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I swallow the lump in my throat, before turning back to face him.
“At least he had the decency to leave it alone,” I reply.
“Because I told him I’d kill him in his fucking sleep if he touched anything inside.”
I give my brother a small, sad smile. The death of our sister is something I’m afraid we’ll never recover from.
“My room is still there,” he says, pointing to his door.
I follow him to what used to be an old guest room at the end of the hallway.
“I feel like I should let you know that Clark is living here right now,” he says.
“I’m sorry, what?” I turn to look at him.
I wasn’t aware that I’d have another person to deal with when I moved back in.
“Yeah, might as well drop the bomb on you now,” he says, opening the bedroom door.
“Excuse me?” I freeze.
“He’s got some shit going on in his personal life. I don’t ask any questions, and he doesn’t give me too much information, but he’s my best friend and I’d do anything for him.” He shrugs.
“What about you? What kind of stuff do you have going on?”
I can’t even imagine the aneurysm our father must be having. His only son, the one that he intended on taking over his company from him, dropped out of college and refuses any handouts from him.
“Why would you come back to this place if you’d already had the opportunity to leave?” I ask.
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain it to you when I’ve got more time.” He sighs.
“I won’t let you forget,” I tell him.
“I know you well enough to know that’s true. I’ve got to go to work. I usually get off around ten. I don’t know what time Clark gets off tonight. I just wanted to warn you that he lives here, so you aren’t surprised when he shows up.”
“Thanks, Mitch,” I tell him, watching him walk out of the room.
Clark James has been Mitchell’s best friend since we were kids. Mallory and I used to sit in our bedroom and gossip about how beautiful he was. When you’re twelve and your brother is eighteen, his friends can seem like a piece of forbidden fruit. You can look, but you definitely can’t touch. He barely glanced in our direction, but we fantasized about him for years. He was our first crush.
I haven’t seen him since Mallory’s funeral. Unfortunately, he’s part of my memories from one of the worst days of my life.
“What are you doing out here?” Clark asks.
I’ve been hiding in the greenhouse on our property for about an hour now. I thought I’d gotten lucky and no one noticed I was gone.
“Hiding,” I admit.
He walks over, sitting on the ground next to me.
“You doing okay?” he asks.
“No.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty fucking stupid question, isn’t it?” he says, laughing dryly.
“I just want the day to be over,” I tell him, leaning my head back against the wall.
“I think that’s understandable.”
