Page 8 of Big & Lily

“What are you going to say when you get home?”

“He’s not there.”

“How do you know?”

She taps her phone a few times and holds the screen up. It’s a map of downtown with Eric’s iPhone icon flashing over the site of Sweet Dreams. “Find My Friends,” she says and lets out a quick, angry laugh. “Friends.”

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No.” She goes back to her screen.

Fine, whatever. I’m just trying to help. She came to me.

I set my jaw and stare straight ahead. In no time we are at The Grove, so named, I’m sure, to evoke breezy California living in the suburbs of New Jersey. The Grove is a ten-billion-unit townhouse complex cropping up out of acres of rolling hills and impeccably designed landscaping. Aside from some sporadic attempts at individualism in the form of potted petunias, decorative flags, fauxmarble lions, grinning garden gnomes, and the occasional Mary on the Half Shell, every home is the same. Six units to a building, buildings as far as the eye can see—white siding, black shutters, green doors. Of course, I could make my way up and around the winding roads to Number 56 Tangerine Lane with my eyes closed.

When we arrive at Lily’s, I put the car in park but let it idle. I’ve got to get going if I’m going to cross anything off the list before I need to circle back and pick up my mother. Lily’s head is still bent to her phone.

“Lil, we’re here.”

Her eyes stay glued to her screen. A moment passes.

“Lil, I’ve got to go.”

She remains statue still, head bowed, except for one raised finger, signaling me to hang on. With her other hand she holds the phone and continues to scroll. I want to be patient with my sister, but no one wants a finger raised to them. “Lil, I’m late for—”

“I’ve got it,” she finally says. She shakes her phone in the air as if it’s the tablets brought down from the mountain. “I found the perfect place.”

“Perfect place for what?”

“Haven’t you been listening to me? I’m getting out of here. I’m not dealing with any of this now. And nothing you can say is going to change my mind. I don’t give a shit about your fight-or-flight theory. I need to leave. Clear my head. Make decisions without all the noise—Eric, Mom, the store. It’s deafening. I need some quiet so I can think.”

I turn off the engine and face my sister. She is drained of that endless energy I’m always so jealous of. Her eyes carry bags from what had to have been a sleepless night on my couch. I’m sure there will be many more. Chances are I won’t agree with whatever Lily is cooking up—but I’m trying not to judge. I am here to support and protect, a regular Officer Ackerman-Petty. At my little sister’s service.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

She scrolls and taps and then holds the phone up to me. I put on the spare pair of cheaters I keep in the cup holder. On the screen is a photo of a snowcapped mountain range set against a cloudless blue sky.

“Alaska,” she says.

I peer over the top of my glasses. She’s serious. “The Skolers took a Carnival cruise in Alaska last year,” I say. “They saw whales from their cabin balcony.”

“A cruise? What are you, a hundred years old?”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with a—”

“No, gross. Stuck on a floating hotel with a thousand people? I want to be lost, not trapped. Check this out.” She goes back to her phone. “I found this company—Grizzly Tracks Adventures.They take you all over, you go with a guide. You see therealAlaska. Into the wilderness and all that shit.” She puts the phone up to my face again, and I see a photo of a moose standing in a lake, its reflection making a mirror image in still water. “You’ll see real glaciers. Hike up mountains. Camp under the stars.”

“Okay, stop,” I say, holding up my hand. I hate to break up this fantasy my sister is spinning, but hiking? Camping? Lily won’t eat outside on the patio until the electric bug zapper is on. “When was the last time you climbed a mountain?”

“I do the stair climber three times a week. How different can it be?”

“And camping? As in sleeping bags and campfires? Outside? You?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s notcampingcamping. Not for what it costs. It’s got to be more like, um,luxurycamping. Like a hotel room but you can gaze up to the stars from your bed. And they set it all up for you. That’s what the guide is for. Like a concierge.”

She swipes her screen and holds it up again. “Look at this. Come on, Big, you can’t say that isn’t breathtaking.”

I take the phone and push my cheaters up my nose. The photo shows two mountain ranges, gray and white and mean-looking. Running in between them is a hard, white river. I expand the photo until I see that the river is frozen, rocky ice.