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He shook his head. “You eat it, brat. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. But I’ll take some of that water.”
She twisted the cap off and held it out to him. He guzzled down half of it. Then handed it back to her. She continued eating the bar and watching him. Her eyes fell to his wrist, and she paused.
“You still have the bracelet I made you,” she murmured in a stunned voice.
His eyes moved to his wrist, and then he looked up at her. “Of course.”
He said it so matter-of-fact, like it was the most normal thing in the world to keep a handmade gift from a nine-year-old girl.
She frowned. “All these years? You’ve worn it?”
He nodded. “I have.”
“Why?” she asked. It was his turn to frown at her.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugged. “It was just a stupid childish gift a little girl gave you. I never thought you’d keep it.”
“Of course I kept it. You made it for me.”
Her eyes again fell on the bracelet. It was a brown leather cord with knots tied in it. And between each knot was a silver nut she’d pilfered from the parts on the garage floor that summer when he and her brother had put together their first dirt bikes. Ghost had always looked the other way when he saw her sneaking the little nuts and washers. But there had always been a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, like he was on to her.
Her brother, on the other hand, would pitch a fit every time the parts went missing. She could still see him now in her mind’s eye, scrambling around on the floor, cursing up a blue streak, insisting the ‘damn’ nuts had been right there. But not Ghost. Ghost would just calmly stand up and walk over to the workbench to dig up some replacements.
She remembered when she’d given the bracelet to him. She’d purposely waited until her brother had left the garage to go get them a c
ouple of cans of sodas from the kitchen, knowing he’d make fun of her and tease her unmercifully if he ever found out.
Ghost had made her feel like it was the coolest thing in the world when she’d given it to him. And he’d actually put it on, and for the years that followed before he’d moved out, he’d always had it on.
“I can’t believe all this time you’ve kept it?”
“It’s on my wrist, isn’t it?”
She blinked. It was on his wrist. What did that mean? Her hand strayed to her throat, her fingers touching the necklace she herself wore. She’d made it at the same time, out of the same dark brown leather cording. But for hers, she’d attached a large flat silver washer as the pendent. She rubbed her thumb over it now, stroking it like it was some kind of talisman. And for her, perhaps it was. The washer had come off of Ghost’s bike. He didn’t know that, of course. And whenever she thought of him, whenever she missed him, she rubbed it.
He had no clue about the necklace or about her feelings for him. And those feeling had nothing to do with brotherly feelings, far from it.
“I wear it to remind me of the little girl that made it for me,” he said quietly from where he was squatted down, his attention on his motorcycle.
“That little girl is gone,” she whispered. That brought his head around, his eyes to hers.
“Is she?”
She nodded.
“I don’t think so.”
She was uncomfortable with his scrutiny, and maybe with his words. The observation hit close to home, too close. So she changed the subject.
“You and Tommy were always fixing that first dirt bike you had.”
He grinned. “Yeah, because your brother wrecked it so many times. I tried hard to teach him to ride but he was such an uncoordinated guy, he laid that bike down more often than not. He just couldn’t get the hang of working controls with both his feet and hands, clutch, shifter, brakes, balancing the bike, steering. It was too much for him to keep up with. But he could shoot. Damn, that boy could shoot. Every time we went hunting, he amazed me. I knew he’d do well in the military.”
