I forgot how protective he can be on behalf of the people he cares about, how when he’s on your side, there’s nothing he won’t do for you.
“That’s the problem with family,” Charlie continues, and my eyelid twitches. I hug my knees harder to my chest. “They think they’re doing what’s best and they end up destroying everything around them in the process. Take Parker, for instance.”
“Charlie,” Ruby says, her voice gentle, but he keeps talking.
“Do you know how hard it is to have her for a sister? It’s like watching someone willingly subject themselves to torture over and over again, like when they put slivers of wood under your fingernails or something. . . .”
My eyes start burning, and I stand up, leaving before I hear anything more of the words my brother keeps deep in his heart.
Forty-Three
THE NEXT DAY AT pottery, I’m doing everything I can to forget what I overheard last night.
I focus instead on explaining our new project.
“I thought we could paint vases and sell them to raise money for Alice,” I say.
Four blank faces greet me.
“Turns out, her niece, Lily, lives in Texas. But she’s a single mom and tight on cash.”
“Oh dear,” Lorna says with a dismayed sigh.
“But we can help her. Carla and I thought we could paint vases and mugs to sell at the Hyde Park Art Fair to help get money for plane tickets for her and her son, Jack. It’s a lot to do in the next week and a half, but I know we can do it. I talked with Carla. She’s already got a booth for her own stuff, and she said she could share it and that she’d donate the materials to our cause. What do you guys think?”
“That’s very noble,” Miss Peggy says, and I’m relieved she’s talking to us again.
“Not bad,” Harriet admits, and I’m grateful she’s on board too.
I look over to Lorna and Henry, sitting to my left, and I try not to gasp.
The two of them are holding hands, arms resting on the table.
“We have something to say first,” Lorna says. She’s decked out in blues today—an indigo shirt, sky-blue pants, a periwinkle scarf, a blue crescent moon brooch. Henry has a complementary blueberry-hued pocket square.
“Well!” Miss Peggy’s thin-plucked eyebrows rise higher on her face than I thought possible.
Lorna flinches, but Henry holds her hand harder. “Lorna and I are seeing each other,” he announces.
“Huh,” Harriet says. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Peggy, I hope you can be happy for me, for us,” Lorna says, putting her hand on Miss Peggy’s shoulder.
Miss Peggy pushes Lorna’s hand away, and Lorna looks crushed.
I force myself to smile. “I’m excited for you both,” I say to Henry, wondering if that’s appropriate, but by the way he beams at me, I don’t think it really matters what I say.
“Let’s get this party started already!” Harriet yells. She shoves a paintbrush in Lorna’s direction.
“Are we doing round-robin painting?” Henry asks.
“If you guys want,” I say.
“I’ll paint my own, thank you very much,” Miss Peggy says, getting up and actually moving to the next table.
Harriet rolls her eyes, and Lorna looks like she’s going to cry, but Henry belts out, “Fine by me!”
I try not to smile.
Despite my best efforts, as Miss Peggy sulks and the rest of us paint, I find myself going back to what I overheard last night, Charlie’s words still stinging.
I sigh and put down my paintbrush.
“You okay?” Lorna asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I just need to stretch for a little bit.”
I stand, rolling my shoulders back. Harriet says something that makes Henry burst out in a loud laugh, and Lorna giggles, looking hopefully over toward Miss Peggy to see if she’s joining in. But Miss Peggy just glowers, and Lorna lets out an unhappy sigh.
I fiddle with my paintbrush, and much to my surprise, I realize my heart is hurting a little on Miss Peggy’s behalf.
I walk over toward her, sitting in the chair next to her.
“I don’t need any help,” she says, her tone clipped.
“I know. I’m not offering any.”
She clicks her tongue against her teeth and shakes her head. “Impertinent.”
Okay, let’s try this again. “That’s very beautiful,” I say to her, pointing toward her vase.
It’s a total lie.
She’s currently painting angry-looking red, purple, and brown flowers all over the edges, with smears of orange around the bottom. In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to figure out a way to make it more visually unappealing. It looks like something Mustard threw up.
“I did take art classes in college, you know.”
“It really shows,” I say.
I’m lying through my teeth, but it works, because I see her shoulders soften just a half inch or so.
“Miss Peggy, I was hoping you could help me with something,” I say.
She keeps painting. “I’m listening.”
“I need a co-chair for the fund-raiser. I could really use someone who can make sure we have all the right supplies the weekend of the show.”
“I’m very busy, as you know,” she says, dipping her brush into a heinous-looking army green. As she dabs it lightly on the vase, to my surprise it somehow helps, bringing all the terrible colors together.
“Okay, maybe I can ask Harriet instead.”
“No, no! I’ll do it,” Miss Peggy says. “I’ll fit it in somehow.”
“Good. I really appreciate it,” I say.
She nods primly, then stands and smooths her slacks before rejoining the main table. When she gets settled, she taps Lorna on the shoulder. “Pass me that when you’re done. It could use some of this green,” she says, pointing to the vase Lorna is holding.
“Of course!” Lorna sends me a grateful look.
The rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly, everyone diligently painting and mostly getting along. We have a lot to finish in the next week and a half to make enough for the tickets, and I wonder if I’ve gotten myself in over my head. But as I watch the ladies and Henry paint, I remind myself that even if Charlie can’t stand to be around me, I’m doing something good here.
I try to pretend that’s enough.
Forty-Four
WALKING SLOWLY DOWN THE hallway, my Converse dangling from my hands, I hear the ten o’clock news playing in my parents’ bedroom, but I make it downstairs without tipping anyone off, my whole body exhaling in relief.
Tonight, after dinner, I finally got a text from Finn: Made it to the Fight to the Death finals—want to see me box? Around 10:45. The fair space at Huron Park.
My whole body warmed in response.
So now I’m sitting on the living room floor, lacing up my high-tops, ready to sneak out past curfew to go to an amateur boxing competition.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. But I don’t care.
I tell myself this is no big deal. I’m just supporting a friend. I didn’t want to bother Mom and Dad, and I’ll be back before they even notice. Everything’s good.
“Where are you going?”
I yelp in surprise, then cover my mouth, glaring at Charlie leaning against the doorframe.
“Out.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere. Please just go back upstairs.”
Charlie cocks his eyebrow. “I don’t think nowhere is a real place.”
I shake my head. “That was a Dad joke and you know it.”
“Huh. Maybe he knows where you’re going.” He moves toward the stairs.
“Charlie!” I hiss between clenched teeth.
He smiles, and I realize he’s enjoying this.
I relent. “I’m going to see Finn box in some contest.”
His face tightens at the mention of Finn’s name. “Now?”
“He made it to the finals,” I say.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. You aren’t.”
“Well, maybe I’ll just stay home and talk to Mom and Dad about pottery. How about that?”
“God. Are you going to hold this over me forever?”
He shrugs, and frustration courses through me. “Why do you even want to hang out? Isn’t being around me pretty much torture?”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
I remind myself tonight is about Finn, not Charlie, and I shake my head, relenting. “Never mind. But I’m driving.”
“What time do we need to be there?”
I look at my phone. “In about forty minutes.”
“And where is it again?”