“Ronnie, you think you’ve got enough sweaters there?” I teased.
She patted the topmost sweater on the pile—it was literally the fifth she’d stacked in her suitcase, now so thick I was starting to wonder how she was going to get the thing closed—and looked at me. Her eyes were wide and bright behind her tortoiseshell glasses.
“Better safe than sorry, Archiekins,” she chirped. “There are few things worse than being caught in the wilds, unawares—or, at least, so I’d imagine. And speaking from extensive personal experience, there are also, most definitely, much worse crosses to bear than finding oneself with a surplus of Mongolian cashmere on hand.” Her eyes twinkled. I watched as she wrangled the top of the suitcase down and zipped it effortlessly. Obviously I’d underestimated her packing skills.
“I guess there’s no harm in being overprepared,” I agreed. “But, I mean, it’s camp, Veronica. Sleepaway camp. It’s not Into the Wild.”
“From your beautiful lips to God’s and Gabbana’s ears,” she quipped. “But have you been listening to the weather report? It’s slowly but surely going from mildly dismal to absolutely dire. That storm they were predicting isn’t getting any smaller. Just the opposite, actually; RIVW was saying something about upgrading it from ‘severe weather’ to ‘high winds and flood threats.’ ”
“I know, I heard. But don’t worry, you’ll be in bunks. And the weather guys always exaggerate that stuff, anyway.”
I tried to sound reassuring. I could tell that underneath her New York–sophisticate bravado she was actually a little nervous. “You’re right, though—the more sweaters the merrier. Clearly I’m nuts. Go big or go home.”
“That’s basically the philosophy I’m going with, in a nutshell.”
“I’m convinced,” I agreed.
“So,” I said, moving from the desk to the bed. I settled myself at the head, leaning back against her tufted headboard, careful not to knock any piles of clothing over. “Other than the weather—and missing me—are you looking forward to getting away at all?”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “Honestly? Yes.” She grinned. “I’m as surprised as anyone. And not just because I’m basically the least likely candidate to go for a wilderness retreat ever. The Wakaya ecolodge in Fiji is pretty much as close to nature as this girl gets.” She closed her eyes, no doubt remembering some luxurious vacation highlights of the past. “We have to go there sometime, Archie,” she said. “Maybe as a graduation present.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Catch of the day for dinner every night.”
“I love fishing,” I said. Her enthusiasm was totally infectious, as usual. Even though fishing reminded me of catch-and-release afternoons along the banks of Sweetwater River with my dad …
I shook my head. I was supposed to be reassuring Veronica right now, not going off into some pity party inside my own mind. “But until we can get to Wakaya—I’ve got poker night, and you’ve got the world’s largest collection of sweaters.”
“Yep. It should be fun. Cheryl is definitely going to be her usual high-drama self, but B and I are due for some quality female bonding. A road trip with the Vixens, a weekend in a normal little high school bubble? I think this retreat will hit the spot.” She paused, her mood seeming to fall slightly. “But of course, I’ll miss having my usual cuddle time with you.” She rubbed my arm. “I hate leaving you alone.”
“I’ll be okay,” I insisted, even though down deep, I wasn’t sure. “Especially if Jughead has anything to say about it.”
“And apparently, he does,” Veronica agreed. She picked her suitcase up and placed it neatly by the bedroom doorway. I guessed Smithers would probably pack it in the car for her.
Veronica came back around to where I was sitting on the bed, putting her hands on my shoulders. A little shiver went through me when she touched me; that feeling never got old.
She reached a soft hand under my chin and tilted my face up, looking me dead in the eyes. Her hair fell in dark waves over her shoulders, and her expression was tender but concerned. I knew that expression very well.
“I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through, Archiekins,” she began. She spoke slowly, carefully, like she knew it was a loaded topic and she wanted to tread lightly. “I know you want to keep busy. And I know how important it is to you to have the community center up and running smoothly.”
“Not just running,” I corrected her. “Thriving.”
“It’s a noble endeavor,” she said, running her hands through my hair.
“Sure.” I glanced away. Maybe it was: making a space for kids to gather, kids who had nowhere else to go, no good options, and no safe spaces? Yeah, that was a worthy goal. But the truth was, I had my own selfish reasons for throwing myself into the community center these days, too.
Because other than Ronnie, the community center was kind of all I had left. And I had to put my energy somewhere, didn’t I? Some place other than staring into space all night, listening to my clock tick, thinking about my dad? Missing him? Turning it around and around in my head—the idea that I was never going to see him again.
I blinked. The last thing I needed was for Ronnie to see me tear up. She was worried enough about me as it was.
“It is,” she insisted, turning my head back toward her so she could look in my eyes. “But, Archiekins—you’re burning the candle at both ends. Especially the way you’ve been overseeing the Andrews Construction stuff, too.”
I swallowed. Of course, I was overseeing the construction stuff. Who else would, now?
“There’s barely any wick left, to beat a metaphor to death. And the thing is—I spoke to your mom.”
“You did?” This was news to me. Obviously the two of them spent time together when Veronica was at my house and stuff, and my mom loved her. But the idea that they were having heart-to-heart conversations when I wasn’t around? Yeah, it felt a little weird.
“I assure you, I wasn’t going behind your back or anything like that,” Veronica insisted, “but I do see her. I’m your girlfriend, after all.”
“That much, I actually know.” I grinned.
“Well, so, we’re in contact. Not in any premeditated way, but it happens. For instance, like last week, that night we all ordered a pizza? And you were out walking Vegas while we waited for the food?”
I remembered. “Yeah, I remember. And you and my mom—you guys were inside setting the table.”
She nodded. “Exactly. Anyway … we talked. We do talk. And she was saying that the business is doing fine. Your commitment has already paid off tenfold. And the community center is thriving, just like you envisioned, just like you wanted. All your hard work … it’s worked. Everything is in great shape.”
And she was right—everything was in good shape. Unless, you know, you counted … well, me.
But I couldn’t admit that to Veronica; I couldn’t admit that to anyone. I couldn’t bear for them to be any more worried than they already were.
“So”—she tilted her head to deliver the caveat that was so clearly on its way—“you don’t need to keep up this … I don’t know, this constant self-flagellation. Will you please take this one weekend off to have some fun with your friends?”