Jason leans back in his seat as far as he can go, his knee bouncing under the table so rapidly that the sound of his heel tapping the concrete floor is almost like a buzzing noise. He’s eyeing me like I’ve got a bomb strapped to my chest and a twitchy trigger finger on the detonator. My strong, brave older brother has never looked so small or so frightened. If I didn’t know better, watching him I’d think I’d suddenly caught whatever bug Laura has. The contents of my stomach are churning around like they don’t intend to stay inside me for long. So I open my mouth while I still can, but all the questions I should be asking—the ones that torment me at night and keep me half-asleep during the day—refuse to come.
“The car’s going well.”
Jason’s darting gaze stills on my face.
“Yeah,” I go on, like his expression is an invitation to say more instead of a wary, painfully hesitant scrutiny. I want that hunted look gone from his face more than I want anything in that moment, even the truth. “I can stop halfway up the hill on Hackman’s Road without stalling. Not bad huh?”
The whites of his eyes are still visible around his irises, but he looks slightly less like he might vomit before I do. “That’s good. I knew you’d get the hang of it.”
“The tips you gave me were really helpful,” I say. “And my friend Maggie took me driving to practice. I actually think I prefer driving stick over automatic now.”
Jason tries to laugh, but the sound is so strangled that I can’t help wincing.
I find myself filling Mom’s shoes without even trying. I keep making small talk after that, barely aware of half the things I’m saying or the guarded responses Jason gives in return. I just watch him, waiting for his knee to still, for his shoulders to lower and relax instead of looking like he’s trying to push himself through the back of his chair. His eyes take the longest. Even when Mom is there, they never fully lose that tight, overly alert quality, like he has to be aware of everything around him at all times. I see his eyes like that sometimes when I try to sleep at night and it’s all I can do not to cry thinking of him alone in his cell.
I’ve been glancing at the caged clock on the wall as often as I thought I could without Jason noticing, but his eyes don’t miss much.
“You don’t have to stay the whole time,” he says quietly after my last check. “Just drive home slow. Mom won’t know.”
“No.” I lean forward in my chair, barely checking myself so I don’t reach for my brother’s hand in reassurance. There’s no touching of any kind allowed once we sit. “It’s not—I don’t want to leave early.” It wasn’t that at all, not anymore. I’m checking the clock because the time is passing too quickly, not the other way around. Short of Laura getting mono or something, I don’t know when I’ll get another private visit with Jason. I wanted to wait until he was at ease as possible, and the weary yet resolved way he just spoke to me is as close as I’m going to get.
I let my mask slip, the one that smiles too much and pretends everything is normal and fine so I don’t risk making anyone feel worse, because maybe this one time he needs to.
“Jase—I really miss you.” My voice breaks and I don’t care. “I miss you so much, all the time.”
His jaw does that thing where it flexes and I know he’s trying not to show emotion, which only stokes mine higher.
“It’s hard at home, harder than I ever thought it would be.”
“Mom said you guys are doing okay.”
Mom did say that. Every time we visit she makes sure to tell Jason just how well we’re all doing. That’s supposed be my job this time, but I can’t do it.
Jason’s jaw flexes again. “It can’t be all bad. I mean you’re still skating, and you must be getting ready to go out for the ice show pretty soon. When is it?”
“Next month,” I say softly. “But—”
“Wow. That’s fast. But you’re ready, right?” He tries to smile. “Of course you’re ready. You’ve been waiting for this your whole life.”
I cover my mouth to stop the sound that slips through my mouth, the one that sounds perilously close to a sob.
“Brooke—”
I shake my head and draw my free hand under the table so he can’t try to reach for me the way he was starting to. The guards are always watching. When I have myself under control I lower my other hand. “I’m not auditioning.”
“What do you mean you’re not auditioning? Does Mom know?”
“She knows.” My tone doesn’t leave any room for him to doubt how she feels about it. And it’s like I’ve started speaking a different language, one that he never knew existed.
I tell him about Laura talking so little and leaving the house even less. I tell him about Dad’s bursts of anger, not so much at Laura, Mom or me, but just these unrestrained displays of rage the drive him into his workshop sometimes for days at a time.
Telling him about Mom is the hardest, because while I knew Jason didn’t fully accept the cheery picture she always tries to paint of Dad and Laura at home, she’s been much more convincing about herself. Jason doesn’t know about her crying at home, or the tears she takes with her to the shower after his phone calls.
I’m not telling him all this to make him feel bad, I’m telling him so that he’ll understand that not knowing is destroying all of us. I’m asking him because I have to know.
“What really happened the night Cal was killed?”
CHAPTER 29
