After making and drinking a few cups of coffee, he finally heard someone stirring. He'd hoped it was Gillespie, since it had been a while since he'd had any one-on-one conversations with his parents, but when he looked over at the couch again, he hadn't moved an inch. Adler frowned.

  He watched silently as Rodger Gillespie moved through the kitchen, not once acknowledging him. He poured a cup of black coffee, grabbed the paper off the porch, and sat across from him at the table, all as if he were alone in the room. He peeled open the newspaper, presumably to use as a shield against the tension. Adler sincerely doubted it was working.

  My Country 'Tis of Thee playing from the radio signaled 6 o'clock, and Rodger was out the door soon after. He took the paper with him. Adler found himself manually relieving tension again, though he couldn't remember it building. He leaned over the back of his chair and sighed. You should be grateful, his mind kept telling him. He's letting you stay here, after all. At the very least, he's better than your parents. Though, he figured it had more to do with Gillespie than it did him. For all his faults, Rodger would do anything for his son.

  A strange sort of nausea set in, but he paid little attention to it. Instead, he decided to wake his friend for the day. As he tried to stand, however, he yet again lost his vision, this time needing to catch himself before his head hit the floor. He sat cross-legged on the tile to wait until he felt more normal. In the meantime he tried to reason with himself that he was just fine, but a gymnast he was not, mental or otherwise. I should probably see a doctor... He set his chin in one hand. ...I'll wait 'til we're back on duty. He pushed up off the floor.

  "Will, get up." He shook his shoulder. Gillespie groaned quietly. "Come on, I don't want to do this today." Adler crouched down next to him, poking his face. He turned over, revealing the fabric lines indented into his forehead.

  "Whaddoyouwant?" he mumbled. Adler couldn't tell if he was glaring or if his eyes were just heavy.

  "Hey, I made coffee."

  "Yeah? Where is it?"

  "In the kitchen. Get up and you can get some."

  "Mm. Fuck that." He began to roll back over, but Adler grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stand.

  "How is it," he began, pulling at his friend's shoulders, "with us getting up at the ass-crack of dawn every day, you’re still able to sleep in?" He turned him toward the kitchen.

  "That's work, Rickie. I'm on vacation." He shuffled onto the tile to pour himself a cup.

  "Still, I can't sleep past oh-five-thirty these days." He grabbed a piece of bread and stuck it in the toaster. "I’m telling you, man. That's a talent."

  "If you say so."

  "No, seriously. Do you know what I’d give to be able to sleep in still?"

  "No, what?"

  Adler paused.

  "Huh. I'm not actually sure."

  Gillespie huffed a silent laugh, grabbing the toast and handing it to him.

  They sat at the table in a content sort of noiselessness, both a little zoned out as they finished their breakfast. Gillespie was the first to break the silence.

  "We going to the fair today?"

  Though he suspected that would be brought up, Adler's heart still dropped at its mention, his headache creeping back into existence. He'd spent the majority of his time past middle school avoiding the fairs in North Hudson, on account of the fact that they were owned by Frank Farwell. He was the father of John Farwell, the first boy he'd ever kissed, who after that just so happened to always have a reason to beat him up. The thought of him made him nauseous. Adler never told Gillespie why John always had it out for him.

  "You want to?" He tried to sound casual, but his voice was small.

  "I mean, we haven't gone in years. It could be fun." He began toward his suitcase to find something to wear, which annoyed Adler. We haven't decided we’re going yet. He turned around in his chair to face him, but ended up avoiding his eyes.

  "It seems like you're already set on it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing, it just seems like you know you want to go, so I'm not sure why we're even discussing it." As he spoke, his voice grew thick.

  "Well, do you not want to go?" He stopped to look at him. "We don’t have to." He sounded genuinely concerned, which just made Adler feel like he was being petty. He sighed, looking at the floor.

  "I don't want you to miss out on it."

  "I'm not missing anything," he said, stepping beside his friend. "I’d be just fine doing nothing with you." He tilted his head down so Adler could see his eyes. "You wanna talk about it?"

  "It's a long story."

  "Well," he pulled out the chair next to Adler, "since we're not going to the fair, we've got plenty of time."

***

  As the afternoon sun had begun to sink lower in the sky, Adler found himself trailing behind Gillespie and his mother. Mary Gillespie was holding his arm, leading him through the market as she accumulated more bags, which Gillespie was holding for her. The noon-time rush had subsided as they'd begun to peruse the little stalls, and at this point, they were some of only a few customers left in the area. This was good for Adler's headache, which had only gotten worse as the day went on, but it left him feeling out of place, like the vendors were staring at him. He knew some of them, too, which only made things worse.

  He was busy minding his own thoughts, so he didn’t notice the figure walking up to him until they'd grabbed his sleeve. He froze when he saw her.

  "Rose?" His sister, about seven years his junior, was taller now. More grown. Her previously long, frizzy hair was cut short, and styled with precision, held away from her face with a thick white headband. Everything about her looked to be well-planned. It was a far cry from the untamed attitude he remembered from her.

  "Richard, what the hell?" She dropped the bags she was holding, not caring about the items that had fallen out onto the ground. Okay, so she's not all that different. "Are you too good for me or something? I've been sending you letters." She planted her hands on her hips and frowned.

  "Rose, hi!" Gillespie cut off Adler's response, coming from behind him to give her a big hug. "How you been?"

  "Well, I’d be better if Rickie here knew how to talk to people." Though he was relatively sure her tone was humorous, Adler still felt guilty.

  "I'm sorry, I just hate the medium of letters. Something about them feels… wrong." He flicked his hands out for emphasis.

  "I was joking. You’re fine." She reached up to ruffle his hair. "Seriously, though, I have missed talking to you."

  "Me too, right?" Gillespie said, smiling cheekily.

  "No, you can go screw yourself." She matched his grin. Mary, who had been keeping to herself up until this point, chimed in:

  "Would you like to walk with us? We still have a few more shops to visit." Adler noticed a visible shift in Rose's demeanor.

  "Ah, I can't. I actually should be catching up with my mother-" As if on cue, a familiar voice broke in:

  "Rose! You said you'd be waiting by the door." Her angry expression grew to contempt as she saw Adler. His head began pounding in time with his heartbeat, which was growing more rapid by the second. He forced his eyes away from hers and onto the pavement. He could hear speaking, but it was growing distant and hard to make out. He didn't think he would really want to hear it anyway.

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