Page 78 of A Summer to Save Us


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What’s wrong with him?I write. River once said his parents hated him, but I never thought his problem was family-related.

“He wants to have me declared insane... yeah, I think that’s his plan.” He looks again at the land surging around the hill like a dark sea, seemingly trapped in the past.

His words leave me stunned. I can’t think of a single reason for this. Okay, maybe he drinks too much, and sometimes he sleeps too long or doesn’t sleep at all, but he always knows what he’s doing. Almost always.

Why?

I don’t even need to show him the question because he’ll keep talking anyway.

“It’s complicated with my father.” He turns away from the view and walks along the edge of the hill, but even as the grade gently slopes down, I no longer worry about him jumping. “Tucks, I don’t know much about your family, but I come from afamily that values power. My father is a doctor, and my mother has done nothing in her life other than organizing dinner parties and charities. Nothing but charity events, for god’s sake.” He laughs briefly, but it sounds hollow. “She doesn’t do it for the needy but to look good. She’s like those exaggerated women in soap operas. Bloody Marys in the morning, martinis in the evening, and in between, superpower cocktails with zero calories and exercising until you drop. She’s a caricature.” He shakes his head. “My parents are cold. Perfection is all they know, Tucks. I don’t remember any situation where they hugged me.”

He tries to appear indifferent, but his tension tells a different story.

“Somehow, I never belonged in their world. I was always different.” Now he looks at me. “I think you know what I mean.”

I nod with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.Oh, yeah.

“I remember that I often used to wander aimlessly around our house. Sometimes, it felt like a labyrinth where I had to find a treasure. I was always searching for something. My parents were often out and about with their famous friends who were judges, lawyers, and politicians. Even when they were home, they were emotionally miles away. My brother and I had countless nannies, but none stayed longer than a month. Materially, we had everything, Tucks.” He swallows, and my heart flutters with pity because he seems so abandoned and alone. “I had three playrooms, a movie room, and a bedroom that was bigger than other people’s properties. We had freshwater and saltwater pools, gyms, and tennis courts, but I was always alone.”

What about your brother?I ask with a lump in my throat.

River laughs hard. “My parents didn’t want my behavior to rub off on my brother, so I wasn’t allowed to play with himoften...Tucks.” His voice lowers and darkens. “I was so angry. As angry as you saw me yesterday but over little things. It scared my controlling, perfect parents.”

He’s silent for a moment, then kicks a lava stone down the hill. Anger is reflected on his face. “Sometimes, I wish they had hit me. Honestly. At least that would have been a real emotion. Instead, they punished me with silence and coldness.” We exchange a look, and my heart sinks. Because I’m also silent, but I don’t want to appear cold. River seems to read my mind, because he shakes his head like I shouldn’t worry about it. “My father and mother sometimes didn’t talk to me for weeks if I did something wrong. When I was twelve, I started having tantrums that came out of nowhere. I broke things, and once, I tore a Picasso off the wall and impaled it on the awful silver-plated antlers in my parents’ bedroom.” He laughs, but it sounds sad.

I imagine little River wandering around a huge mansion, lonely and adrift, looking for closeness and a hug. Standing lost in front of a mountain of toys, not knowing what to do with them. How he gets angry in his mess of emotions.

I think you were desperate and lonely.

He nods, but it seems to take a lot for him to admit it. “I fell in with the wrong people, did cocaine, drank too much, and partied too hard. I stole from my parents and threw forbidden parties when they were out of the house.” He shakes his head. “The drugs helped me keep my balance. If I was feeling bad, they dulled that emptiness. If I felt like I didn’t know where to go because of all the energy, they would bring me down.”

I see him standing on the line in front of me, Jack Daniel’s in his hand.To come down, my memory whispers.

He looks at me again, but this time, there’s something different in his expression. “For a while, I found solace in music. My friend had a guitar, and it turned out I was... good.”

Your energy vibrates like a damn guitar string, he once said to me.I’m sure you were more than good,I write.

His smile is almost shy, and that just makes me love him even more. “Well, I was okay.”

I giggle, and he punches me on the upper arm. I notice that the worst bruise from Kensington no longer hurts.

River runs his hands through his hair. “Seriously. Music gave me something I never found at home. A home. Do you know that?”

Beautiful words, I write, and he nods as if it were clear as day.

“As my grades continued to slip, my parents banned my music. They even had me monitored at home.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“They took away the only thing that meant anything to me. They said if I continued making music, I wouldn’t be allowed to see my brother at all.”

How cruel.

“Hey, that was a long time ago.” Again, he interpreted my look correctly.

Regardless, that was terrible. It was extortion.

River glances at his hands. “They said music was a dead-end job and for losers. They wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer. I don’t know what happened back then; I probably drank too much, did too much coke, and felt abandoned by everyone...Anyway...” He doesn’t continue.