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Taking my hand out of my pocket, I pull out the small shiny rock, second-guessing myself. She might not get it. She might not even remember. But it’s too late not to give it to her when she’s eagerly holding her hands out, her smile growing brighter by the second. So with a lot of nervousness, I put the white rock in her outstretched hands.
“Here.”
Caylee opens her eyes and looks down. She gasps instantly, her fingers closing around the rock as she holds it to her chest. “Connor! It’s gorgeous.”
I can’t help it, I smile at her excitement. “You remember? The backyard river? I was thinking about that the other day, and it seemed like a good memory.”
“Of course I get it. We spent every day doing that for years,” Caylee says with a happy, wistful laugh. “You know, I hated getting all muddy like that, dirt under my nails and smudges on my face. But if you wanted to do that, I was always in to hang with my big brother.”
I blink in surprise. “Caylee . . . I didn’t want to do it either. You were the one who always wanted to play with the animals.”
We lock eyes, both of us realizing that we’d been doing it for each other. That we would’ve done anything for each other back then. And maybe we would even now. Laughing, I reach out and truly hug my sister for the first time in a long time.
“Shit,” I admit as she hugs me back tightly, “I’m going to cry.”
Caylee’s laugh vibrates my chest. “Not allowed, buddy. You cry, I cry, and then Poppy will cry because I’ll kick your ass so hard.”
A fault line in our relationship starts to heal. It’s not an instant thing, no poof and we’re all good again. But it’s a start. I just hope I can be around long enough to keep it going, but that’s never guaranteed in my line of work.
“Caylee,” I whisper when we let go slightly, “even when I’m not here or we don’t see each other for awhile . . . I love you, Cay.”
Caylee pats my chest, giving me that same megawatt smile I’ve missed for too long. “I love you too.”
“Hold it, just like that!” a voice snaps. I look up to see the photographer framing a sibling moment for Caylee and me. Instinctually, I want to argue and say ‘no pictures’ or duck away from the lens. People like me do better when we’re not photographed. But for Caylee, this time . . . I don’t. I face the camera boldly and hold her a little tighter.
She notices, and her smile grows. “She’s good for you.”
“Not disagreeing.” She is . . . despite my misgivings.
“Don’t fuck this up, Connor. You’re better now, and I think she has something to do with it,” Caylee continues as the photographer moves on. “Besides, I’ve always wanted a sister. And I can’t think of a better one than Poppy Woodstock.” She sobers, her face going serious. “She doesn’t like pink poodles, does she? I’ll share you, but I’m not sharing Mr. Peabody.”
I hum as though giving the question deep consideration. “No, not a pink poodle type, I don’t think. Pomeranians, actually.”
“Good, then I want to keep her,” Caylee says. “Besides, I want to meet Nut and Juice.”
“You know her dogs’ names?”
Caylee blushes. “I might’ve done a little homework on your fiancée too.” She holds up her finger and thumb an inch apart. “Just a little Google research and maybe joining her online fan group to get the scoop. She posts pictures of the dogs sometimes.”
I look at Caylee in surprise and with a newfound respect. She shrugs it off. “Hey, you checked up on Evan, so it’s only fair that I check up on Poppy. We siblings have gotta stick together.”
The wedding planner comes in, looking pointedly at her watch. “Knock, knock. Time get a move on.” I’m shooed out and go find Poppy, not in the front row but in the second row.
“It’s apparently reserved,” she whispers. “So when I get up to dance, make sure you follow my lead.”
She’s kidding. I think.
The ceremony is sweet, though seeing my dad stoically walk Caylee down the aisle has me clenching my fist at my side. He doesn’t deserve that honor, not after the way he’s been for the past decade. But when Dad places Caylee’s hand into Evan’s and he turns to sit with Mom, I see him quickly swipe at his eyes.
Huh?
Maybe the old man isn’t as empty and unemotional as I thought, though if your baby girl’s getting married doesn’t warrant some emotion, you’re probably completely cold and dead inside.
Evan looks at Caylee like she not only hung the moon but actually created it out of silk and magic. I decide that yeah, he can live a bit longer. Especially as Caylee looks at him with just as much wonder and love.
