Side Effects by Awesomeness Ink

11// WHITNEY
    I feel like such an idiot. All this time I’ve been worrying about my own problems with the She-Bitches and the lie heard ’round the world that I forgot I’m not the only Connolly in pain here. Yes, Keith, Lexi, Jason, and I have our issues, but somehow we’ve all dropped the ball when it comes to looking after Sam. We’re all he has in this world till we figure out where Dad disappeared to. And how do we help him handle it all?
    By pretty much ignoring him completely.
    Yep, it’s official: we suck as a family unit.
    I run down the narrow path and almost get barreled over by a guy on a bike towing a blue carriage behind it. I hear two girls squealing giddily inside as they pass. This is probably not the safest place for me to walk. I veer off the path and try to put myself in Sam’s shoes. Where would I go if I were him? He’d prefer to sit by a fountain or a park sculpture, that’s for sure, but since this place is nowhere near as nice as Griffith Park, I’m thinking the likelihood of a sculpture like the Astronomers Monument being around are slim to none. He doesn’t have his bike with him. Hmm . . . a bunch of boys in socceruniforms kick a ball past my head and I duck to keep from getting hit.
    â€œWe just played for at least an hour,” a sweaty little boy whines. “Let’s go to the park!”
    Park! I notice a swing set in the distance. Sam once fell off the monkey bars and broke his right arm, so I’m not sure the park is his favorite in the world, but when his options are a bench covered in bird poop or a swing set, I’m thinking I’ll find him on the swing set. I walk across the muddy field from last night’s rain and to the entrance of the park covered in Astro turf. The place is pretty much deserted except for the swings and the large sandbox that has ride-on diggers in it. A few mothers are pushing toddlers on baby swings, but the regular swings are empty. Except for one. I’m relieved to see Sam going back and forth slowly, the photo box and his sketchpad balanced precariously on his lap. He’s completely in a trance, staring down at his feet, which he’s dragging through the sand. I’m so happy to see him. I want to sprint to his side, but I don’t want to spook him.
    I move slowly, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice the seesaws on the other end of the park. Lexi is sitting hunched over on one end of a seesaw. Behind her, I notice Zak approaching. Lexi has someone who has her back. I focus on my little brother, so I can have his back too. Almost asif sensing I’m there, Sam looks up. I expect him to be angry to see me. Instead, his oval-shaped eyes, so similar to my own, remind me of a puppy in a store window. I just want to squeeze the kid.
    I sit down on the swing next to him and push off. “Want to talk about it?”
    Sam shrugs. He opens the photo box and stares at the stack of pictures inside. “I don’t remember half these things we did.” He picks up one of us at Disneyland. “I was too young I guess.” He looks at me and his brow creases with concern. “All I remember is Mom and Dad fighting a lot.”
    â€œMom and Dad didn’t fight a lot,” I say almost accusingly and then stop myself. These are Sam’s memories, not mine. “I mean, I can’t believe that’s what you remember.”
    He laughs to himself. “Great memories, huh?”
    Gently, I take the box from his hands and place it on my own lap. I slow my swing to a stop and look through for something that will spark his memory in a good way. “We can do better than fights. Let’s see . . .” I pull out a picture of Mom climbing a wooden barricade. She’s wearing war paint on her cheeks and a bandana with her company name on it. Think Whitney, I tell myself. Where is this from? Oh, I know!
    â€œRemember this?” I ask, showing Sam. “This is from