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“He’d worry about me if I didn’t give him shit. He’s lucky, Mom, not fuckin’ special. Just like he told me when I made alternate for the Olympics in softball. I remember it well. He gave me a whole speech on how it wasn’t my hard work that got me there.” I shoot him a pointed look.
Our mom makes a noise as she hurries around the outside kitchen we all built her two years ago for Mother’s Day. “Bell,” she calls to my dad. He’s not paying any attention to her and I’m wondering how long it’ll take until she pulls out his full name. “Bellamy Grimes!” Welp, that didn’t take too long. “Can you come and see if these steaks are to your liking?”
“Are they still bloody?” He questions, smiling around his pipe.
“Slightly.” She shrugs.
“Then they’re just about done.”
With her hand on her hip, she whips around, holding a serving spoon in her hand. “Bellamy, please come over here and check them.”
“Keep your pants on, Bev. You know I’m just kidding.”
Gauge and I snicker at each other. “How’s the rehab going?” I whisper, not wanting our parents to hear. They have a hard time dealing with it and neither one of us wants to cause them any more pain than what they’ve already had to endure.
“Painful,” he admits. For a brief moment, his smile is gone. The facade he puts on for everyone drops entirely. “I’m going to be moving on to some occupational therapy next week. It’s supposed to help some of the nerves fire back up. Where they were burnt, the way they’ve explained it is they have to come back online. I’m not looking forward to it, but if it’s what I need to do in order to get back on the truck, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Do you need someone to go with you?”
He tilts his head to the side, a frown on his face. “C’mon, I don’t need my little sister to hold my hand.”
“I’m not offering to hold your hand. I’m offering to be your support, if that’s what you need.”
His eyes don’t meet mine. Instead, he plays with a piece hanging off his frayed jeans. “At some point, I’ve got to do this on my own, Nat.”
“You do it all on your own, Gauge, and no one expects you to. It’s okay to ask for help.”
“I know.” He blows out a deep breath. “But I don’t want to burden others with my problems.”
“Shut the fuck up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“You have to watch Trinity anyway.” He takes another drink.
Reaching over, I pat his knee. “I’ll bring Trinity with me. You’ll wish you never told us about it.”
“I already do.” He chuckles. “I seriously already do.”
* * *
“Make sure you clean your plate.”Mom chastises Gauge as she eyes his leftovers.
“I’m stuffed.” He rubs his stomach, leaning back in his chair.
“You’ve lost too much weight.”
All of us can see it. He’s not as muscular as he used to be. The shirts he always wore so proud and tight around his biceps are loose. His face, once so handsomely filled out, is now gaunt. The skin under his eyes is thin and bruised, purple and black.
This injury and the way it’s changed his life has taken a huge toll on him, one that’s becoming more apparent each and every day.
“I’m done,” he insists. This time his voice is stern and makes no room for argument.
The silence that follows is awkward. I don’t know what to say and have no idea how I can make it better for Gauge. No idea how to make my parents feel better about what’s happened. Instead of being happy they still have their son, they want to turn him back into the person he was before the forest fire.
I’m smart enough to know that guy isn’t there any longer.
And the more we try to pull him back out, the further away he gets.
CHAPTERSIX
