Pete reversed his fingertips to trail up the insides of my arms, dredging the pleasure bumps back up. Then a second pill pressed against my lips. I hesitated, feeling funny—I didn’t take him for a pill-pusher. He countered with another panty-dropper and got back to work on my neck. I c ould barely breathe, much less think straight. My eyes found his in the mirror. Something flashed there . . . until a small shape coming up behind us moved our eyes to a wide-eyed four-year-old.
“Pete, will you—hey! Are you a vampire?”
Pete threw back his head and howled at that one. After which, Mikey immediately persuaded him into leaving, but not before he did the sexy-lip-biting-head-toss thing again. I gave him my Mona Lisa and popped the pill into my mouth. A dazzling smile was my instant reward for good behavior, but the second he walked out the door I poofed it out into my palm. I’d save part deux for later—I could handle a little headache as long as it came with a side of Pete.
Being stuck in the confines of a matchbox all day had me feeling way too stir-crazy to go straight to bed, so I went out on the front steps to get some air. It was a beautiful night for stargazing; the air was crisp, the sky a black velvet. I sat there, absentmindedly petting Blue and reflecting on everything. The creaking of loose floorboards—and the thrilling chill along my spine— alerted me to Pete’s presence.
“Whew! I don’t know how you do that every day,” he said. “I’m bushed!”
“It’s definitely a labor of love.” I smiled and leaned against the splintered wood column holding up our porch while he stared up at my part of the sky.
“Have you ever played poker?” he asked apropos of nothing.
I laughed. “Why? Are you challengin’ me to a game of strip poker?”
He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Maybe.”
My smile faded. “Actually, yeah. My mother taught me when I had the flu. Turns out—I really have a knack for cards. She made me solemnly vow to never play anyone for money, sayin’ I was too good at it for my own good.”
“I bet she said that a lot.”
I shrugged. “What can I say?—a mama’s love.”
Pete worked his mouth around before coming up with another one of his smiles. I could read him like the cards now—this one was fake. “Remind me to never play strip poker with you then—I’m afraid I’d come out on the losing end of that gig. Defeat the whole purpose!” he said, ending with the real deal.
“Yeah, you would.” I laughed along, my eyes sparking with a flash of suppressed anger. “It’d be as easy as takin’ candy from a baby.”
Pete started laughing at the same time I quit—to stare meaningfully at him, for as long as it took. Not long. The boy was a gosh dang elite cadet after all.
I saw it happen—that thing that passed between us—the tacit understanding, a realigning of all that we thought we knew, with what we now knew. Waves of different emotions came rolling across his face with neuron-rapid speed: surprise, denial, anger . . . humor. He threw his head back and barked out a harsh laugh, then walked forward and planted his hands across the twin beams of rotting wood straining beneath their weight. After taking a long moment to stare up at the heavens, intermittently chuckling and acting thunder struck, he finally spoke. “Of course . . . I should’ve known.”
Arms wrapped around my knees, I rocked back and forth, smirking up at him. Pete was still processing, so I decided to fill the silence: “Of course, you know . . . the only problem with takin’ candy away from a baby is they howl and cry and point fingers, makin’ a big ole ruckus,” I warned. He looked down at me sharply. “And then they never, ever fully trust the one who took it from them. No matter how much they might want to, or how nice the person is—they never forget who stole their precious candy . . . and will never forgive them.”
Pete took in my face and the kind of deep breath that only yogis do. After expelling it out in a long stream, he looked down on me with a tender cross between respect and aggravation. He held out his palm. Peace offering? I accepted it, and he hauled me to my feet. We padded a few yards from the house, gazing up at the same night sky that suddenly looked a whole lot different. A full moon, like a Chinese lantern, shone out from a blanket of shimmering stars. It seemed to be a portent of some kind — a reckoning was coming — a change, and not just of the seasons, was in the air. I shivered.
We obviously couldn’t go on like this—feigning ignorance on both ends. Not now. Not after the cat just got dumped out of the bag by my happy pill. Pete was struggling, his thoughts running unchecked as first graders at recess across his face. He let out another gusty sigh, raked both hands through his hair. Twice. I just indulged in my favorite pastime—staring at his face. A few moments of windy silence, and Blue whined. I shivered patiently in my T-shirt. The evenings were cold now that we were digging out the last dregs of September.
He barked out a couple of laughs that sounded arrogant when the notes weren’t warmed with humor. I recalled how I saw him that first time in the restaurant—rude, arrogant, privileged—and tried to reconcile the Pete from the past with the one I now knew. I’d have to take well-spoken off the list because the ambassador was rendered speechless.
A wind blew, seeking something in this forlorn land to push up against. It chose me, making me sway like a corn sapling. “Whatever you gotta say, Cadet Davenport, you better spit it out, because the sergeant will be makin’ his way home soon.”
Pete guttered a laugh, one I was glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of. “I doubt it. Daddy Dearest is down at the local watering hole, imposing penance upon himself by drinking himself into oblivion . . . for selling out.” He finally spoke, and it was a doozy.
Now I was speechless. “Ahhh,” I finally said. “That explains a lot.”
A glimmer of a smile when he looked at me. “I could say the same.” He scrubbed a hand up the back of his neck, stalked away from me, swung back around. “I guess I should apologize for being an asshole,” he said. “My only excuse is it comes with the territory.”
“That’s real comfortin’ seein’ as how my precious brother is on his way to the territory Monday mornin’ bright and early.”
Pete growled out some aggravation. Looked on the verge of saying something. Instead, he bent over to rub at his face again and again while I dispassionately watched him. When he righted himself, he came up with a face deeper in color—a shade I’d call shame.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I really am. I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t tell you anything but that, okay?”
“No,” I said, my throat aching. “It’s not okay! I deserve better than that. My brother deserves better than that—he looks up to you with god-like devotion. You should feel ashamed of yourself!”
Pete fast-paced forward, throwing his arms out, like for mercy, as if there were a jury out there in the pasture. “I do! Alright?” he yelled, losing his voice to a break. He dropped a sigh, his arms. His voice came next. “Look, I’ll recommend Andrew not be admitted to the program. . . . Honestly, I don’t even think that’s in everyone’s best interest, nor do I believe it will do much good, but there it is—the best I can do for now.”