We each take a beer, and he keeps one for himself, setting the tray aside and taking the chair on the other side of Jan.
“Nice night,” Jan comments, sipping his beer.
“Good company,” Dad says.
We clink bottles and fall silent again. The fire crackles and settles. Light from the full moon turns the lake water silver and limns the edges of the dark and murky tree line that slope toward the water.
“I’m thinking of selling the place,” Jan says idly.
Dad pointedly says nothing. But March and I exchange a glance.
“Why?” I’m slightly surprised. “This is a great setup. I envy it, honestly.”
Jan’s mouth curls but he keeps his eyes on the fire. “The only reason you never liked your spot is that, in your heart, you wanted to live in Pen’s house.”
“What?” It comes out in a startled half laugh.
He quirks a brow. “Oh, come on, brother. Who are you kidding? You’ve been wanting to be in that house for a good long while. Longer than you think, I’m guessing.”
“Oh, my God.” March exhales. “He’s fucking right!”
Holy shit, heisright.
On some level, the desire to be there and only there with her had bloomed long ago.
Dad leans forward so he can catch my eyes. His brow furrows. “I thought the engagement was fake.”
“Dad,” this from both my brothers. Both of them quietly exasperated.
Dad’s gaze darts over us. “What am I missing?”
“A clue,” March says under his breath.
He’s saved from being heard when Jan says louder, “Not fake if Augie has his way, Pops.”
I busy myself with taking a long drink of cold beer.
“Huh,” Dad says thoughtfully.
Manfully, I do not squirm. I do however keep my tone neutral. “We were talking about you selling and why.”
Jan makes a noise of amusement but then shrugs. “My time here is done, and I’d rather not stick around the area I used to play in.”
Our shared silence at that takes on weight.
Jan plows through it. “I was thinking of moving to LA.”
“Really?” Again, I’m surprised.
“March is graduating and will likely move on to somewhere else. You and Pen are there. The weather is good. A lot of opportunities for me.” He shrugs. “Got to start over somewhere.”
Silence stretches, as every Luck man except for Jan tries their best to look properly supportive instead of sorrowful. A fact that is painfully obvious to all.
Jan sighs expansively and shoots us a repressive glare. “Stop acting like I’m Job.”
“Who?” from March.
“The biblical guy who had it all and then lost everything—you know what? Never mind. Just don’t feel sorry for me.”
