Luke turned to me with those blue eyes—those grey-blue eyes in contrast to the dark brown hair, and the long lashes that were pretty unfair for a man to have and eyebrows with that little sardonic tilt, and those beautiful lips, and the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled—
Anyway, Luke looked at me. And there it was, the pink blush rising through my fair Irish skin, heating my face from my chin to the roots of my blonde hair on my forehead.
“Sorry,” Annie said. “Dad, Luke, this is Emily Brennan. And this is her nephew, Charlie.”
“Brennan?” Luke asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Any relation to Cassandra?”
Charlie stuck his hand out as I had instructed him. “It’s nice to meet you. Cassandra is my mom.”
Luke turned to him and tilted his head, then gravely shook Charlie’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, Charlie.”
George Whitaker looked me up and down. “Emily Brennan. Of course. Anaïs, you look lovely today. We’ll speak soon.” He patted Annie’s shoulder then leaned back on Luke. “Lucas, I need to get inside.”
Luke and Annie stared at him for a moment. “Ok, Dad,” Luke said finally. “Let’s go. Emily, it was nice to meet you as well. I’ll talk to you later,” he said to his sister.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding slightly. “Bye, Daddy.”
We watched them as they slowly made their way into the Athletic Complex.
“Sorry,” Annie said to me, touching my arm again. “My dad’s in a lot of pain, all the time, from old injuries. He’s been really upset lately too, because he can’t drive himself anymore. I’m sure he didn’t mean to be short with you.”
My heart was still pounding and my cheeks felt like I had a sunburn. Luke Whitaker was back in town. “That’s ok.” I looked down as Charlie slipped his hand in mine. “Ready, pal? I bet you want some dinner.”
Chapter 2
Cassie was awake when we got home. I could hear her faintly calling my name as Charlie dropped his school bag and flew, shivering, up the stairs to the bathroom for a hot shower. It hadn’t really warmed up yet outside, and Nana’s house was always a little drafty.
“Em,” I heard again, so I ran up the stairs as Charlie had, and knocked quietly before going into Nana’s, now Cassie’s, room.
She was laying on the bed, propped up by two pillows, with her head turned toward the window. “I’ve been calling you for over an hour,” she stated flatly, without looking at me. Her dark hair was still twisted up in the messy knot I had quickly fashioned last night as she puked into the ever-present plastic basin from the hospital. Cassie had her mom’s beautiful olive skin, but now it was a yellowish pale, her eyes sunken and surrounded by dark circles.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We just got back—”
“I know.” Cassie sniffed then made a face. “I can smell him. Maybe you shouldn’t be driving him to all these practices when I need you at home.”
I nodded carefully. “Well, I’m here now. Are you feeling up to having something for dinner?”
She shrugged, just a little movement of her shoulders. “I threw up again,” she gestured at the coverlet. I stepped forward.
“Cass, I’m sorry. Couldn’t you reach the basin?”
“It happened too fast.”
“Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?” She made a face, but shook her head, no. Her hands moved restlessly on the sheet.
I gently pulled the coverlet off the bed, then went to the small bathroom off her room and wet a washcloth. I handed it to her so she could wipe her face, and then dug in the chest at the end of the bed for another quilt to keep her warm. “I’ll put this one in the wash then fix something for you both for dinner,” I said as I balled up the stained blanket. I gave her the glass of water from the bedside table, shook two pills into my palm, and put them into her open hand. “Should I send Charlie in to say hi? You up for that?”
She took the pills, then turned her face back to the window and didn’t answer me.
“Ok. Try to drink all the water in the glass.” She made a face again, but picked it up with her slender fingers. We had both gotten our dad’s lean bone structure, but now she looked almost skeletally thin. “What about Charlie?”
“No,” she said, without turning her head. “Stop hovering.”
As I descended back into the front hall, then down the next set of stairs to the basement, I tried to think of what her afternoon had been like. Waking up alone, with only morbid thoughts to amuse herself. Throwing up, feeling nauseated and sick. I tried to put myself in her shoes and tell myself that it was okthat she didn’t want to see Charlie. Maybe she didn’t like him seeing her in such a bad way. Maybe his bounciness, and exuberance, and all-over happiness, were just too overwhelming.
Maybe I would stop thinking about it. I threw the coverlet in Nana’s old cast iron washup sink and turned the cold water on it.
∞
