“I didn’t bring my swim trunks—”
“My brother can lend you some.”
“Seriously? Have you seen the guy? I’m like a matchstick compared to him.”
I snicker. “That wasn’t the brother I meant.”
He looks a bit nauseous then. “There are more?”
I sigh. “Sadly—yes.”
“Kids, are you coming?” my mom yells from the house.
Lane pries himself out of his seat, gathers up his stuff, and traipses into the house behind me in silence.
“Just dump your bag and jacket in the hall.”
He does as he’s told, pulling off his cap and looking at me for a moment. I smile and lead him in by the hand.
“So here he is!” Mom calls out. “The one and only Lane!”
She pirouettes over to him in her hippie apron dress and clasps him in her arms as if he were her long-lost child.
“I’m Mary. Welcome! Smooth trip?” she asks, rubbing his shoulders.
“Uh, yes. Thanks. It was great. Amazing.” Lane’s gone beet red.
She bursts out laughing, turning to look at me.
“He sounds just like you.” She chuckles as she strides over to the dining table. “Honey! Lane is here!”
“Let me just put this gun away and I’ll be right with you!” my dad calls out from the landing.
Footsteps echo down the stairs, and I stifle a laugh when he walks through the door, all pursed lips and hard, cold eyes. He’s pretty convincing, I’ll give him that.
Lane holds out his hand. “Sir.”
My dad takes his time looking him up and down. He would’ve made an amazing actor. Lane clears his throat and shoots me a glance.
“Dad,” I sigh.
“Anything I should know about you, young man?” he asks, staring Lane straight in the eye.
“I can give you my parole officer’s number, if that helps. He says I’m getting better at my anger management.”
A hush falls over the room. And then my father’s face breaks into a broad smile.
“Call me Mitch.”
He pulls Lane in for a hug, ignoring his outstretched hand, thumping his back. It never gets old: Anytime one of us bringssomeone home, my dad runs through the same “scary man of the house” spiel. But this is the first time anyone has played along and hit the right note.
“Hey! You’re a big guy!” He gives Lane’s shoulder a playful punch.
“Careful, Dad, don’t break him.” I shove Lane out of his way.
“You’re a warrior, man,” says Jeff. “Kirk nearly shit himself the first time he met Dad. You did an amazing job.” He flashes Lane a thumbs-up.
“Kirk was fourteen back then.” I narrow my eyes at my brother. “Anyway—where are the others?”
