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“Technically, Theo bought it.”
He coughs again. “Second favorite child alert.”
Smacking him on the shoulder, I share a smile with my mother, who’s placing dirty bowls into the dishwasher. The sack of taffies is clutched in my opposite hand, and I assume Brant is in his room since his Highlander was in the driveway when I got home. “Is Brant upstairs? I got him something, too.”
“He is,” Mom says. “It’s his weekend off. He went up right before you walked in.”
My father adds, “He’s in a mood. It’s good you’ll come bearing gifts.”
“A mood?”
He shrugs. “Not sure, really. He didn’t say much at dinner. But hey, while you’re up there, go give your brother a big hug.” Dad winks, the precursor to a joke. “A June cocoon.”
Good Lord.
I groan, then saunter away from the kitchen to the flight of stairs.
When I move into the open doorway of Brant’s bedroom, he’s standing by the window, looking out at the dusky sky. Swallowing, I take a few soft steps forward. “Hey.”
He hears me because he responds right away. “Hey.” He doesn’t turn around, though. Brant just stands there with his back to me, arms at his sides, his reflection subtle in the windowpane.
I lick my lips and continue to pace toward him until I’m flush with his back, his body heat sinking into me. The scent of Ivory soap invades me, mingled with a slight trace of spearmint from his favorite chewing gum.
Then I wrap my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek to his spine.
He stiffens.
It’s a devastating reaction.
Brant always welcomes my arms, my hugs, my tender touches. He always reacts with equal affection, often upping the ante and picking me up, or tickling me, or squeezing me until I nearly pop. He never tenses up. He never hesitates.
He never stiffens.
“Brant, please,” I murmur into the warm cotton of his shirt. “Hug me back, will you?”
It takes a moment—a long, worrisome moment—but he eventually lifts his palm and places it atop my hands that have linked around his torso. It’s not much, but it’s something.
Brant’s head dips when his fingers graze the little plastic bag tied with a piece of twine that I’m still holding onto. “What’s this?”
“Saltwater taffy. I picked it up for you today.”
“Why?”
Why? What a ridiculous question. Unraveling my arms, I wait for him to turn around and face me. He does—he does right away, his features firm and taut. The radiant rain forest in his eyes, lush greens and rich soil, looks more like a dying swamp. “Because I love you, that’s why.”
His frown pulls tighter.
“I even had them remove the purple pieces.” Taking his hand in mine, I set the little bag inside his palm, closing his fingers around it. “I thought maybe you needed something sweet.”
Brant’s eyes close for a moment, his fist clenching the gift. His dark silence penetrates me, a blunt dagger right through the heart.
Something’s wrong but I don’t know what. Something happened but he won’t tell me.
I can’t help him if he won’t tell me.
I have to help him.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can get a word out Brant snatches my face between his hands and looks me right in the eyes. They flash with something. I’m reeled back into my nightmare, and we’re floating on that raft, the sky going dark, the river turning red.
