Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“You betcha!” Anne’s eyes flash dark sparks. “Never get involved with a smoker, Pen. They stink.”
Pen shakes her head, laughing as if to say her mother is being dramatic. But she says nothing more about the subject of potential future involvements with other men. I find myself clutching my beer bottle tighter as I take a long pull. Cold beer slides down my dry throat.
From across the table, I catch my dad’s eye. There’s a speculative glint in his that I want to ignore. But I find myself staring back. Yeah, Dad, it’s like that. And isn’t it the damndest thing?
Empathy flickers in his gaze as he gives the slightest nod of acknowledgment.
“So, we figured,” Mom is saying with a laugh, “that we’d drop in on our kids—”
“Given that they’re all together for the first time in years,” Anne adds, reproach coloring her tone.
“And have Thanksgiving together,” Mom finishes with a happy clap.
Pen and I do not share a look. We have more restraint than that. But I feel it along my side where she sits. And I know she’s thinking similar thoughts.
Now, I love my parents. I love “Auntie” Anne. But the idea of all of them underfoot when I can barely keep my hands off Penelope is rough. Never mind the fact that all of them seem hell-bent on reminding Pen that our budding relationship is unfathomable to them. Which fucking irks.
Thankfully, I am spared having to say a word because Jan, March, May, and June come walking in just then, Jan’s and March’s arms loaded with fragrant tin platters of food.
March halts mid-stride and looks about at the ceiling. My lips twitch.
“Why are you looking around like that?” May squawks. “Did you let a fly in!”
March shakes his head. “Sorry, no. It’s just I could have sworn I heard the Psycho music playing.”
Thirty-Five
August
After dinner, while the women claim the living room couches and a new bottle of wine, the Luck men head for the outdoors. This division isn’t the norm. But this is the first time Jan, Dad, March, and I have been together since both my draft and Jan’s accident. It feels necessary to be together alone to talk over football and our lives in the cold quiet of the night.
In the backyard, close to the placid gray waters of the lake, there’s a circular stone patio centered around a large round firepit. Jan sets up a couple logs and then starts a fire. Flickering orange light dances off his features as he stares down at the flames and gives the fire a poke with tongs. The logs settle with an impatient hiss and crackle.
March and I watch alongside him the way men are compelled to do whenever any sort of fire is involved, but as soon as he sets aside his tongs and sinks into an Adirondack chair, we follow suit.
The night is crisp and cold with enough bite of frost to fog our breaths. But the fire does its job, spreading a blanket of warmth over our legs and faces.
For a long moment, we sit silently. Well-fed brothers with nothing to do but watch the stars. The sound of footsteps has us turning. Dad carries a tray of beers lined up like frosty soldiers.
“Boys.”
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, he is right.
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.