Summer People, page 23
“That makes sense,” Lexi said.
“My new doctor seems really good though,” Christmas said. She’d stayed off her medication for about a week, suffering through the unpleasantness of withdrawal, and had experienced an almost immediate relief when she got back on it. The clouds in her mind parted, and despite all the noise of her messy family life, she found herself able to also move forward, to complete the tasks before her including (with Rory’s help) finding herself the new doctor. “She does want me to get into therapy, like, yesterday,” she told Lexi. “Which is obviously a good idea. I figure I’ll check out the counseling center at CCC when school starts.”
“Yeah,” Lexi said with warmth in her voice. “That’s great. I’m really proud of you, girl. And not just for that. Look at all you’ve done! I hope you have to write one of those ‘How I Spent my Summer Vacation’ essays.” She intoned in a high-pitched voice: “First, I saved someone’s life. Then, I shut down a drug ring. Maybe next year, I’ll take on climate change!”
Christmas smiled in the dark. “Do you think we’ll both be here—in Sweet Lake—next year, Lex?”
She heard Lexi turn over on her side. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “But yeah, I have a feeling we’ll both be here again. And I bet you’ll get that lake cleaned up. I bet we’ll be skiing again soon, because if there’s one thing I know about you, Christmas, it’s that once you set your mind to something, you see it through to the end.”
Christmas rubbed her feet together, which was something she did when she was comfortable and almost ready to sleep. “I used to think I was sort of special because I overcame my ADHD. Like, anything good I ever did was because I had worked so hard to make my brain behave. But that’s only partly true.” She was quiet for a moment, searching for the words. “I do work hard at it. But now I know that my ADHD is what makes me who I am in some fundamental way. It lets me focus on the things that matter to me, even if it means other things, things that are important to other people, sort of fall away. Does that make sense? I’ll never have a clean room, or be organized, or be able to fill out a form, but that’s okay, because if you give me an article on environmental toxins or water remediation, I can sit there and dive into it, even if there’s a marching band going by my window. I might not be able to focus when something doesn’t really interest me, but I always have enough things going on in my mind to never be bored. I might have a harder time solving a problem than another person would, but I’ll keep trying.” She sighed. “It’s cheesy, but maybe it’s true: ADHD isn’t a disability as much as a difference. And it can sometimes be a good difference, sort of an extra-ability.”
“You mean a superpower,” Lexi said.
“Maybe,” Christmas agreed.
Lexi laughed. “This is like in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy realizes that it was the ruby slippers all along. You always had the power. Now you know how to use it.”
44
Lexi was leaving the day after the annual Founder’s Day celebration, and Rory invited them to his place for a barbecue that night. They could watch the fireworks over the lake. “Unless you want to do something else,” he’d added. “I know you’re not crazy about fireworks.”
“I’ll be okay,” Christmas assured him. “I’ll have my goat with me.”
They filled their last day with mini-golf and lunch in Honeysuckle, Christmas, Rory, Lexi, Martha, and even Barbara, laughing, talking, and playing.
Later, without Rory and Barbara, the girls took Martha to the tree house, where they ate the donuts they’d bought in town, laughed, and talked some more. Martha was just as marvelous as Lexi had promised, and she seemed to love Lexi, maybe even as much as Christmas did.
At dusk, they biked along the perimeter of the lake, past the Cunninghams’ mostly empty fields, the few remaining cows contentedly chewing their cud against the setting sun. And then past Christmas’s house, where, Christmas thought, her father was probably bent over the calculator, adding up the bills over and over, as though he might just get a different answer if he tried again. He’d been picking up extra shifts at the Home Depot, and Christmas barely saw him, except for when they went to visit her mom or to the lawyer’s office together.
As they passed Lemy and Curly’s house, Christmas couldn’t bring herself to look. Though both Lemy and Curly had been so kind, had reached out to tell her that they didn’t hold her mother’s actions against her, she knew it could never be the same. She heard they were thinking of selling after all, that Lemy had a job offer in California. She hoped it wasn’t true, but knew it probably was, and that maybe it was for the best.
The bright yellow police tape drew her eyes to the brown house and then the service station, now closed, and the Fords’ house, shut up tight, like a fist. She pedaled faster and willed herself to focus on the road in front of her. Maybe someday those places would be just places again, but not yet, not today.
When they finally arrived, they dumped their bikes just as Rory came around the house, beaming. He grabbed Christmas, hugged and kissed her, then hugged her again.
“I missed you,” he said, releasing her.
“I just saw you a few hours ago,” she reminded him.
“Maybe I’m preemptively missing you,” he said. He was leaving for Cornell the coming week.
Settling into an Adirondack chair facing the lake, Christmas wished Madison could have been there too. Madison, however, wouldn’t speak to her. The few times Christmas had seen her, she’d seemed not only angry, but somehow unwell: disheveled and sunken-eyed. When Christmas had bumped into her in the canned food aisle at the General Store and offered a tentative, “Hey, Mad,” Madison swiveled her head sharply and said, “Owen’s lawyer says not to talk to you.”
“Are you okay?” Christmas had ventured.
“No, I’m not okay. I’m really not fucking okay,” Madison spat then swept out of the store.
That was another loss. Christmas had lost Madison as a friend; she’d lost Lemy and Curly. Though she hoped that they would find a way back to each other eventually, she also felt as though she’d lost her mother. And in some ways, she’d lost her beloved lake—or at least the lake the way it had been when she was a child: clean, uncorrupted.
But there had been gains too. At summer’s end, she considered, she’d discovered her ruby slippers and found her goat. And she had a plan for a major now too: Environmental Science.
Naomi had been pestering her to register for classes, and she’d put it off because it entailed paperwork and because she wasn’t completely sure how she would pay for college. But with Rory’s help, she’d started the process and soon discovered that one of the upsides of being dirt poor was that you could basically go to community college for free. And so she signed up for the core requirements and an elective that focused on local ecology. She thought of what Cash had said, when he’d implored her not to give up on Sweet Lake. And she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She looked out at the water, smooth and bright, perfectly reflecting the houses and lawns and trees that ringed it, and thought again of that one Founder’s Day so long ago, when Cash’s mother sparkled on the lake. Christmas’s own mother had been dressed in overalls and a baseball cap; she was also a beauty, laughing with Christmas’s dad, shining in her own way. The three of them had decorated their rowboat, strewn it with flowers, and taken their spot in the line of boats that moved in a slow progression around lake. Christmas, beside her mother, smelling the gardenias, listening to the rhythm of her father’s rowing, had felt happy and safe, her family alone in their boat, but part of something bigger, part of a parade, at once in the water and of the land.
Rory, who sat in the Adirondack chair beside her, took Christmas’s hand, snapping her back to the present. He was talking about colleges, telling Lexi that Cornell had a great program for transfer students while looking meaningfully at Christmas.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Christmas said.
“How far away will you be from each other?” Martha asked, returning from the cooler with two cans of seltzer, one of which she placed on the arm of Christmas’s chair.
“It’s almost three hours,” Christmas said. “And Rory won’t have a car.”
“But you will,” Rory pointed out.
“My Aunt Inez,” Christmas told Martha. “My mom’s best friend. She’s giving me a 2009 Honda Civic with one hundred thousand miles on it—but she says it has another one hundred thousand in it yet.”
“And I don’t mind the bus,” Rory put in. Christmas smiled and Rory squeezed her hand. Lexi, noticing the exchange, beamed at her friend.
Christmas couldn’t talk for a moment, she was so overwhelmed with the sense of being surrounded and understood by friends. She was glad that it was just then that they heard the first firework, a pop and a hiss.
“They’re starting!” Rory said.
Christmas reached beside her chair and put on the headphones she’d brought. She thought of Cash and his famous illegal fireworks, for the way he annoyed everyone on the lake by setting them off all summer long, often in the wee hours, upsetting the cows, dogs, and wildlife, waking babies and enraging working folks. Everyone knew it was Cash, though the next day, it didn’t seem so important to tell the kid to cut it out, ask him to have a little respect for his neighbors.
Christmas felt a dull ache, a surprising longing. It wasn’t that she missed Cash, exactly. But now that everything had changed, she missed knowing he was around or knowing that they were still locked in their ongoing, unchanging battle.
He was right, of course, at least in the ways that mattered. She’d come to realize that a lot of people were like Cash, setting off bombs in the middle of the night, pretending it’s all in good fun, when really they’re wishing someone would pay attention to them, ask why they are up so late, find out why they can’t sleep.
Christmas looked at Rory, his face turned up, and beyond him, at Lexi and Martha, smiling at the sky. Rory cast a glance at her, to make sure she was okay, and she nodded. Though it was fireworks and not shooting stars, she turned her face up too, made a wish, then another, and then another. For bright futures for her family and her favorite summer people, for herself, and for Sweet Lake.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I was an adult before I realized that I had ADHD and, when I started to share this diagnosis with friends, many responded with some version of, “That can’t be. You’re so successful and accomplished!”
It was nice to hear that they saw me as a success, and I do feel accomplished, but their comments made me realize that people need to know that you can have ADHD and also flourish.
I’m not saying it was (or is) easy. I struggled with focusing throughout elementary and high school, and I was often in trouble for being messy and forgetful. (I’m thinking particularly about the time that I left my eyeglasses in the driveway and my dad ran over them with the car—ugh!) I also struggled with “spaciness,” procrastination, and retaining certain kinds of information. And, as a girl who, according to one unkind relative, “couldn’t eat an apple without getting it all over herself,” these difficulties were often seen by authority figures as evidence of laziness and a contemptible lack of self-discipline. That I was incredibly eager to please others made the fact that I so often disappointed the people around me extra painful.
While I do feel that I “grew out” of many of my ADHD symptoms, some persisted into adulthood. In college, I briefly worked as a restaurant server, and I can’t even put into words what a failure I was. (Apologies to Pizzeria Uno patrons circa 1997!) I was an okay administrative assistant, but to this day, I cannot operate a basic office phone, I’m at sea with most non-word-processing-related computer programs, and, for someone who has a PhD in English, I still struggle with alphabetical order. (L-M-N-O, okay, P comes after.)
In other areas of my life, I’ve overcorrected in order to avoid the criticism I’d come to expect, so I’m obsessive about “doing it now” when it comes to unpleasant tasks (otherwise I might forget and neglect them completely). I’m militant about being on time, anxious about any disruption to my routine, and sometimes unnecessarily inflexible.
But it isn’t all bad. As a child, I was curious and an early and avid reader with the ability to focus on written text regardless of where I was or what was happening around me. I’ve come to see how my ADHD has also allowed me to be a daydreamer and—ultimately—a writer. And that’s been the luckiest break I’ve had: being able to create a life in which I can generally avoid my nonpreferred activities (including anything involving math and numbers), and instead spend an enormous amount of time reading, writing, and talking about reading and writing. Professionally and personally, I am allowed to get lost in words, and it’s my hyperfocus—my ADHD—that has made this book possible.
If you’re still struggling: I see you. I know how it feels to watch everyone else floating and playing out past the breakers, making it look so easy while you’re stuck getting tumbled around in the waves, spit back on the shore every time you try to swim out. But I believe you can get there too. It might take medicine or therapy; it might simply take time, or surrounding yourself with people who’ll help and support you, or figuring out the work-arounds you require to get through the day. Whatever it is, I hope you find it. This world needs us—with our unique and creative brains—maybe now more than ever.
Sara Hosey
November 10, 2022
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my go-to first readers, Erin Riha and Cathy Plourde, who are so encouraging and who ask the good—and sometimes difficult—questions. I hope that you are relieved to see that I took many of your suggestions! I’m grateful, too, to Melanie Bell, who is always up for a read and offers wonderful insights. A million thanks to my Sea Cliff Writer’s Collective, Ayme Lilly, and Julie Tortorici. And thank you to Savannah Gilbo, a terrific editor and podcaster.
I am also grateful to my Fall 2022 Fiction Writing class, my Gen-Z spies, who provided crucial insights about their peers. Thank you, too, to Fiona Brett, whom I can always count on for useful info, and to Vanessa McHugh, who is unfailingly supportive. I’m so happy to have you on my team!
Thank you to my folks at CamCat, especially Helga Schier, who offered enthusiasm and encouragement from the jump, as well as Christine Van Zandt, whose sharp eye and excellent editing really took this book to the next level. It’s been wonderful going on this journey with you, Christine. Thank you, Penni Askew. Thanks, also, to Bill Lehto and to Sue Arroyo.
Thank you to my steadfast BFF Lisa Modifica, who might just be the kindest and most generous person I know. I wish for everyone to have a Lisa in their lives.
And, finally, to my other best friend, Jess “Not-That-Kind-of-Lawyer” Rao, Esq. Thank you, dear Jess, for putting up with me and my endless new interests. I’m so lucky to have a partner like you. Not you, exactly, but someone very similar.
Just kidding. It is you. Always.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sara Hosey is the author of two other young adult novels, Iphigenia Murphy and Imagining Elsewhere, as well as a novella titled Great Expectations. She is a community college professor and a tree enthusiast, and when she’s not writing or teaching, she likes spending time with her family and pets in upstate New York.
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PROLOGUE
JANUARY 12, 2022
“The only reason I come here is for my weekly caffeine high,” Tiffani with an i admitted to Emily as she took a sip of her lukewarm, watered-down coffee. “I’m not no string-out addict or nothin’,” she continued and then peered at Emily, realizing that Emily, in fact, was not there just for the coffee. “Sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to say nothin’ bad about addicts.” Tiffani sprinkled some sugar into her undersized paper cup and stirred it with the plastic spoon tied to the sugar container with blue yarn. Tiffani glanced around the room and then untied the yarn, placing the spoon into her pocket. She gave Emily a wink. “I gnaw on the edges of this enough and it gives me a sorta sharp blade.” Tiffani patted her gray, state-issued sweatpants, keeping the new weapon safe, before taking a seat in the circle with the other women.
“One minute, ladies,” the guard announced to the group as the chatter quieted down in the circle. Emily picked up an NA book from the only empty chair left in the circle and sat down in its place.
“Hello, I’m an addict and my name is Darlene. Welcome to the Lincoln Juvenile Correctional Center’s group of Narcotics Anonymous. Can we open this meeting with a moment of silence for the addict who still suffers, followed by the Serenity Prayer?”
Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to stop her palms from sweating. She still got anxious even though she’d been attending this meeting every week for the past year. How has it been an entire year? she wondered. So much has happened in only twelve months.
“Is there anyone here attending their first NA meeting or this meeting for the first time?” Darlene asked. “If so, welcome! You’re the most important person here! If you’ve used today, please listen to what’s being said and talk to someone at the break or after the meeting. It costs nothing to belong to this fellowship; you are a member when you say you are. Can someone please read, Who is an Addict and What is Narcotics Anonymous?”
“I will,” Chantelle volunteered as she reached across the circle, grabbed the paper from Darlene, and began to read.
“Yo, Em,” Nikki leaned over and whispered in Emily’s ear. “You celebratin’ today?” Emily nodded at her timidly. She didn’t like speaking in front of people even if it was a group of women she trusted.
