Free After Ever by Jillian Eaton

would take him but by the time I got dressed and went down to the lobby he was gone.”
    “You sent a five year old down to the lobby by HIMSELF?” I shout the words out, each one louder than the last until they end on a crescendo that makes Trish cringe.
    “I didn’t think he would go anywhere.” She rubs the corners of her eyes and scowls, as if the whole thing is Brian’s fault. “And when I couldn’t find him I thought he was up here with you. What am I going to do? Tom is going to kill me.”
    “Don’t worry, Trish. If you really lost Brian my dad won’t get a chance to kill you because I’ll do it first.” It is not an idle threat. Brian is the only family I have left to speak of. The only good and innocent thing still in my life. Without him… I don’t even want to contemplate what I would do. “Did you search the hotel?” I ask.
    She stares at me blankly, as if the thought of actually looking for Brian had never occurred to her. “I didn’t –”
    “Do you think there is any way he could have gotten outside?”
    Her bottom lip begins to quiver. “I’m not sure –”
    “You are, hands down, the dumbest DUMB person I have ever known!” I try not to think of all the ways a little boy could get hurt on a mountain. Unfortunately, my imagination is not being cooperative. He could get caught in an avalanche. Trip and fall down a ravine. Get hit by an out of control skier. Fall through the ice. Be attacked by a deer. Trampled by a moose. The possibilities are endless. Even if he stayed in the hotel that doesn’t guarantee his safety. Brian thinks every stranger he comes across is a long lost relative. Any attempts at teaching him about ‘stranger danger’ have failed miserably. The kid just doesn’t understand that there are people out there who could hurt him.
    Trish’s hands flail helplessly in the air as I push past her to grab my sweatshirt off the back of a chair. Using the hem to cover my nakedness, I strip out of my blue duck shorts (a birthday gift from Brian) and yank on a pair of jeans. My sneakers are at the door. I don’t bother putting on socks before I stuff my feet inside.  
    “W-where are you going?” Trish asks.
    “Where do you think?” I bite out before I rush from the room. I’m halfway down the hall before I realize Trish isn’t following me.
    “Are you KIDDING me?” I say in disbelief when I double back and find her in my bathroom applying mascara.
    The wand bobbles as she jumps, streaking a long strip of black across the side of her cheek. “You scared me,” she whines, blotting at the mascara with a tissue.
    “You lost my brother and now you’re putting on makeup?” The absurdity of it makes me grind my teeth, a habit I gave up in the fifth grade after Ritchie Jenkins told me it would cause all my teeth to rot and fall out.
    Trish turns away from the mirror. Her lower lip juts out in a pout as she says, “But you’re here. Why can’t you find him? You’re his sister.”
    “Yeah and you’re the last person who saw him. Is that really something you want to explain to my father?”
    The threat hangs heavily in the air between us. Trish’s eyes flick between me and her reflection in the mirror. I can all but see the wheels spinning in her pea sized brain. Beauty or the boy? The seconds begin to tick by, one after another. I snort in disgust and turn to go – because really, how helpful can someone who prioritizes mascara over finding a missing child be? – when she answers me.
    “Fine,” she sighs, setting the mascara tube down on the counter. “I’ll go. It’s not as if anyone is going to be awake this early anyways.”
    I force my mouth into something that vaguely resembles a smile. “You’re a real saint. Now show me the last place you saw him.”
     
    We search every hallway and unlocked room in less than thirty minutes. Both of us are sweating by the time we conclude our frantic search in the lobby. Trish staggers over to a chair and falls