“GRACIE?”
Everything about Grace’s brother was too thin. His body, so that she could trace the bones of his clavicle. His hair, which had once been thick and wavy. The spark in his eyes, once vibrant, now flickering in and out like there was a draft within him. His clothes were slightly dirty and hung off his shoulders.
Tears sprang to Grace’s eyes. She threw her arms around him.
He grasped her close, like she was the first day of spring after a long winter.
Then he pulled back from her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked angrily. He took in Theodore Parker, the sheen of his clothes, his finely tailored suit and hat. He knew this class well, and he charged toward Theo, regardless of the switchblade in his hand.
“What are you doing down here with her? That’s my sister. Are youmad?”
“Walt, wait,” Grace said, stopping him. “He’s helping me. He’s helping our family.”
“Why? What’s happened?” Walt asked. His brow knit together and he tensed, like he was expecting to receive yet another blow. That move cleaved Grace’s heart clean in two.
“It’s Oliver,” Grace whispered.
Theo made a show of raising his hands in surrender, then putting away the switchblade.
“Dressed like that you should probably keep it handy,” Walt said curtly. He turned back to Grace, examining her face. “It’s so good to see you,” he said, taking her in with brotherly affection. “You’ve never known how lovely you are, Gracie. You grow lovelier every year.”
She flushed. Especially with Theo standing there, witnessing all the dimensions of this—these parts of herself she would have never allowed him to see.
“What’s Ollie done?” Walt asked roughly.
“Can you come to lunch with us?” she asked. She glanced at Theo, expecting him to look repulsed, but his face was neutral. Even the usual look of disdain was under control. “We can get something to eat. Talk about what’s happened.”
Walt didn’t spare a glance at Theo.
“Ishecoming?” he asked.
“Yes. He’s… my friend,” she said. And as the words passed her lips, she realized it was true.
As Walt led them to the exit of the Tunnels, Theo whispered into Grace’s ear, his breath a caress, “Do you want me to come? I’ll leave you if you prefer—and if you’ll be safe.”
“Walt would never hurt me,” she whispered. “But… I’d still like you to come.”
Theo nodded, the flickering light catching the angles of his face, illuminating the way the birthmark spread across his handsome jaw like a map.
“Then I will.”
They ate lunch at a restaurant near the Cascades, where they could feel the sunlight and fountain mist on their faces. It washed away thedimness of the Tunnels like a clean cloth. Grace pretended to use the ladies’ room, but instead she sought out the waiter and implored him not to bring their table any alcohol. When she returned to her seat, she snuck looks at Walt whenever she could.
She had been fed and clothed and raised in a house that had problems and love in equal measure. She had been loved and cared for. She cherished her childhood memories. They hadn’t been perfect. There was a particular year her father’s restaurant had almost gone under, and there were nights she’d pretended to be full when she went to bed hungry. Even as a girl, she could sense the tension that seeped through the house like moisture, molding the places where the love also grew.
But Walt. Walt had borne the weight of their family’s failed expectations. He had felt them too keenly. He had been a thousand things. Drawn to melancholy, a nurser of wounds. Fiercely loyal and protective of her. Unsure of who he was. Her mother had tried to send him to their grandfather to learn business. Walt had come back worn down. He was an overthinker. His thoughts swirled around him, and he couldn’t figure out how to fight them back. What was left behind were a thousand little cuts. She observed him now, while she pretended to study her menu. He was an artist who drew pictures for her on the glass in the mist left from the rain and built things with his hands. He had a temper. It had been a unique kind of agony to watch the brilliant colors in him twist and warp. He became volatile, a glass mosaic turning from its lighter sides to dark without warning.
He had done that to their home, too.
And yet she loved him. She had never stopped. His unresolved pain had cost her, too. These were the kaleidoscope parts of him, and almost none of them were things that Theo could see—nor could any of the other people sitting nearby, who were barely masking their distaste that someone like Walt was dining among them. She felt thrilledto see her older brother alive and fiercely protective of him, as well as embarrassed by him. She was embarrassed atherselfthat she felt embarrassed by him.
And yet always, always hopeful that he would return to her.
“What do you want, Walt?” she asked, pushing the menu toward him. “Don’t worry about the money. It’s my treat.”
She’d have to borrow the money from Theodore, but she would give Walt a good meal. She could stomach facing the dank Tunnels for Oliver, and the depths of her own humiliation for Walt—hoping that this could be the first of many good meals for him. If only he could taste and remember what life could be like.
