I tried not to be aware of every move he made, but we orbited each other like moons around a planet. Connected, both a part of the same solar system, but unable to touch.
Though I was thankful for my brother’s support in that moment, it was Dare’s arms I wanted to seek refuge in. But it felt like the entire town had eyes on us, watching. Sharing our grief but viewing it as well.
We were on display, the esteem Gramps held in the community and the notoriety of my brother had resulted in a group of paparazzi gathering on the road of the cemetery, cameras pointed at us from a distance.
Dad was outraged by it; I could tell from the moment the first camera started going off. Mom’s grief was the only factor in his silence—he was trying to focus on her. Although each time the flashes went off, he’d scowl in the direction of the paparazzi, and the guys, like they were to blame for it. Like they’d personally invited the paparazzi along for the show.
Gramps would have thought it was hilarious that the paparazzi crashed his funeral. He would have been delighted, even if they were just there to snap photos of The Forgotten Flounders grieving the loss of their idol. They’d dubbed Gramps an honourary member of their band in interviews, because it was Gramps who had guided them and taught them.
He wouldn’t have had a problem with it, but my father did. He’d never been comfortable with the attention Calum started receiving almost as soon as his band’s first album dropped.
My mother and I stood between Dad and Calum, a natural barrier, and yet the tension between them was discernible. It rolled from Calum, a steady vibration. He could sense our father’s anger, and it evoked his own.
For as long as my memory stretched, the two of them had always been combative with each other. Dad didn’t like feeling disrespected, and Calum didn’t like giving respect to people who were condescending to him. Dad felt Cal’s natural defiant personality was outright disrespectful, and Cal found our father to be unbearably obstinate.
When Cal had lived at home, they’d get into arguments regularly about the amount of time Calum was wasting on music or spending with his friends and girlfriend. He was sullen, for a teenager. Maybe a little more so than most, and Dad never seemed to know how to handle him.
Calum’s defiant personality would aggravate him, and Dad would respond without patience. He had a lot of expectations for my brother, and Calum refused to live up to any of them.
Dad had hoped that one day, Calum would take over his construction business. He expected Cal to work weekends and summers for him, but my brother showed zero interest in construction and had always been more focused on his music. When he started getting paying gigs for their band, he quit trying to appease our father. Dad didn’t know what to do with that disappointment, and the tension only coiled more between them.
I hadn’t wanted to say it, but I’d always thought my father was jealous of Calum’s easy relationship with Gramps, and how willing he was to follow in Gramps’s footsteps, but not his. Music had been an ongoing source of conflict for them for years before Calum left.
For whatever reason, my father refused to accept the fact music was Calum’s calling. He’d taken Cal heading off on tour as the ultimate insult because he had bent so much—for him, anyway—and felt burned by Cal’s decision to “throw it all away on a maybe.”
It had been years since the two of them had spent so much time together, another blow-up seemed inevitable, especially with the news sitting on my brother’s tongue.
But perhaps because of that news, Calum was trying harder than he ever had before to contain his anger, to not react. Each grumble my dad made, each glare he cast in my brother’s direction only fueled the fire, making it harder for Calum to keep his composure.
Spotting Harper at the funeral had calmed him, but she hadn’t followed the funeral procession to the cemetery. I didn’t blame her; the situation was complicated.
After it was over, Calum and I walked behind our parents to their SUV. I climbed into the back seat, sliding over to make room for Cal, while Dad held the passenger door open for Mom. No words were exchanged, but I could almostfeelthem glaring at each other over the roof of the car.
The back door slammed. Calum didn’t get in. His patience too thin, the discord too thick. He started walking back to Dare and Evan before Dad rounded the front of vehicle.
“What happened?” Mom demanded when Dad climbed in and closed the door. He shrugged, scowling after Calum.
“Probably wanted to go and address his loyal subjects.”
“No,” I said, my voice powerful. Dad’s eyes shot to the rear-view mirror in surprise. “He left because he can feel your anger at him.”
I held my father’s gaze until he looked away. “I’m not angry at him. I’m angry at the fact he had to bring the paparazzi along.”
“He didn’t invite them, they invite themselves,” I corrected as diplomatically as I could, though my own voice shook with emotion.
Mom let out a sigh heavy with exhaustion, bringing her hand to her head to massage her temple.
“She’s right, Michael. They probably would have been there anyway—my father had a history in this town.”
I watched out the window as Calum ignored the paparazzi. He climbed into the back of Dare’s vehicle without sparing them a second glance. He didn’t usually address them, unless at a press release, but Dad didn’t know that.
We drove in silence to The Wharf, the old pub Gramps used to play at every Friday night before he retired from the music scene. The very same pub he heard Nan play at all those years ago. The one I daydreamed of performing at.
Dad cut the engine and the silence thickened. His sigh was one of regret. “You’re right, girls. I’m sorry.”
“Tell Cal that,” I suggested, stepping out of the car and onto the street. They looked like they needed a moment anyway, and I needed to feel the fresh air.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
