Breathless Read Online Free PDF Page B

the Hunting Dogs and the Great Bear and the Dragon. In the corner closest to the window, my mom created a detailed profile of my brother’s young face. Even though he’s so much older now, it is still unmistakably Will.
    My parents get home a little after eleven. The Ghost stands in my brother’s doorway, watching as my mom comes toward me to give me a hug. As soon as her arms are around me, she begins to sob.
    “Is he okay?” I try to ask, but it’s such a dumb question that I start shaking and crying instead.
    My mom takes a deep, shaky breath. The Ghost is still in the doorway, a lit cigarette between his fingers, watching us like we’re strangers.
    “He’s okay, sweetie,” my mom says. “He’ll be okay.”
    “We should all go to sleep,” the Ghost says. “We can talk about things in the morning.”
    But I know they won’t talk to me about anything. I know from experience that Will is likely at Forbes Regional Hospital right now, probably sedated and asleep, because that’s what they used to do when this started. It is hard to believe he has been this sick for only a few years; it feels like this has been going on forever. When it started, they used to explain things to me more carefully. I’ve had it explained by guidance counselors, family therapists, and neighbors who don’t have any idea what they’re talking about. It got to the point where the same kind of things kept happening, over and over again, and there wasn’t any point in explaining anymore.
    • • •
    Once I’m sure my parents are asleep, I creep out of my own bed and go downstairs to find a cigarette. I go back to Will’s room, ease the window open, and slip outside, onto the roof.
    The night is still too warm, the air sticky and unpleasant, so thick that each exhale of smoke seems to hover like a cloud for a few seconds, right in front of my face, before I blow it aside with the next breath.
    When I’m finished, I turn to go back inside, and there he is: the Ghost is leaning with his head out the window, staring at me.
    I expect him to do something —to start yelling, or to slam the window in disgust, or to order me inside—but he just looks at me. It’s the same look of concentration I’ve seen him get when he’s on the golf course, trying to figure out the right angle for a putt. It’s the same look I bet I get when I’m on a starting block, gazing at the water beneath me, waiting for the whistle.
    For the next few days, everything is quiet. The Ghost goes to work as usual. My mom spends long hours painting in her studio, and I stay outside by the pool, all by myself, swimming so much each day that my muscles ache into the night and keep me awake, staring at the plastic stars, bright and motionless above my bed. Things are too calm. Even my mother and the Ghost don’t seem to be talking much. I can tell something’s coming. The longer the quiet stretches, the more worried I get.
    And then it happens. Three weeks before I’m supposed to start my sophomore year of high school, I wake up on a Saturday morning to find my parents sitting on either side of me in bed. They’re both already dressed in nice clothes. My mom is sipping coffee from a plastic mug the size of her head. She’s wearing a pantsuit and a full face of makeup and a delicate string of pearls around her neck, none of which I have ever seen her wear before. A glance at the Ghost’s watch tells me it’s not even seven in the morning.
    “Katie,” my mom pronounces, brushing my hair from my forehead.
    “Go away,” I murmur. I close my eyes again, trying to pretend they’re not there.
    “Kathryn,” the Ghost says. “Get up.” When I don’t move, he claps his hands. “Get up!”
    I sit up, throw the covers off of me, and glare at both of them. “What. Is. It?”
    “We’re going on a little trip,” my mother says.
    It doesn’t even occur to me that I might be going to see Will; they haven’t let me visit him in a hospital in over a