"It's not funny," I told him, seeing the way his lips were twitching, his eyes were bright.
"Oh, it's funny. You know you would be laughing your ass off if this was my situation. Don't get all butt-hurt because she picked on you this time."
"I'm not mad because she picked on me. I'm mad because she picked on Katie."
That rang mostly true. And Atlas wasn't typically someone who analyzed what was under your words, choosing to take them at face value because he rarely had time to spend hashing shit out.
"Katie," Atlas repeated, racking his brain to put a face to a name.
"She works the front desk at work. Shy girl. Never fucks with anyone. I don't understand why Fee would fuck with her. What?" I asked when his brow lifted.
"Just wondering why you're pissed on some coworker's behalf is all," he said, shrugging.
"Because it was reckless and dangerous. A tree could have crashed through the ceiling and hurt one of us, and the other had no way to get help."
"But it didn't and you're fine and she's fine. And you can give Fee a talking to over Sunday dinner. Still doesn't explain the clenched jaw."
"It's nothing."
"Funny," Atlas said, letting the word hang, knowing it would piss me off, that I would want clarification.
"What's funny?"
"That whenever one of my brothers claim "it's nothing" about a woman, within a few months, they're living with them, and talking about a future together."
"King was always the settling down sort," I reasoned.
"And Nixon?" Atlas pressed.
"Regan has a grumpy guy fetish. He knows he's a lucky SOB to get a woman like that. But neither of us have ever been the relationship and settling down sort. I'm a phone sex operator, for fuck's sake."
"Pretty sure most of the chicks you work with are married."
"That's different."
"Is it though?"
"What? Are you suddenly a fucking shrink now?" I snapped, getting a chuckle from him.
"Oh, you missed having someone piss you off, and you know it. Besides, I have to get some extra brotherly-ribbing in. I'm off tomorrow."
"Where to now?" I asked, not really understanding Atlas and his need to constantly be on the move. I, for one—and it seemed our other siblings agreed—liked being able to put down roots. We'd spent our whole early adulthood constantly on the road, never being able to stay in a place for more than a few weeks at a time, and therefore never accumulating anything, never knowing how nice it was to have a place to call home.
It took a long time for me to realize it myself. And while I did still enjoy getting away, I liked it more to be able to come back and see my things around, know I had a place in the world.
To Atlas—and people like him—I guess the whole world was home. He'd always been lucky in that he fell easily in with any crowd, made friends without any effort, and usually found himself some local woman who would show him around the town or state or country... as well as her own bedsheets.
"I hear good things about Italy this time of year. Found a last-minute tour for writers who want to get a feel for the country in a more genuine way."
"You're not a writer."
"Funny thing.. they don't actually check," he said, shooting me a lopsided smile.
"Does Helen know you were in town, but didn't make it to Sunday dinner again?"
"She's used to it by now. I think I will have to call Mark before I head out, though."
"Why?"
"Because I think there is a new couple to bet on."
"Who?" I asked, brows furrowing. Aside from Atlas and me, everyone was all shacked up already. Except the kids, some of whom weren't exactly kids anymore, even if that hurt a bit to admit.
"You and Katie," he said, rolling his eyes.
"There is no me and Katie," I insisted.
"You know something funny?"
"No."
"I'm pretty sure every one of the Mallicks and our brothers said something similar at one point. And now look at all of them. Happily married and shit. So, I'm calling Mark. I want in on this early."
He would call Mark.
And knowing this family, they would all place their bets.
They could have their fun.
But nothing changed the facts.
There was nothing going on between Katie and me.
Now that we were back in Navesink Bank, that would become abundantly clear to everyone.
But if there was nothing starting between us, why the hell did that last thought make my stomach twist?
Christ.
I just needed my own bed, some food, some space, to get back to the distraction that was work.
Then it would all get back to normal.
Or, at least, that was what I wanted to believe.
SEVEN
Kate
As expected, my mother was damn near ready to put up Missing Persons posters. Even after getting a call from Fiona who was instructed to do so by Rush.
She came over to my apartment, pressing me for details as I took care of my plants, as I cleaned up my already clean apartment, as I put my worn clothes in the laundry bin, as I made tea, fretted about not having any cakes or cookies to go with it.
"Kate," my mom said, sighing, jumping up to grab my shoulders as I tried to move past her for the tenth time in two minutes. "Stop," she demanded. "Tell me what is going on."
"Nothing. I was just, you know, trapped in the woods for a few days. I'm frazzled."
"You know something that I always loved about you?"
"What?"
"You are a terrible liar. It made parenting you so much easier. I like to think it is because you have such a good moral compass, that every cell in your body rejects being dishonest. It's a good quality. But, I imagine, it sucks as an adult," she said, eyes warm. "When you want to kindly tell your old mother to mind her own business."
"I wouldn't say that to you," I insisted, shaking my head.
"Look, honey, I know you were stuck there with that guy from work. I just want you to know that if anything happened, if he hurt you... you can talk to me."
"He didn't... he wouldn't. It was just... it was confusing. And I need some time to compartmentalize it, maybe work through it with my therapist. It's nothing, really."
"Nothing, but you look exhausted and pale."
"I'm actually just feeling run down," I admitted. And I was. I figured it was the travel, the bad night of sleep, the mental and emotional gymnastics.
As the night became a new day, though, I woke up with a raging fever and a head cold.
One small plane.
Hundreds of people.
Millions of germs.
It was inevitable.
I called out of work, ordered groceries and medicine to my door, and took to the bed.
I couldn't tell you if my body or my soul was more tired, all I knew was that once I fell into the bed, I didn't think I surfaced from it—or sleep—for a full sixteen hours.
And then only doing so because there was an insistent buzzing from the intercom, followed by a knocking at my door.