Otherbound

27

Mom’s promised talk didn’t come until dinner the next day. Nolan had been focused on three things: staring down Pat, who still hadn’t talked to him; scarfing his meal as quickly as possible; and surreptitiously shutting his eyes for too long. Nolan didn’t trust the miller—or any of the other passengers—not to hurt Amara. Judging by the way Mom and Dad looked at him, though, he’d failed at the “surreptitious” part.

“Are you feeling better, honey?” Mom asked.

It’d been over a day since he took the extra dose. The headache and drowsiness had stuck, and his eyes still had trouble adjusting. “Much!” he said.

Dad put down his fork. “Tell me the truth. You said the pills were working. Are they?”

“You saw me this week.” Nolan smiled, but it was a nervous one. “Of course they work.”

“You told us the seizures were gone.”

“Well, some,” Nolan said, backpedaling. “I mean, it’s gonna be hard to stop them all.”

“You walked out during that movie. Pat found you practically unconscious yesterday”—Pat ducked her head so her bangs hid her face as Dad said that—“and you spent the rest of the day in the bathroom. You’re not even shaving. We called Dr. Campbell. She wants to see you.”

“It’s just side effects!”

“What your dad’s saying is …” Mom took Nolan’s hand, reminding him of Cilla and Amara belowdecks. He shouldn’t be sitting here eating gross canned beans. He should be there, like Amara had asked. He checked back once every few blinks—

—the last of the wood paneling finally gave way. The crate slid across the floor. The group shouted and scattered, and the crew member yelled, “Through here!”

Was Cilla injured? Amara couldn’t see her, and she couldn’t walk well with her hands tied like this, but surely Cilla would shout. Surely she’d let Amara know—

“—that,” Mom said. “That, right there, is what we mean.”

Nolan blinked rapidly. “What? I’m sorry, I … I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Right this second?” Dad said.

“Yes!” Nolan stumbled upright and turned—

—Amara caught a glimpse of Cilla being herded into a cabin, patting herself down—

“—it’s all right.” Mom took his hand a second time. “We know you want us not to worry.”

“The pills are working.” Nolan shook his head as if that would make the conversation go away. The way his parents alternated set his hairs on end. Had they rehearsed this intervention? Were they planning to cut off his pills? They couldn’t—if he lost the pills—

“This isn’t new, Nole,” Dad said, finally switching to English. “You always pretend you’re doing better than you really are. You skipped school yesterday without telling us.”

“I went today.”

“Because I drove you. And you left before lunch!”

Mom added, “Mrs. Hannigan said you spent half her class in the bathroom and the other half zoning out. You’re hardly sleeping. If the pills work, we’ll do anything to make sure you can keep them. You know that. But you shouldn’t lie to us about how well you’re doing. You’re worse than before you started this medication.”

“If you’re not improving, we’re taking you off it.” Dad shook his head. “Even with my insurance, we can’t afford it.”

They weren’t cutting him off. Not yet.

“They work,” Nolan said. He swallowed. “I promise. They work. I’ll do better.”