After Obsession by Carrie Jones, Steven E. Wedel Page A

house and say, “You want to paint this?”
    His eyes widen. “Really?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Can it be like a mural with dragons and knights and stuff ?”
    I imagine the scenes on the slanted plywood, knights defending ladies’ honor. Dragons screaming fiery threats. “That would be cool.”
    “I can help, right?”
    “Of course you can help.” I tussle his hair like any good American McSister would do. And for a second we are it: the American McDream.
    But we aren’t any McDream. Our mother is dead. Our dad is MIA most of the time. My boyfriend is maybe a closet racist, which means he can not be my boyfriend anymore. My best friend is so sad.
    And me?
    Sometimes lately it feels like everything in the world is so heavy, just pulling me down, and I wonder if that’s how my mom felt when she was in a depressed place, when she would stare at that river, just stare and stare.
    Something splashes in the water. A cloud shades the sunlight.
    “Aimee?” Benji’s voice comes out in a scared little squeak.
    I grab his hand and squeeze it. “What, sweetie?”
    “Ghosts can’t hurt you, can they?”
    I make my voice as serious and calm as I can. “Not if I can help it. Okay?”
    He pulls his lips in and then lets go. “Okay. And if they did, you’d heal me all up, right?”
    “Right.”
    When I hear the minivan start rumbling up the driveway, I hop out of the tree house and corner my dad by the garage.
    “Hey, kiddo,” he says, pulling his long legs out of the car. He opens his arms for a hug. I step into them.
    “You had spaghetti for lunch?” I ask, pulling away a bit.
    “Leftovers. How’d you know that?”
    “Your tie smells like spaghetti sauce.”
    He grabs this leather satchel thing out of the car. He uses it like a briefcase. I take some mail and his travel coffee mug. He turns to go into the house.
    “How was school?”
    “Okay.” I block his way. I swallow. He stares at me, waiting. He’s not a stupid guy, my dad; he knows something is up.
    “What is it, sweetie?”
    An eagle circles over us, higher and higher circles. “Benji misses you.”
    He squints. “What do you mean?”
    “He just needs you, you know. You’ve been working a lot lately.”
    He steps back. “Things have been hard at work …”
    I won’t let him get away with that. “Dad.”
    “You’re right, no excuses.” The briefcase dangles from his fingers. “I’ll try to do a better job, okay?”
    My breath flies out. “It’s just, Gramps has been super cranky lately and everything, and I’ve been at soccer a lot, and there’s some bully jerk beating on Benji at school, and he just needs you; he’s a little vulnerable right now.”
    This stops him.
    “Aimee,” he says. “When are we not vulnerable?”

• 6 •
    ALAN
     
    At home I grab a granola bar from a cabinet and change into sweatpants and running shoes. Courtney goes straight to her room and slams the door. I leave my room and call out, “I’m going for a walk.”
    She doesn’t answer, so I gallop down the stairs and out the front door, leaving it unlocked because I still don’t have a key. There are woods behind the house and I want to explore them. I go to the end of the block, turn, and follow a trail toward the tree line.
    Woods are something we don’t have in Oklahoma. Not like this. Not where I lived in the city. When I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license I had to drive from Oklahoma City to Thunderbird Lake out past Norman to find real forest. I told Mom I was sleeping over at Chance Botkin’s house for a couple of nights, then went to the state park for my vision quest.
    I read what I can about American Indians in general, but focus mostly on the nations of the Southwest, specifically the Navajo. At puberty, I learned, boys would go on a vision quest, where they’d find their totem guide, and sometimes even learn their purpose in life. I fasted for two days before my trip to Lake Thunderbird. When I got there I gutted the floor out of my