Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

“You’re looking for a connection, Theo.” Andrew’s voice, thin and shaky,

“He already said that.”

“Who?”

“The man. Yoga Man.”

Andrew turned his head. “I don’t see any man, Theo.”

“And stop saying my name! Why is everyone saying my name all the time? Who talks like that? I know who I am, and I know who you are and who Doc is. Stop it!” I closed my eyes and placed my hands over my ears, but his voice still rang loud and clear.

“I’m sorry if I was doing something wrong. I’m just trying to remind you of who you are.”

“Why?” Having my eyes shut meant I didn’t need to focus on the red blood, the truth of the situation. That I’d hit him and hurt him because I couldn’t handle myself. That’s who I was. What did I need reminding for?

“Because if you remember who you are, Theo, you might come back to us.”

The words targeted my gut, and I opened my eyes. Andrew no longer stood before me. Instead, Sadie. The kids. They looked lost, broken.

“Come back to us, Theo. We’ll figure everything else out.”

“Come back? Come back from where?” I shouted.

Click.

Chapter 33: Sadie

I made it to Charlie’s school with a couple minutes to spare, in a state that probably didn’t look good. My eyes had to be puffy and red, and my hair—I was sure it had seen better days. Charlie stood in front of his poster board presentation as I approached. Did he wonder about Theo? This program was something Theo shouldn’t be missing. In the distance, Charlie craned his neck, looking around at the large group of people hanging out at the gym. My stomach dropped.

Thanks to video calls, I’d witnessed one of Charlie’s conversations with his dad right after he’d moved to the Inn.

“I have a lot going on in my brain, Charlie,” Theo had said when Charlie asked him about why he moved out. “I guess I have so much going on in there,” and he pointed to his skull with his index finger, “I haven’t been paying much attention to what’s going on out here.”

Huh. At least he admitted it. But now, here I was, left to my devices, having to tell Charlie about the man he loved and called his dad. Along with a bellyache, my hands began to shake.

Once Charlie caught sight of me, he dashed a couple steps away from the booth, almost crashing into me.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, small and low, shook with his words.

“Dad’s in the hospital, and you need to visit him, now.” My clipped words always meant business. Charlie knew that.

“Okay. I can show you this later,” Charlie said. As he packed up his folder and binder clips, slipping his things into his backpack, the title of the poster grabbed my attention: My Dad, My Hero stood out at the top of the board. As I moved closer to the board, I thought back to our summer and our discussion of the project. Charlie hadn’t been forthcoming with details about what he’d planned to say. Come to think of it, I’d never even seen a rough draft, something unusual for Charlie. What had he written? I leaned in closer, trying to catch the details on the board—

“Mrs. Rollins-Lancaster, how nice to see you again!” The principal of the school interrupted me. “Charlie has been a pleasure all semester long. You have a real gem here.”

“Thank you for saying that. I’m sorry I have to pull him away from here, but we have a slight emergency.”

Who was I kidding? Charlie needed to see his Dad, in case—

“Well, I hope you were able to view his final presentation. He worked very hard on it, and we’re so pleased to hear that things are going so well for Mr. Lancaster.”

I felt the color drain from my face as I swiveled my head in Charlie’s direction and stared at him. So well? For Theo?

“What?” I leaned in toward the principal, but Charlie pulled on my sleeve.

“Well Charlie here said...” The principal stopped talking and looked back and forth between us. She flipped through the pages on her clipboard, looking for the list of presentations. “I thought...”

Charlie didn’t let me finish. “Mom, let’s go. We need to go.”

“Yes, we do.” Charlie could explain later. He would explain later. In the meantime, we needed to get to Theo.

.    .    .    .    .

After throwing Charlie’s bags in the trunk, I slammed the lid and walked over to the driver’s side door. Gripping the handle, I flung the door open, then pulled that same door shut with such force, the coins in the center console jumped. As Charlie buckled up in the back seat, I counted to ten, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, just like Theo. The crisp air tickled my nose and worked to refresh my bad attitude. What a shit day. But Charlie had never responded to anger, so calming myself before speaking took priority. I twisted around to face him and tried my best to paste the most loving and peaceful smile on my face.

“All right, Charlie. Are you going to tell me what happened back there? What did the principal mean that things are going well for your dad? I’ve never been one to condone lying.”

A million ideas swam through my head about what Charlie might have said. He’d most likely written that Theo didn’t have PTSD, or he’d beaten it with no issue. He might have gone with a full-fledged lie of something outrageous, like he’d been promoted to—what? I didn’t even know. Instead of jumping to conclusions, I waited for Charlie to speak.

His voice, small and weak, cracked as he told me what he had done. That while his father had been his hero, back when he was younger and before Theo had developed his condition, he wasn’t any longer, and so he’d lied. The more I listened, the more despondent I became. Neither Theo nor I had any