“Unless it’s that pit bull in the bathtub wearing a shower cap, no.”
“Here’s Brick when I hand-delivered his new machine today.” Spence swiped through his photos. “That’s his surprised face. I only point that out because it looks a lot like his pissed-off face.”
Remi’s lips quirked. It was very, very difficult to stay self-pitying and mad around Spencer.
He swiped again. “This is when he realized the giant bow on it meant it was for him. And then here’s his face when I told him you bought it for him.”
Remi snorted. In the picture, Brick looked as if he was about to punch a hole through Spencer’s phone.
“You chipped in,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but it was funnier to tell him this way.”
She had to agree. “What was his reaction?”
“Claimed he wasn’t going to accept it. I called bullshit and moved it into the yard, and I caught him doing this right before he left for his shift.” He showed her the last picture of Brick sitting astride the shiny red and white snowmobile, hands gripping the handlebars, a fierce frown on his handsome face.
“I think we can consider our debt paid,” she said.
“Which is why you’re coming out with me,” Spencer insisted.
“Ugh. Fine. But if your brother picks a fight with me, I’m not backing down.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did. You might want to shower first.”
While not a national holiday, March 1 had special significance on Mackinac. It meant only another month of long, dreary winter before the seasonal workers and tourists began to return to the island in April. The Tiki Tavern made a tradition of celebrating the first with a boozy country Caribbean mash-up party that ran from opening until close.
By the time Remi arrived on Spencer’s arm, the place was packed with people. It was wall-to-wall Hawaiian shirts and flannels. Despite the chaos, Brick still looked up from the bar when she walked in, his gaze locking on hers like a heat-seeking missile. Like he’d been waiting for her to walk in.
It hit her like a shockwave. The realization that no matter what they decided, or how they acted toward each other, there was something branded in their DNA that would always recognize the other. She would always feel that shiver of awareness when he was in the room.
“Well, if it isn’t Little Remi Ford,” someone beckoned her from across the room.
“I’ll go get us drinks,” Spencer said in her ear and made his way toward the bar.
Remi pretended to throw herself into socializing, catching up with two classmates, her old history teacher, and Kimber’s next-door neighbor, who apologized for calling the cops on their argument. She wondered how long she could stay before disappointing Spencer and heading home to mope.
Spencer returned with two bright yellow drinks and a beer, and they made themselves at home in the corner using the windowsill as a table. “Brick said not to let you drink too much,” Spencer reported.
That fucking guy.
“Did he tell you about Mom?” Spencer asked.
Remi shook her head. Brick rarely mentioned either parent. “What about her?”
“Says she wants to come for a visit this summer. Stay at the hotel, get the whole island experience.”
“She’s never been here before, has she?” Remi asked.
Spencer shook his head and waved across the bar at someone. “Never. I catch up with her once a year or so. We meet up in a city for a long weekend or whatever. But Brick hasn’t seen her in years. I don’t think he ever forgave her for leaving. Or maybe he never forgave himself for being so hurt when she left.”
Remi winced, not wanting to think about Brick or Brick being a human under his disciplined, grumpy, hard-bodied exterior.
“How old were you guys when she left?” she asked as Spencer tugged at the label on his bottle.
“I was ten. Brick was almost eighteen. He was gonna do the military thing after high school but changed his mind when she left. He didn’t trust Dad to take care of me.”
Remi reached out and gripped his shoulder. “It’s a good thing he stuck with you. Otherwise you two might not have ended up here, and we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to sink your brother’s snowmobile.”
He smirked. “It’s funny how things work out.”
“How’s your dad these days?” she asked.
“Good. Real good. Started his own business. Seems to be keeping out of trouble with the law. We talk a lot. I think he’s trying to make up for all the Before years.”
Remi’s gaze slid to the bar where Brick and Darius were working the taps in tandem. “Does Brick talk to him?”
“Nah. He wrote Dad off before the prison door slammed shut on him. In Brick’s mind, both our parents up and left us. I was always glad he had your family. Your mom was the one who talked him into applying for the force.”
Remi nodded. “I remember. Good crowd tonight,” she said, changing the subject.
“I thought maybe Audrey would come back for the first,” Spencer said, his eyes flicking to the door.
“Hey, how come you two never got together?”
“Me and Audrey?” His shock was 100 percent fake.
“You had a crush on her in high school,” she pointed out.
“That was just kid stuff,” he insisted, taking a giant swallow of his drink. “Is that Travis Mailer over there? I’ll be right back.”
Remi watched him run away from her question. She was just reaching for her drink when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
It was a text from Brick. She thought about ignoring it, then decided she was wasting too much energy and opened it.
It was a link to a news article, and she nearly spit her drink out when she read the headline.
Senator’s wife holds ‘no ill-will’ toward artist that caused accident.
With shaking hands, she opened the article and skimmed it.
“Camille Vorhees…recently released from the hospital…”
“I hold no ill-will toward Alessandra Ballard for causing the accident. The tragic events have made me even more grateful for my husband and the life we’re blessed to lead. We are both happy she is getting the help she needs and hope everyone will respect her privacy at this time.”
There was a photo of Camille in front of the fireplace in the library of her Chicago home, looking hauntingly fragile in an ivory sheath. Somehow she made being on crutches look elegant.
Dizzy and sick. Oddly relieved. Her body started to shake, her teeth chattered.
The press of the crowd was too much. The music too loud. She needed a moment to breathe. Weaving her way through tables and warm bodies, she veered off down the hallway toward the restrooms.