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“Can I lean on you?” he says. “Just for a minute.”
“Of course,” I say, even though I know it’s never just for a minute.
Silas moves over on the couch, puts his head on my shoulder, and closes his eyes.
That’s all. It’s a simple movement, really, but it’s the deepest act of friendship I’ve ever experienced, the simplicity of human touch. I’m here, and Silas knows it. He trusts me with his secrets, his darkness like I’ve trusted him with mine in the past.
He’s asleep in about sixty seconds. I knew he would be. That’s part of the reason he comes over when the PTSD gets bad, because he knows that he’ll be able to sleep at my house.
I swallow guilt. I swallow the feeling that I’ve betrayed my best friend, and I try like hell to scrub June from my mind.
But I can’t. Even with her brother here, sleeping on me, trusting me in a way he trusts no one else, I can’t.An hour later, Silas wakes up, his eyes even more blood shot than before. The sun is just going down, so I make us dinner and more tea.
After dinner, he falls asleep on the couch the same way he always does when he comes over like this. I take an old quilt from the closet and put it over him, then read on the other couch until my own eyes are closing.
This is how we always do it: he comes over, we talk, he falls asleep on my shoulder. He wakes up, we eat dinner, and then he passes out on my couch for about twelve hours. I always sleep downstairs with him because sometimes he wakes up, shouting, and I have to remind him where he is.
It’s our secret. Everyone knows that we’re close friends, but no one knows why. They don’t know what he did for me when we were sixteen and my father died. They don’t know that a few times a year, he falls asleep resting his head on my shoulder.
No one ever will. I can keep a secret.
But I apparently can’t keep myself from betraying him.
By one in the morning, I’ve decided what I’m going to do.
It’s the only thing I can do.“Hey, I meant to ask you this morning, but I forgot,” Silas says. “It’s cool if June comes to your mom’s dinner, right?”
I rest the case of beer on the trunk of Seth’s car, my phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder. Seth frowns at me.
I want to say no. I really, really want to say no because I want to say what I have to say to her in private, not with my entire family and Silas and God only knows who else hanging around, making faces at me like they’re the only ones who’ve figured out I have a crush on June.
“Of course she can,” I say, staring into the blackness of Seth’s trunk.
“Cool, be there in fifteen,” he says, and ends the call.
I flip my phone shut, put it back in my pocket, lift the case of beer. I’m glad that Silas is back to himself after last night. Every time that happens — a few dozen times over the course of eight or so years, gradually declining in frequency — I’m always afraid that this time I won’t be able to help.
And I don’t always. Sometimes, like today, he’s his bright-eyed, bushy-tailed self again. Sometimes he’s only a little better.
“June’s coming?” Seth asks, balancing his case of beer on one leg and slamming his trunk shut.
I shoot him a look.
“How does everyone know everything around here?” I mutter.
“You say that like you’re not the main perpetrator,” he says, grinning at me. “You’re nosier than the rest of us put together.”
“There’s absolutely no way that’s true,” I say. “I’m well-versed in minding my own business.”
“Sure,” Seth says, in that way that I hate. He’s still smiling, even though June is coming and she’s going to be with Silas and my heart feels wrapped around itself. “But for the record, the only person who ever calls you is Silas, and I can’t imagine who else he’d be asking about since I don’t think he’s seeing anyone right now.”
I sigh, hoisting the case onto one shoulder. Seth does the same.
“And before you ask about that, you know that if Silas started seeing someone there would practically be flyers all over town because half the womenfolk practically toss their panties at him every time he leaves the house,” he says. “There would be skywriting. An announcement would be broadcast over the radio. Someone would—”
“Jealous much?” I ask, but Seth just laughs.
My second youngest brother, shall we say… gets around.
“I’ve got no reason to be,” he says, bounding up the porch stairs. “Trust me.”
I just sigh and open the screen door, letting him walk through.
