I raised my chin a fraction higher. “I was fine.”
“Don’t kid yourself—you were right on the verge of drowning when I showed up.”
My eyes glistened with unshed tears. I had that déjà vu feeling, like we were back in the western, engaged in a duel—Pete with his Stetson, me with my boots, our weapons, once again, angry words lashing out to hit the other where it hurt most.
“What are you my lifeguard now?” I sneered.
“You need help, Kate. Admit it . . . if not for yourself, then for your brothers.”
“Oh, so now it’s about helping my brothers is it? You really had me goin’ there for a while Pete, the-Elite-Cadet, our whole family’s savior.” My arms flapped wildly about. “Fix all our woes by snatchin’ up my little brother and leavin’ behind a big ole fat check to assuage your guilty conscious. You almost had me convinced you really cared.”
Hurt instantly muddled the shine in his eyes. “I do care and think you should let me help you.”
“That’s rich!” I cackled. “Pardon the pun. You helping me?—you can’t even help yourself!” I lifted my palm. “Look at you! Your life is so golden, is it?—with your pedigree, gourmet foods, shiny Hummer.” I used my most mocking tone. “If your life is so great then why are you always stalking me? Huh? Don’t you have better things to do than hang around with a seventeen-year-old girl?” I flung his words back at him, because he was always bringing up my age like he was my big brother or something. “. . . Don’t tell me—it’s lonely at the top after all?”
Pete was frozen, like in shock that I’d turned on him. Didn’t care; I wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me.
“No,” I shook my head, “I don’t think it’s nearly as great as you make it out to be. As a matter of fact,” I bludgeoned on, sensing the truth as I said it, “I think you’re more than just a little bit lonely and desperate. So desperate for somethin’ real—maybe for a real brother of your own—that you’re willin’ to steal mine!”
I saw that my zinger hit the bulls-eye, because he actually staggered backward, as if from a blow. I felt bad right away, like the arrow had pierced me instead, oozing out crimson anger instead of blood. But it was too late— his eyes had already gone flinty on me.
“Well, I’m sorry that’s how you feel, Kate,” he said coldly. “But I’m here to do a job . . . and that’s exactly what I’m going to do from now on.”
A few tears escaped to run down my face, but there was no softness left in his eyes when he looked at me.
“Think it’s time to leave the Ponderosa now.” He flung the Stetson back into the shed, where it landed on some Tillman Mills feedbags. He turned to go.
I made a desperate grab. “Pete, I—”
He shrugged me off roughly, sending shock waves of despair all the way to the soles of my boots. I never wanted to feel that powerful anger towards me again, but here it was, scorching in its intensity. I forgot how mercurial he could be—going from Death Valley to Absolute Zero in two seconds flat.
Pete was beating a hasty retreat, kicking up little arcs of dirt, when he did an abrupt about-face. I looked up expectantly for a truce, was quickly disappointed. “I can do one thing for you, Kate . . .” His voice was rigid as his face. “I will no longer stalk or hang around with you.”
“That’s two things!” I screeched, with the requisite number of fingers.
I didn’t ask him to come home with me today! Didn’t ask him to try and save me—as if I needed his help! He was trying to turn the tables on me by playing the victim, but I remembered how he’d lied and manipulated me, how he was still doing it.
“Why don’t you add, talk to me while you’re at it!” I flung at his retreating back.
He spun back around like I’d pegged him with a dirt clod. “Be careful what you wish for, Kate.” He repeated my earlier words.
“Oh . . . I always do.” I did the same.
Pete searched my eyes one last time for the hidden truth I kept buried. “Fine . . . have it your way—I’m out.” He sounded and looked defeated. “You’re on your own.” Turning his back on me, he slammed through the door.
Aren’t I always?
28
BROKEN SILENCE
Be careful what you wish for, cause you just might get it. These words echoed in my mind as I trudged along to gym with the other sanguine pedestrians on a Thursday afternoon. Pete had stayed true to his word—he didn’t even so much as glance my way the few times I saw him across campus. Or entering and exiting Spanish. Or out on the athletic field.
I saw him now, strolling along the sidewalk like the Pied Piper, with a string of followers in his wake, hanging on his every word. His jovial mood seemed out of place with the one going on with me. I’m not sure what I thought: We were two halves of a whole? If I was miserable then he should be miserable in equal proportion like disjoined twins? Well, obviously, that was not the case here.
My mouth twisted bitterly as I tried to pay attention to whatever inane, one-sided conversation Miguel was having with me: something, something football, something, something homecoming. I couldn’t be bothered to keep up, although I tried to be unobvious about it, smiling and bobbing my head like a dummy at appropriate times. And I seemed to be so tired lately, not really falling asleep until well into the morning.
P.E. wasn’t an improvement. Pete continued to withhold his gaze from me—even when we were within striking distance from one another, even when we were on the same team, and even after a particularly hard-fought goal was made by me. The hollow sound of ball hitting net resonated with the hollow feeling in my stomach when I realized he wasn’t going to slap me five. Or shock me with a dazzling grin. Or throw his head back and laugh like my prowess on the soccer field was the punchline to a hilarious joke that only he got.
I’d unconsciously turned his way—already knowing his exact geographical location on the field like I had a GPS tracker on him. It’s like something didn’t really happen to me until I shared it with him. In the short span of time he’d been here, he’d become my person. But I just witnessed my person stare right through me before turning to stalk in the opposite direction.
I tried not to feel hurt; it would be easier to unboil an egg. Lifting my lips, I accepted praise from Coach Sams and palm slaps from my supportive teammates. But the smile didn’t reach my eyes or lift my mood. I tried rationalizing. After all, my person was a known liar and con artist, whose sole purpose here was to get us to sign my little brother’s life away. I reminded myself of this over and over. But it was hard work to be at war with your own body . . . and everybody else.
I felt like a beat-down, bloodied warrior the battle switching from one combat zone to another these days. I was at it again with Andrew, because he’d overheard me yelling, then witnessed Pete bang out the door to go catch his ride. He accused me of chasing his favorite cadet away. I said it was a good thing to chase the bad guy away. Of course, Andrew didn’t believe that—which I was sick to death of—so I just let it all out on him, my eight-year-old, star-struck brother. I pulled out my facts and reason and whapped him over the head with it. Apprised him about eavesdropping on Pete’s little convo, that we were a mark to him and nothing more. I revealed how Pete had quizzed him about me the day after we’d already had our picnic, how he’d said that he was just a kid and probably got his days mixed up.