CHAPTER 25

I’m in the barn, measuring grain, when Andy walks in. Mom and Dad say he’ll be staying at the house for another week, just long enough to find his own apartment and get enrolled in his agricultural mechanics program. That’s about as much time I have before we load Sunny and Sam into the trailer and bring them to their new home with Mr. Hamilton. I’ve already texted Nari, and she and Pia are going to be our first customers. They’re coming to his place as soon as Pia’s back, which might not be for a while. But that’s okay, because we have our certification to complete, plus we need to set up Mr. Hamilton’s barn and riding ring. And Sam needs to heal. Fortunately, Mom says his cut is looking better already.

I thought I’d feel sadder, having Andy and my horses close by, yet not really here.

But actually, I feel okay.

“Hey,” Andy says. “How do leaves get from place to place?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?”

“Very.” Andy nods solemnly. “You have ten seconds to answer. Ten, nine…”

“Okay, fine.” I can’t help smiling. This is one of Andy’s oldest jokes. “With an autumnobile.”

“Excellent work,” he says. “The amazing presenter is also an amazing joke-recaller.”

I smile, remembering how it felt for my words to flow so easily. How the judges clapped and asked questions about the equine therapy business I wanted to start, and how I answered every single one and the sparrows never woke up at all.

“I know I didn’t win, but it almost seems like what happened is better,” I say. It feels like looking at Pebble Mountain. Just like Dad said, there really is always another side.

Andy sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at his boots. “I agree. It’s awesome, Little C.”

I hand him Sam’s water bucket. “You know I’m horrible at carrying water.”

“You’re not horrible.” Andy takes the bucket from my hand. “I mean, you’re pretty strong for a twelve-year-old.” He scratches his neck with his other hand and looks down. “You’re pretty strong in general.”

I hear water rushing into the bucket as Andy holds it. And as I stand there listening to the droplets, filling what needs to be filled, I know he’s right. I am strong.

But there’s still something that bothers me.

“Andy,” I say. “I don’t want to be mad at you. But I really don’t understand you.”

Andy laughs. “Join the club. I’m still figuring myself out.”

“No, seriously,” I say. “I guess I can see why you liked Starshine. I mean, it was kind of annoying to read about people like Damian and Marie all the time, when I don’t even know them, but Starshine in general sounded okay.”

“Marie and Damian are my friends,” Andy says. His voice sounds small somehow, like it did when he was younger. “I needed them. Starshine was helpful, but it was scary too, especially at first.”

A sharp stab pierces me. I hadn’t ever thought about Andy being scared. “I just don’t get why you ended up there in the first place. Why you ever decided to—”

“Mess up like I did?” Andy asks.

It sounds harsh, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s smiling in an easy way, like he just figured out how to laugh at something that doesn’t seem at first like it should be funny.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess that’s it.”

“It’s a fair question.” Andy looks up at the ceiling. Sighs. “Addiction is a disease, Claire. You probably heard that at your support group. I didn’t choose it, but it affects me. It’s something I have to keep working on, and I know how to do that now. Because of Starshine.”

“But why did you start selling the pills?” I ask.

“It’s hard to explain,” Andy says. “I really needed to find a way to keep taking them. That’s part of the disease.”

“I don’t understand why you needed them so much.” I look at Andy, at his eyes part sparkling, part sad.

“You’re my little sister,” Andy says. “And you know me well, but you don’t know everything. I struggle sometimes. Like with fitting in and doing what people want me to do. When I first started taking the pills, it didn’t just make the pain go away, it also—made all those struggles go away too. I mean, obviously it made them worse later, but in the beginning at least, it seemed—I don’t know. Helpful.”

“It never seemed like you had problems fitting in,” I say. “You always had so many friends.” Andy never hated talking to people like I did. I couldn’t picture a flutter feeling ever filling his chest.

But maybe he’s right—maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.

“You can have friends without feeling one hundred percent like yourself,” Andy says. “That was me.”

I don’t know how it feels to be Andy. But thinking about having a problem like addiction, and fighting it, makes me realize I’m not the only one who’s strong. He is too.

“When you left, I really wanted there to be some way for me to fix things,” I say. “I wanted to make you like you were before.”

“That’s not up to you, Claire,” Andy says. “If it were anybody’s responsibility, it would be mine. But I don’t want things to be like they used to be. I don’t want to go backward.”

“Neither do I.” I’m surprised to find I really mean it. “Not anymore.”

“I wanted to say something else too. I know I never explained all of this in my letters, but I just couldn’t figure out how.” Andy’s voice cracks a little, but he runs his hands through his hair and keeps going. “I am sorry, Claire. I wish I didn’t have this problem. I mean, I’ve learned a lot from it, but it’s also really tough. Not just for me, but for you and Mom and Dad.”

“It’s been hard,” I say. It feels important to say it out loud, just like Andy did. “But everyone has problems.”

“I’m still sorry it didn’t work out quite the way you wanted,” Andy says. “Even though the whole equine therapy plan isn’t right for me, I can see why it’s perfect for you.”

My big brother. Legs swinging from trees, sleeping bags under the stars. Wrenches and reins and wheels in his hands.

I stand on my tiptoes and reach my arms around his neck. His jacket smells like motor oil and hay. I don’t want him to apologize. It feels good to really want Andy to do what’s best for him. I can handle what’s best for me. “You don’t have to feel bad. You should do what you want to do. I just want you to be okay.”

“Hey, I’ve got an awesome sister and some worry stones in my pocket,” he says. “How can I go wrong?” There are questions in his voice, but his eyes look bright.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You figure Sunny’s up for a ride?”

I’m surprised Andy wants to. He hasn’t ridden in a long time, but that first snow melted fast and the sun’s shining. “You think she can take both of us?” I ask. Sunny’s big, but I don’t think she’s ever carried more than one person at a time.

“I bet she can handle a little walk in the woods,” Andy says.

We lead Sunny out of her stall and Andy starts brushing her. “Let’s go bareback,” he says. “It’s warmer that way, and besides, we can’t both fit in the saddle. We’ll make it quick.”

I don’t ride bareback often, so maybe I should feel nervous, but I don’t. I just get Sunny’s bridle.

Outside, Andy knits his palms together under my boot and gives me a boost onto Sunny’s back. He hauls himself up behind me, and Sunny swings her head around, surprised, but she actually stands still.

“Good girl,” I say, patting her neck. I’m laughing too, because Andy almost slides over the other side of Sunny, just before righting himself at the last minute.

Then we’re moving forward, and the air’s cold, but it feels good, fresh and clean and new. I turn my face up and catch sun on my skin. Sunny nods her head up and down, and her mane sparkles a little in the light.

Andy leans close to my ear. “Want to try and find some wild horses?”

I nudge Sunny toward the woods, where the dark trees bend together. The leaves are all gone now, colors fading into the ground. I can feel the pounding of hooves and the swish of silver-black tails, even though I can’t hear or see them, not yet.

The start of a path unfolds before me, wild and true.

Where it leads is up to me.