“Probably smart.” I plunked down beside her and resumed rubbing her back. “Do you want some water? Or anything?”
“No. Need to stay horizontal, I think.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry I’m ruining the trip.”
“You’re not.”
“Who knows how long this will last? Dex will probably leave without us.”
“He’s not going to leave without us.”
“We shouldn’t have taken so many detours. He’s gonna be so mad.”
“He’s not mad. He’s getting you medicine right now.”
She whimpered, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Are you sure I’m not dying?”
I scooted closer, leaning my back against the wall, and settled her head on my lap. She looked up at me with miserable eyes and an ominous greenish hue to her skin. “I’m sure,” I said softly, brushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. “I promise you are not dying, Bee.”
She expelled a sharp breath. I braced for her to scramble up and over to the toilet, but she remained still. “Do you think he was scared?” she whispered. Her breaths quickened. “When he saw the truck, did Dad know?”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I realized I was crying.
“I can’t stop wondering about it. What he was thinking when it happened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I think about it all the time and… and you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Phoebe,” I gasped, feeling like she’d plunged a hand straight through my chest.
Her lip trembled. “I hope he wasn’t scared. I hope he didn’t know.” Her eyes snapped open and she lurched for the toilet. I moved up on my knees to hold back her hair, a huge knot forming in my throat, tears flowing.
What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Phoebe voiced the thoughts I had on my worst nights; knowing she thought them too wrecked me. Unleashing them at her most vulnerable made sense, in a way, as if she decided she couldn’t feel worse soshe might as well delve into the deepest pits of her mind. It had been a long time since I dipped my toes into those. Hearing Phoebe go there hurt worse than any physical pain I’d felt in my life. I had no idea what to say. I wanted to help her without making it worse. I wanted her to know I understood without seeming preachy. I didn’t want her to have those thoughts, period.
Sometimes, I hated my dad for dying. On days like this, I was sure I’d never forgive him for it.
A soft knock on the door snapped me out of my head. I took a deep breath and resumed rubbing Phoebe’s back. “Come in.”
Dex pushed the door open, making a point to not look at my sister. “Uh,” he said, wincing at the unholy sounds. He held up a plastic CVS bag. “Anti-nausea meds, Saltines, and Pedialyte.”
I forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“Are you…” His brow furrowed as he looked at me and I fought the urge to wipe my eyes. “Everything good?”
“Obviously not,” Phoebe wailed, her voice echoing in the toilet bowl. “I’m dying.”
“Well, yeah,” Dex replied. “You ate something called the Mega Chicken Volcano.”
“Don’t say its name.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Build a time machine.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up, but then his eyes shifted to me, seeming to ask a question:Are you okay?I gave a quick nod, turning my attention to Phoebe, who flushed the toilet and lay back down, burying her face in my stomach.
“I’m right out here if you need anything,” Dex said. I waved him off. He’d done more than enough with that trip to the pharmacy and, as Phoebe’s guardian, it was my responsibility to handle the gross stuff. She hadn’t gotten sick the entire time we’dlived together—I never thought to be grateful for it, but I sure as hell was now.
I brushed my hand over Phoebe’s hair, smoothing it in a slow, comforting pattern like Dad used to do when we were sick. She let out a slow breath, reaching up to wipe her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, eyelids fluttering. “This is so gross.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not that gross.”
