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    Right Behind the Rain
    Right Behind the Rain
    Right Behind the Rain
    Ebook139 pages2 hours

    Right Behind the Rain

    By Joyce Sweeney

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    A teenage girl fights to save her older brother from depression

    All her life, Carla has been happy to live in Kevin’s shadow. A born performer, he has a dancer’s grace and an actor’s charm, and he has always been happiest in the spotlight. But when he comes home after his college graduation, his light has gone out. He’s just been offered a part in a movie, but rather than being overjoyed, Kevin is quiet and withdrawn. Hoping to find out what’s bothering him, Carla follows Kevin downtown one day—and watches in horror as her beloved brother buys a gun.
     
    Carla will do anything to keep Kevin from taking his own life, but no matter where she turns, she can’t seem to find answers. As her brother slips deeper into the grips of depression, Carla is faced with a difficult question: How do you save someone who hasn’t even asked for help?
     
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateFeb 10, 2015
    ISBN9781504004244
    Right Behind the Rain
    Author

    Joyce Sweeney

    Joyce Sweeney is the author of fourteen books for young adults. Her novel Center Line won the first-annual Delacorte Press Prize for a First Young Adult Novel. Many of Sweeney’s works have appeared on the American Library Association’s Best Books for Young Adults list. Her novel Shadow won the Nevada Young Readers’ Award in 1997, and Players was chosen by Booklist as a Top 10 Sports Book for Youth and by Working Mother magazine as a Top Ten for Tweens. Headlock won a silver medal in the 2006 Florida Book Awards and was chosen by the American Library Association as a Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers. Sweeney also writes short stories and poetry and conducts ongoing workshops in creative writing, which have so far produced forty published authors. She lives in Coral Springs, Florida, with her husband, Jay, and cat, Nitro.

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      Book preview

      Right Behind the Rain - Joyce Sweeney

      ONE

      I bet he’ll have a nice suntan, said my mother. Remember what a nice tan he had last summer?

      My father didn’t hear her. He was preoccupied with traffic. Come on, briar-hopper! he shouted. Try and pass me! Get yourself killed!

      Mom turned to me in the backseat. Remember what a nice tan he had, Carla?

      I didn’t want to talk about Kevin’s tan either. My sandal was coming apart and I was trying to tie it off before it unraveled. Yeah, I said.

      Don’t play with your foot, honey. He gets it from me. Everyone in our family used to tan beautifully. It’s because of the Cherokee blood on the O’Reilly side.

      My father made a face. Cherokee on the O’Reilly side. You’re always showing us that old woman with the braid in your family album. I think she looks Italian.

      My mother bristled. Great-Aunt Opal was not Italian. She was one-sixteenth Cherokee.

      Is that why she never wore shoes? my father asked, winking at me in the rearview mirror.

      My mother gave him a long, cold look. "At least my people didn’t come from Pennsylvania," she said.

      I only half listened to their conversation. I was concentrating on how good it would be to have Kevin home again. I hadn’t seen him since spring break, which seemed like years ago.

      I hope he’s got a nice job lined up to go with his nice tan, Dad said. I still think he should have been getting an education all these years instead of dancing around in some barn.

      Oh, Mark, for heaven’s sake, said Mom. It isn’t a barn. It’s one of the best schools for the performing arts in California.

      Dad gave the wheel a hard turn. "All I know is, he sent home a picture of a barn."

      "It’s a converted barn," I said.

      Well, with the money I paid, you’d think they could afford a new building.

      I lay down in the backseat. It was the kind of day I like, overcast, with the clouds mixing and unmixing like water and milk. The wind was so strong, it made the car sway.

      It’s a shame they didn’t have any kind of graduation, my mother said. I suppose Kevin wouldn’t have worn a cap and gown anyway; I hope they gave him a diploma or something.

      He gets a certificate, I said.

      He ought to get a gold Mercedes for the money I paid, said my father.

      When you go to college, Carla, we’re going to pick someplace that has a graduation ceremony, Mom said. I want to see one of my children in a cap and gown.

      Sure, I said. Why not?

      Because what’s the point of having children if they don’t have weddings or graduations or anything?

      If he just gets a job, it’ll be enough for me, Dad said.

      Luckily, by that time, we were at the airport. My parents had a big fight about whether to use long-term or short-term parking. Then they had a big fight about where to sit in the airport. Finally we got settled in front of a television screen showing a syndicated rerun of Gilligan’s Island. I sat a few seats away from my parents, so it was hard to tell if I was with them or not.

      Of course the resemblance gave us away anyway. I look exactly like my father—the same reddish hair and short nose and brown eyes, and the same laugh, sort of loud and obnoxious.

      Mom was Miss Georgia twenty-five years ago. She has dark, satiny hair and blue eyes with thick black lashes. Kevin grabbed all her genes before I was born. I would have given anything to inherit those eyelashes, but I didn’t.

      Gilligan’s Island really engrossed my parents. They didn’t even pretend to think it was stupid. They sat there speculating, out loud, about what was going to happen next. Dad kept asking which one was Mary Ann and which one was Ginger.

      I looked around for the flight announcer, hoping she was getting ready to announce Kevin’s plane. But she just stood there, peeling nail polish and staring into space. Every five minutes or so she would blow into the microphone to throw me off.

      When Kevin was in high school, he and I used to come to this airport in the evenings, after dinner. We went to the airport the way some people go to the movies. We would drink coffee or hot chocolate in the snack bar and play all the video games. When it was good and dark outside, Kevin would want to go up on the observation deck. He loves high places. He liked to go up on the big flat deck and work out ballet routines in the dark. It was beautiful to watch but I was always nervous because sometimes he got too close to the edge.

      "Flight 401 from Los Angeles now arriving at gate four."

      We all jumped at once.

      Come on, Charlotte, Dad said to Mom. We don’t want to miss him.

      There wasn’t much danger of that. Kevin’s one of those people who stay in their seat until the whole plane is empty. It’s infuriating. So, as usual, we had to look at a long parade of offensive-looking strangers before we were finally allowed to see Kevin.

      I saw him first. He always looks gorgeous, but today something was different. It might have been the suit he was wearing, or the fact he’d obviously lost weight again. Something about him made him sort of hard to look at. I also noticed he didn’t have a tan.

      Some people are embarrassed about airport greetings, but of course Kevin loved it. He grinned when he saw us and came straight down the middle of the ramp with a long, extravagant stride. A few people turned to see if he was a celebrity.

      He looks good, my father said.

      He looks beautiful, said Mom. She held out her arms and Kevin bear-hugged her. Nothing embarrasses him.

      She started crying. You look so nice. She sobbed.

      So do you, he said, giving her a handkerchief. He had one ready. He worked one of his arms free and shook hands with Dad. There was a playful smile on his face and I knew why.

      Finally, he acknowledged me. What’s that? he asked. Did you guys pick this thing up on the road?

      Normally, I would have defended myself, but I just smiled at him today. Kevin and I had a secret together.

      Kevin raked his fingers through what looked like a very expensive haircut. Let’s see, he said. I have a little extra pocket money. I think I’d like a drink after that nice flight through the black clouds. We can tie Carla up outside.

      She can have a drink, said Mom. She looks twenty-one.

      She looks thirty or forty, said Kevin. At least. I want to buy.

      Can you afford it? Dad asked.

      I think so. You two go in and sit down. My slave can help me with the luggage.

      I had to run to keep up with him because of his long stride. You didn’t say anything, did you? he asked, while we waited for his luggage to come around.

      Not a word, I said.

      Good. That’s mine too. He pointed to a leather bag I’d never seen before. You’re a good sister. When we go to the premiere, I’ll get you your own limousine.

      The airport bar was called the Pineapple Room, apparently because there was a pineapple on each table. It was very dark.

      Our parents were at a table near the back. A very old barmaid in a black lace minidress stood over them with her arms folded, waiting for us to arrive.

      My father ordered Johnnie Walker Red on the rocks. My mother asked for a piña colada because she collects paper umbrellas and swords. Kevin got a rum and Coke and I had a ginger ale. The waitress sneered at everything we said.

      You could have had a real drink, my mother told me.

      I didn’t want one.

      Kevin slumped in his seat and shook back his hair. It’s nice to be home, he said. I’ve just about had it with those Californians and their roller skates.

      What are your plans for the summer, Kevin? Dad asked.

      Kevin looked at me and smiled. "This summer? I really don’t have any plans. I thought I’d just lie around the house and read library books, get a tan …"

      You know, Dad said, lots of kids, right out of college, the first thing they want to do is go out and look for a—

      This fall I’ll be doing a movie for United Artists, Kevin said. But this summer …

      There was silence in the Pineapple Room.

      What did you say? my mother whispered.

      Kevin pretended to look around for the waitress. Where did that old bat go with our drinks? he said. He was having a good time.

      Mom jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Kevin! she cried. I can’t believe it! For heaven’s sake tell us about it! He’s going to be in a movie, Mark! She punched my father’s arm. Didn’t you hear?"

      Yes, I heard, said Dad. "Do you mean you’ll actually be in a movie?"

      That’s what I said. Kevin grinned.

      The barmaid brought our drinks. She must have heard some of this, because she treated us with more respect.

      Of course, Kevin said, taking a sip, "it’s not a real part. It’s only two point six minutes of film and no lines, but it’s great exposure. And technically it’s stunt work so I get a lot of money."

      "He gets union scale," I said, unable to control myself any longer.

      You know about this? my mother cried. Why didn’t you say something?

      I wanted to tell you myself, Mom, Kevin said.

      Have you got any of this in writing? my father demanded.

      The contract is coming sometime this summer. We’ll have to get a lawyer to look at it.

      We’ll have a couple of lawyers look at it, said my father. This whole thing sounds too good to be true.

      Oh, Mark, for goodness sakes, said my mother. Tell us about your part, honey.

      Kevin looked at her gratefully. "Okay. The movie is about this woman who’s attacked and then she loses her mind. So she buys a revolver and goes around shooting every guy who reminds her of her assailant. I am the first innocent victim. Isn’t that cute? Okay, so here’s my two point six minutes. I’m riding in an L.A. city bus and I give

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