Free Carry the Ocean: The Roosevelt, Book 1 by Heidi Cullinan Page A

you.”
    “Hon, you aren’t bothering me. I care about you. I want to know what’s going on with you. I don’t want our parents to drive you out of your mind, and I know from firsthand experience that’s a real possibility. Are you seeing someone about all these panic attacks? Are you taking anything, medicine to help?”
    Why was everyone acting like I was sick? Like I had a heart condition, not a stupid habit of being upset in public and easily overwhelmed by life? “I’m fine,” I told her again. And again.
    Eventually she stopped asking, and Emmet started to text me from the bus, so I told her I had to go.
    “Okay, but I’m going to keep checking up on you,” Jan said.
    I was glad she warned me. I told myself I wouldn’t be so surprised next time she called, and I’d have better lies prepared.
    Two days after Jan’s call, Marietta showed up at my house.
    She had a cute wicker basket full of banana bread and cookies and a glass bottle of fancy mineral water, and she sat in the kitchen with my mom for an hour, talking about nothing in particular, so I went to my room. But after Marietta went home, Mom was all flushed and happy. The day after, Mom and Marietta went to lunch at the fancy new place in Somerset, and another day they had coffee downtown together at Chocolaterie Stam.
    A few days later, Mom suggested I have Emmet over to our house for a change.
    She was nervous about it, I could tell, but Marietta had gone on her charm offensive, and she played my mom like a violin. I overheard their discussion on the screened-in porch before the visit. Marietta was telling my mom what to expect with Emmet. “He gets nervous in a new place, and usually I go with him when we try a new environment, but he’s insisting on doing this on his own. I’ve told him the condition for coming over alone is he cannot lose his temper. So if something makes him angry, he’ll probably withdraw for a few minutes without telling you anything. If he’s doing well, he’ll tell you calmly that he’s angry. But he’s likely far from calm. He’s a good boy, though, and he works hard. I’m sure everything will be fine, but if you have any troubles, you have my cell number.”
    It was huge that Mom was considering having Emmet over. He made her nervous. Incredibly nervous.
    But she was polite when he came to visit, and so was he. He knocked on the door, only rocked while he waited for me to answer, and he presented my mom with a bouquet of flowers from the co-op, which won her over though he didn’t meet her eye while he presented them. He told her, without looking around, that she had a nice home and he was happy to be there. I knew him well enough to know this was all rehearsed.
    “I want to see your room, Jeremey,” he told me after a little while, and he also tapped two fingers on his thigh in a pattern. He had told me about this—he and his mother had a series of signs and silent exchanges they used to tell each other things without letting anyone else know. The one on the patio that first day I’d gone to his house—her two fingers, his three—was her reprimanding him for rudeness and him acknowledging and apologizing. The two fingers on his thigh meant he was nervous and needed to leave the room, but he didn’t want to say it out loud.
    I rose from the couch and led him to the stairs. “Sure. It’s this way.”
    He followed me up the stairs without a word. I was looking forward to having him in my room, to show him my things, to be in my space. I’d been to his house many times now, and we’d spent many afternoons in his room. But this would be the first time he’d be in mine.
    When I opened the door, though, he took one look inside and jerked, then withdrew into the far corner of the hallway, putting his face to the wall.
    I approached him cautiously. “Emmet? What’s wrong?”
    He held his body rigid, his face hidden from view. “I can’t speak right now.”
    Nerves tangled in my belly. “Why not?”
    His