“Cami didn’t say anything about the test today,” Dad said, moving the dominoes around in a circle on the table.
“Yeah,” I said, staring at the white rectangular tiles as they slowly circulated around, under Dad’s hands, moving in and out of the pack. “It’s a monthly thing now. I think she’s tired of talking about it.”
“Understandable,” Dad said. He gave a side-glance to Olive, and I knew he was choosing his next words carefully. “Have you been to the doc?”
“Gross,” Olive said, disgusted despite his efforts. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.
“Not yet. I think she’s afraid to hear it’s something permanent. Honestly, so am I. At least now, we have hope.”
“There’s still hope. Even the worst circumstances have a silver lining. Life isn’t linear, son. Each choice we make or every influence branches off the line we’re currently on, and at the end of that branch is another branch. It’s just a series of blank slates, even after a disaster.”
I peeked up at him. “Is that how you felt after Mom died?”
Olive let out a tiny gasp.
Dad tensed, waiting a moment before speaking. “A while after Mom died. I think we all know I didn’t do much of anything right after.”
I touched his arm, and the tiles stopped spinning. “You did exactly what you could. If I lost Cami …” I trailed off, the thought making me feel sick to my stomach. “I’m not sure how you survived it, Dad, much less got yourself together to raise five boys. And you did, you know. You got yourself together. You are a great dad.”
Dad cleared his throat, and the tiles began turning again. He paused just long enough to wipe a tear from beneath his glasses. “Well, I’m glad. You deserve it. You’re a great son.”
I patted his shoulder, and then we picked our bones from the boneyard and set them on their sides, facing away from each other. I had a shit hand.
“Really, Dad? Really?”
“Oh, quit your whining and play,” he said. He tried to sound stern, but his small grin betrayed him. “Wanna play, Olive?”
Olive shook her head. “No thank you, Papa,” she said, returning her attention to her phone.
“She’s probably playing dominoes on that thing,” Dad teased.
“Poker,” Olive snapped back.
Dad smiled.
I turned to look up at our last family portrait, taken just before Mom found out she was sick. Travis was barely three. “Do you still miss her? I mean … like before?”
“Every day,” he said without hesitation.
“Remember when she used to do the tickle monster?” I asked.
The corners of Dad’s mouth turned up, and then his body began to shake with uncontrollable chuckles. “It was ridiculous. She wasn’t sure if she was an alien or a gorilla.”
“She was both,” I said.
“Chasing all five of you around the house, hunched over like a primate and making her hands into alien suction cups.”
“Then she’d catch us and eat our armpits.”
“Now, that’s love. You boys smelled like rotting carcasses on a good day.”
I laughed out loud. “It was the one time we could jump on the furniture and not get our asses beat.”
Dad scoffed. “She didn’t have to spank you. The look was enough.”
“Oh,” I said, remembering. “The look.” I shivered.
“Yeah. She made it look easy, but she had to put a healthy amount of fear into you first. She knew you were all going to be bigger than her one day.”
“Am I?” I asked. “Bigger than she was?”
“She was a bitty thing. Abby’s size. Maybe not even that tall.”
“Where did Travis’s gigantism come from, then? You and Uncle Jack are bloated chipmunks.”
Dad howled. His belly bobbled, making the table jiggle. My dominoes fell over, and I spat out a laugh, too, unable to hold it in. Olive covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Just as I began setting the dominoes back onto their edges, a car pulled into the drive. The gravel in the driveway crunched under a set of tires, and the engine shut off. A minute later, someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Olive said, pushing her chair back.
“Oops,” I said, standing. “Cami’s back. Better help her with the groceries.”
“Atta boy,” Dad said with a nod and a wink.
I walked into the hall and froze. Olive was holding open the door, staring at me with a pale, worried expression. Behind her on the porch were two men in suits and soggy trench coats.
“Dad?” I called to the dining room.
“Actually,” one of the men said. “Are you Trenton Maddox?”
I swallowed. “Yeah?” Before either of them could speak, all the blood rushed from my face. I stumbled back. “Dad?” I called, this time frantic.
Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s this?”
“Mr. Maddox,” one of the men said, nodding. “I’m Agent Blevins.”
“Agent?” I asked.
He continued. “We came with some unfortunate news.”
I lost my balance, falling with my back flat against the paneled wall. I slid down slowly. Olive went down with me, grabbing both my hands and bracing us for an alternate, painful reality. She held tight, anchoring me to the present, the moment in time just before everything would fall apart. I’d known in the pit of my stomach not to let Camille drive in the rain. I’d been feeling off for several days, knowing something bad was looming. “Don’t fucking say it,” I groaned.
Dad slowly kneeled at my side, placing his hand on my knee. “Now, hold on. Let’s hear what they have to say.” He looked up. “Is she okay?”
The agents didn’t answer, so I looked up, too. They had the same expression as Olive. My head fell forward. An explosion boiled inside me.
A sack fell and glass broke. “Oh, my God!”
“Cami!” Olive cried, releasing my hands.
I stared at her in disbelief, scrambling to my knees just before throwing my arms around her waist. Dad breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Is he okay?” Camille asked. She pulled away from me to look me over. “What happened?”
Olive stood and held on to Dad.
“I thought you … they …” I trailed off, still unable to complete a coherent sentence.
“You thought I what?” Camille asked, grabbing each side of my face. She looked at Dad and Olive.
“He thought they were here to inform us you’d …” Dad peered at the agents. “What in the Sam Hill are you here for, then? What’s the unfortunate news?”
The agents glanced at each other, finally understanding my reaction. “We’re so sorry, sir. We’ve come to inform you about your brother. Agent Lindy requested the news be brought straight to you.”
“Agent Lindy?” I asked. “You mean Liis? What about my brother?”
Dad’s eyebrows pulled in. “Trenton … call the twins home. Do it now.”
CHAPTER FIVE
TRAVIS
ABBY WAS STANDING AT A WINDOW near the front door of our French Provincial home, peeking out from behind the gray sheer curtains she’d picked five years before to replace the old ones she’d picked three years before that. So much more than just the curtains had changed in the last eleven years. Weddings, births, deaths, milestones, and truths.