“Right. And working yourself to the bone has nothing to do with this little episode.”
“As a matter-of-fact, it doesn’t. I . . . just had a panic attack, if you must know. That’s it. Like I said—fine.” I thumped myself like a moron.
“A panic attack? That’s how you’re going to spin this?”
“Yup. But I’m over it . . . and you,” I announced, then watched as his nostrils flared in and out with each breath he took. Better than icy indifference. “So you can run on back to dazzlin’ everybody out there, cause your performance is wearin’ thin on me.”
I thought that might make him turn around, but he simply screwed up his mouth and glanced heavenward. Then he gripped my arm and practically hauled me the rest of the way in, pausing only to open the gym door for me. We marched past staring volleyball players to the girls’ locker room, where he deposited me.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he warned.
Well that got my ire up. I stomped in to retrieve my gym bag and backpack and abruptly ran out of energy so I sprawled out on the bench to compose myself before trudging out. True to his word, he was waiting. I sighed. This wasn’t healthy—I might get used to it.
“You can go now,” I said in my most acid tone while he relieved me of my bags. “Please, Pete.” My voice cracked. “I’ve got it.” I reached for my bag.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but I’m escorting you to your car, then seeing that you get home safely.” He eyed the set of my jaw and let out a long sigh. “For once in your life, Kate, take the easy way . . .
I’m sure you’re already embarrassed enough without everyone watching me carry you across the parking lot.”
“Fine!” I hissed, then did my best imitation of stalking past; it felt like I was wading through water.
We stopped to pick up Mikey, who requested a Hummer ride. I was way too tired to protest, and thought it wasn’t a bad idea anyway—just in case. But I made it back home without further incident, even managing to shove out of my car without the jaws-of-life prying me out.
Pete stared at me leaning against my car, and his forehead creased. Feigning disinterest, I watched as he withdrew the first-aid kit from the backseat and shuffled through it looking for something. I had a funny feeling it was something for me. Sure enough, he glanced over at me again, looking miffed when he came up short. Then he rummaged around in the glove box before coming up both empty-handed and aggravated-looking. But he didn’t come away completely empty-handed—an exuberant four-year-old stuck his hand in there, yapping in his ear the whole walk over.
“Okay bud, it’s the end of the road today.” Pete fist-bumped Mikey. “I gotta get back to your brother. You take care of your sister, okay?”
“Okay, Pete, I will,” Mikey returned solemnly.
“Go on into the house and turn on the air conditioner for her, so it’ll be nice and cool while she rests on the couch.”
“Yes, sir!” Mikey hugged his leg and then ran to do his bidding.
The boss-of-the-universe leveled me with a look. “Kate, you need to rest . . . and I’m not just talking about the present moment. You’re probably slightly anemic on top of exhausted. Since you don’t eat meat, you should take iron supplements for a while.
I snorted. “Don’t tell me—you also have an MD I don’t know about. I told you, I’m fine. Just tired and stressed.”
He ignored my excuses (which were as tired as me). “I’ll be taking Andrew home every day now.” I started a protest he cut off. “It’ll be better this way. Better for you. Better for me.” Words that hammered the fragile shell that was my chest. “. . . Easier all the way around. Don’t bother arguing, because I’m going to set it up with your father.”
I folded my arms across my chest, mostly in an unconscious gesture to quell my breaking heart. “Who died and made you boss?”
Bait not taken, he took another moment to stare at me with an expression I’d describe as the opposite of distant. “Take care of yourself, Kate.”
I didn’t do anything but stare wordlessly as Pete walked away from me . . . again.
29
BEST LAID PLANS
The growl of the Hummer’s engine, and the flash of its shiny black metal, were novel additions to our tedious, rural landscape. Pete came idling to a stop, waiting for Andrew to jump out. I heard the animated rise of my brother’s voice being carried away by the wind followed by the heavy thud of a well-built door shutting off music.
Again, true to his word, Pete had arranged with Daddy, much to the delight of Andrew, to drop him off every day after tutoring or mentoring . . . or whatever else they were calling it these days (brainwashing came to my mind). I wondered how much this had to do with him not wanting to see me, and how much it had to do with him wanting to help lighten my load. It did give me a jumpstart on my chores, so I was no longer up half the night finishing everything.
I held my breath for the driver’s door to open, ears straining, chest swelling with anticipation. I kept hoping Pete would come in, so we could kiss and make up. Stubborn pride prevented me from making the first move. The familiar band closed around my chest when the Hummer zoomed off, exiting at a faster pace than arriving. Who could blame him? I looked at our dismal little spread through his privileged eyes. All the things that were supposed to be colored were slowly turning gray: our house, pasture, fence posts. Even the twittering birds, pecking uselessly on the ground were a burnt-out ash.
I bet Pete couldn’t wait to get back to his old life. He’d probably wash the dusty film off his Hummer—and his hands of us—the minute he walked away. I remembered him complaining to Ranger, because he’d made his job more difficult. Pete had made it clear he was aiming to wrap it up in one week, two tops. It had been the amount of time it takes for summer to meld into fall. And for me to warm to him, and for him to chill to me.
I harbored grim satisfaction in the way I’d thwarted their plans for us. Easy mission, my rear I thought, yanking a rope of wet clothes from t he washer. So far, so good. We were holding steady, our little team. Andrew held up his end of the bargain—reluctantly. Daddy still hadn’t signed t he paperwork, not liking the fine print once I pointed it out to him. Mikey . . . well Mikey was still shadowing Daddy every chance he got, insisting he not send Drewy away. I think that’s why Daddy was staying away so much—he couldn’t take the heat so was getting out of the kitchen.
I watched, through the framed picture of our front window, my brother’s daily glow fade the minute he faced our house, and felt a sharp pang for it. I was forcing him to bridle his gifts. He balked every day, hating to dumb himself down. Like putting a chain around the hoof of a racehorse, it went against nature. Even though Andrew understood the situation better, he still blamed me and wore his resentment like one of his new “Academy” T-shirts. I couldn’t blame him. I’d felt the same way towards Mama when she made me throw my game. It was a terrible way to feel towards someone you loved—a double whammy because you felt guilt on top of resentment.
I was busy taking out the very thing I’d just been thinking of: a sharp navy tee with a gold lion emblazoned on the front. I handled it like I’d just pulled it from the cesspool instead of the washing machine. Felt like mixing it in would taint the whole wash like a red sock in a load of whites.