“Yeah, me too. Not quite so idyllic, but my family is still close.”
She twisted around toward him, her eyes pinned on his face. “Not idyllic?” Her voice was soft, and he found that he wanted to take the look of concern from her.
His throat worked, uncertainty filling him. He wasn’t used to talking about his family, at least, not with someone he just met. And yet, with Caitlyn’s big, blue eyes on him, he opened his mouth and the words began to flow.
“My mom is great… funny, loving. My dad, not so much. He drank too much, and my early memories were of him yelling a lot. Mostly at Mom, but sometimes at me or my sister, Marcie, or brother, Gary. But, over time, he became physical. I think Mom tried to hide some of his crazy from us, but eventually, I was old enough to notice. By then, Bert and Chelle had come along. When I was about twelve, he came home drunk one night and started to get physical with anyone in his path. Mom had had it by then and kicked his ass out.”
“Oh, my goodness! Good for her!” Caitlyn’s gaze snapped with indignation, then suddenly she grabbed his arm. “But I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I’m sure it was hard on everyone.”
He shrugged. “Mom worked during the days, and I managed to get the other kids ready in the mornings and took care of them after school. We didn’t have a lot, but home became a place of calm.”
She sighed and added, “That’s why you were so upset when you thought my injury was from someone who had hit me.”
“I only saw my mom with a black eye one time. One time was enough.” His voice was soft as he gave more than he’d meant to. Looking at her, he added, “I didn’t realize the doctor was making a poor joke when he said for you to not be a punching bag.”
He felt her shoulders sag as she nodded. It struck him that she wasn’t just an impartial listener but seemed to ooze empathy with what he’d gone through. Staring at her, he wondered how he had ever thought she wasn’t as strong as he was beginning to see that she was.
“Tell me more… I’d really like to know,” she prodded, squeezing his arm.
“When I graduated from high school, Mom got remarried to a good man, and I joined the Army. Can’t say it was due to patriotism or a grand plan on being a soldier, but I needed a steady job. And, in truth, I needed to figure out who I was. Mom and Joe—that’s her husband—encouraged me, giving me the freedom to finally take off the mantle of caretaker of the younger ones.”
“My brothers and sister, Erin, served also, but Sean never lost his oldest brother vibes. I love him, but I swear, sometimes, I think he has a knack for getting on my case or getting on my nerves!”
Griffin smiled, slowly shaking his head. “If you asked Chelle, she’d tell you that I’m the same.”
“Chelle… that’s such a pretty name. Is she the youngest?”
“Yeah. There’s me, then Marcie, who’s an accountant, married, and has a few kids. Then there’s Gary. He joined the Army also but has made a career out of it. He’s in California now. Bert is in Richmond and works for a building supply company. And Chelle’s the baby. She’s an art teacher in a school in the county and makes jewelry on the side that she sells with her online store.”
Caitlyn squeezed his arm, her gaze never wavering. “I can tell how proud you are of them. And just think, older brother, you had a hand in making each of them what they are as adults. You stepped up to be the father figure they needed.”
He’d never had anyone say that to him other than knowing he had their mother’s gratitude. The air seemed thick as he breathed in, her words moving through him, finding a corner to take up residence.
They were silent for a moment before she sighed and leaned a little closer. “Where did you learn to work on old houses?”
By now, she’d turned so that they were facing each other on the bench. His arm rested on the back, his fingers now gently rubbing her shoulder.
“I got an associate’s degree in American history while I was stationed in Germany. I was a builder and combined my two favorite things when I came back home. I hadn’t spent hardly any pay in my four years, so I had enough to start my own business after working for a brilliant contractor in town who specialized in mid-1800s houses.”
“Does that include the jillions of townhomes built then?”
“No, actually, the Victorian homes are my specialty. And believe me, there are plenty of those although I’m a general contractor, so I can take any work to make sure my workers stay employed.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked so much about himself and wanted to turn the conversation back to her.
Just as he opened his mouth, the breeze picked up and Caitlyn shivered. “Come on, let’s get home.” She looked up and grinned. “Weird, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Home. It’s the same for you and me.”
Keeping her fingers linked with his, he grinned. As they walked, he was aware that she’d managed to find out more about him than he’d given to anyone—ever. Wanting to balance the scales, he jiggled their connected hands and asked, “Besides what your siblings do, what about you?”
“I teach American Literature at North Central High School.”
“No shit? Really?”
Her brow lowered as her face turned up toward him. “Um… no shit. I really teach there. Why the shock?”
“You probably won’t believe it, but that’s where I went to high school. I sure as hell didn’t have an English teacher that looked like you.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “As serious as you were, you probably did and didn’t notice.”
“Oh, Caitlyn, I would have noticed anyone as beautiful as you.”
The breath left her lungs in a rush, and she looked straight ahead as they continued down the sidewalk.
“Why American Lit?”
She continued staring ahead and he couldn’t get a good look at her face in the shadows all around. He jiggled their hands, and she looked up with wide eyes. “Oh, what? I’m sorry, did you say something?”
A deep-chested chuckle erupted as he lifted a finger to ease the crinkle that had settled between her brows. “I asked why American Literature?”
“You said you studied American History, so you must be aware of the link. It’s through the writings of a time that we can see into the souls of those before us, not just the facts of events.”
“Is that what you do? Want to see inside the souls?”
She pressed her lips together, the crinkled between her brow deepening as she kept her gaze on him. Sucked in. That’s what struck him. He was completely sucked into her and waited to see what she would say.
Swallowing audibly, she nodded. “Everyone so often thinks the youngest child is… well, impulsive, flighty. So used to others telling them what to do. But, for me as the youngest of six, and if you throw in the Kings next door, Bekki and I were the youngest of eleven kids, I watched. I listened. I absorbed the actions of others. Their words. Their mannerisms. I took in all that my family was, each as individuals. I’m not sure the older kids in the family can do that because there’s so much on them to help out. My brother, Sean, is such a good, responsible man. The best. Honest to God, the absolute best. But, sometimes, I think he was so used to making sure we were behaving, getting ready for school to help out Mom and Dad, checking our homework because Dad was working and Mom was trying to run the house, I don’t know that he had the time to really see us as individuals. He didn’t have the time to sit and observe.” She shrugged. “But I did. So, yes, I love literature. When I was younger, I could fall into a book or a character and disappear. I wasn’t the baby anymore. I wasn’t the pesky little sister. And as I grew older, I fell in love with all literature, but American is my favorite.”