After dinner on Wednesday, Caleb hooks my arm in his, and pulls me out into the garden. “Why are youreally here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad’s getting better, and you’ve not left. Last time it was barely forty-eight hours, and you couldn’t wait to leave. This time, you’re…” He pauses, regarding me thoughtfully. “…it’s like you’rehiding.”
“I’m nothiding.” Am I hiding?
“Not convincing,” he says, then waves his free hand dismissively. “Oh, I don’t think you’re trying to ‘lay low’ in a Butch-Cassidy-Sundance way, butsomethingis bugging you. And if you’d rather be here than facing it, how bad is it?” He tugs my arm closer. “Tell me.”
“You’re a dick.”
“You’re an annoying brat.”
I give a short laugh, looking away. Then pause, taking in the garden, the house, the view of the mountains. “It’s funny, being back here. At moments, I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left.”
“You’d have gone to college, met some guy, probably be married with a kid or three, and bored out of your fucking mind.”
I glance at him sharply. “Is that my life, or yours?”
“I’m not you,” he replies seriously. “We share a little of that chaotic spirit, for sure, but I only got a teaspoonful of it. You got everything our dear mother works so hard to suppress.”
“Her?” I scoff. “The only thingshesuppresses is happiness.”
Caleb waggles his finger. “Not true, sister-mine. If you were here as much as I am, seeing herwith older eyes, you’d know better. She’syou—or you’re her, I suppose. Granted, more so. But yes, it’s no wonder the two of you are like oil and water.”
A curious insight. Would I have ended up like her, if I’d stayed? I shudder at the thought.
Caleb flaps his hand again. “We digress. The question was your reason for escapism.” He looks at me shrewdly. “A man?” A mock-shocked gasp. “Awoman?”
“In your dreams,” I mutter.
“Kinky, but now a real possibility.”
I jab him in the ribs. He tries to move, but I’m faster.
He grimaces and rubs them. “That’s why you left, though, isn’t it? Chasing… what was his name?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He snaps his fingers. “Chad. That guy who came through on his bike, just after you started riding. He was here what, a week?”
Four days.
“Which bit of ‘don’t want to talk about it’ wasn’t clear?”
“The bit where I keep talking about it until you tell me whatisbothering you.” He affects a mock love-sick look, and a high voice. “‘Oh, Chad, won’t you take me with you on your exciting adventures?’”
I smile despite myself. “That sounds nothing like me. And you’re an asswipe.”
“‘Chad… do you have one of those… what are they called…penises?’”
I laugh and punch him, and Caleb reels back, rubbinghis arm with a hiss of breath through his teeth.
No guilt; he deserved that.
“I must be getting close,” he mutters. “You’re more violent than any man I know.”
It’s almost funny, in a too-close-to-the-truth way. Especially when Chad had nothing—absolutely nothing—on Declan.
