Thicker Than Water Read Online Free PDF Page A

to puke.
    â€œTwo-forty? What do you need that many for?”
    I looked up at Cyrus, but he was staring out the window.
    â€œLook on the bright side,” he said to the glass. “Now I don’t have to go back for two months.”

4
    WHEN MY DAD BOUGHT THE FARM, HE CALLED IT AN “INVESTMENT.” It was really the opposite.
    â€œLook, I don’t know what you want me to say,” Dad said, his voice elevated just below a yell. “I’m doing the best I can.”
    I stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened to him on the phone. He didn’t know we were back from Dr. Frank’s. Cyrus had immediately slunk downstairs to smoke, despite the fact that we stopped in a rest area less than an hour before. There’s nothing like watching your brother pulverize a handful of pills on top of a flyer about preventing forest fires.
    Dad hung up the phone like it had feelings—a fierce clatter. That was my cue; I started up the stairs.
    â€œDad, we’re home.”
    â€œOh, CeCe. Hey. How’s it going?”
    I watched the transition, which was slower than usual. The one where Dad pulled his face up into a contorted smile, like there were strings attached to his skin that made it defy gravity and stress. Ladies and gentlemen—my father, the puppet.
    â€œI’m okay. Who was on the phone?”
    He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know how telemarketers are. Always wanting your money for something.”
    Translation: You know how creditors are. Always wanting your money because you owe them.
    â€œCan I make you something to eat?” he asked, heading for the pantry.
    â€œNo, thanks. I need to finish my application.”
    â€œOh, okay. The scholarship thing, right?”
    â€œYeah. The scholarship thing.”
    He ran a hand through his hair. Like yawning, the move was contagious; I touched my ponytail. The black strands felt ratty and knotted together from having the car windows down.
    â€œActually, I think I’ll take a shower first,” I said, turning to go.
    â€œYour brother all right? His appointment go okay?”
    I stopped under the weight of the question. There was my answer and there was the answer Dad wanted. I closed my eyes.
    â€œFine, Dad. He got a script for two months instead of one.”
    I could almost hear his smile.
    â€œWell, now, that’s smart of him! That’ll save us a bundlein gas and a visit fee. See, Cecelia, you aren’t the only one with brains in the family.”
    It took almost an hour for those words to stop echoing in my ears.
    My hair was still damp when I sat back down at the computer to finish my essay, but I couldn’t really concentrate. Instead, I stared at the screen.
    Should I say something to Dad again? Should I remind him that Dr. Frank’s just a quack, more interested in money than medicine? Should I convince him that Cy’s crushing and smoking and snorting his pills, transforming them until they can’t possibly be considered a prescription for pain and can only be considered drugs?
    Yeah, right.
    Let’s run through my previous attempts at enlightening my father, shall we?
    â€œDad, I don’t think it’s a good idea for Cyrus to go to this doctor. I’ve heard some bad stuff about him—Natalie’s dad said he’s a total pill pusher.”
    â€œCeCe, we need to be supportive of your brother. You know how hard it’s been for him. If this doctor makes the difference, it’s worth it.”
    Fast-forward . . .
    â€œDad, Cyrus is skipping classes. A couple of the guys on the team talked to me today. They’re worried about him.”
    â€œI’ll ask your brother about it. It must be a misunderstanding.”
    And only weeks later . . .
    â€œDad, I think Cy’s in trouble. Those pills he’s taking—I think they’re becoming a problem.”
    â€œOh, so, what, you’re a doctor now?”
    â€œNo . . . I just