There’s a roar of applause that we use as a good excuse not to say anything for a minute. There is one person he has not mentioned.
So, I do. “How do you think Sabin is doing?”
Zach takes another bite and delays answering. “Well,” he says, “something seems to be going on.”
Sometimes, Zach is the only person I can talk to about certain things. He has a similar perspective, and we are bonded because we each love a Shepherd boy, and therefore, we love a boy with damage. As much as we are enmeshed in this family, we are also outsiders, observers of what they cannot always see. There is a code of silence that Zach and I have learned to follow, and only when we talk alone are we able to break that.
“What do you see?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “He’s a little distant. A little angry. Snarky one minute, charming the next.”
“He’s not predictable right now.”
“He’s not. Sabin watches you a lot, you know,” Zach says. “And you and Chris.”
“Yet,” I say as we start to walk to watch a drummer pounding out a rhythm on steel drums, “he won’t look at me today, not directly. I don’t know if he’s pissed at me.”
“Blythe, I think it’s quite the opposite.”
Before I can ask what he’s talking about, Estelle appears and excitedly waves a flyer in front of my face. “Come on, we have to head up a few blocks. We have to see this break-dancing harpist magician!”
I don’t have any idea what this means, and it sounds idiotic, but she looks enthralled with the idea, so we scurry to keep up with her. Zach drifts back to hold hands with Eric, and I’m pleased to see how comfortable Eric has gotten with being affectionate in public. He’s always been okay with touching Zach in front of his family and me and James, but this is one of the first times I’ve seen him like this out in the big, scary world.
Sabin has been a little quiet today, so I seek him out to walk next to him. Because he’s always loud and bubbly, his demeanor is noticeable and concerning.
“Hi.” I put a hand on his lower back, and I’m surprised that he doesn’t move his arm over my shoulder. It’s what he normally does. So, today, I realize it’s decidedly not normal. “You having fun?”
“Of course, love. Fried dough?” He offers me the paper-wrapped dough.
I hold up my pretzel. “Already stuffing my face.”
He taps his food against mine. “Then, cheers to us both.”
He smiles, but that doesn’t make me feel much better. Sabin is, after all, an actor at heart.
“You okay today? You don’t seem quite like yourself.”
“Just kind of mellow. That’s all.”
We stop by Estelle’s coveted street performer, and I squint in disbelief while a man indeed makes a few dance moves that are followed by strumming a harp and pulling two baby bunnies from the strings. Estelle’s shrieks of delight carry over the crowd, and I laugh.
I look around for Chris and finally locate him. He’s on the other side of the closed-off street, standing by an open tent that houses an art gallery’s display. I weave my way through the dense crowd. Before I am even within talking distance, I feel the tension radiating from him. His body language is as familiar to me as my own, and something in his stance sets off alarm bells.
Chris stands, unmoving, midway down the long aisle with some framed paintings and photographs on easels and others secured to temporary walls.
“Chris.” I keep my voice quiet as I slowly approach him.
His eyes are riveted on the painting in front of him, and I turn to look at the large canvas. I might not be an art expert, but it’s a stunning piece. Vivid colors streak and swirl in front of me, creating an abstract work filled with electric reds and oranges and greens. Swipes of textured black and gray give the painting a three-dimensional edge. It should be beautiful, I can see that, but I find it markedly unsettling.
I glance at Christopher, who remains transfixed.
“Chris?” I say again.
He steps forward and touches the painting, his fingers tracing over the nubby black marks.
From behind me, I hear Sabin say, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Sabin steps to my left and goes to the painting next to the one that has Christopher’s attention. Then, he moves to another one. Finally, he stops next to Chris. “He just won’t go away, will he? He just won’tfucking go away.”
