AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We were friends,” he says, surprising me. “God knows he needed one.”
His expression has gone hard and disdainful again.
I’ve had about enough of that.
“Yeah, I wish I could have visited him, too.” I force my voice to remain low and steady, though I want to shout. “Unfortunately, I was living two thousand miles away, working three jobs, trying to keep my brother from getting expelled.”
“Are you his sister or his mother?”
“Both! I’ve had to take care of him since a week after I turned eighteen, and it’s been fucking hard, so if you could get off your high horse about it, I already feel shitty enough that my uncle died alone!”
I’m humiliated to realize that there are tears in my eyes, and my face has probably gone the color of a smashed tomato. Fuck this guy and his fucking judgements.
I’ve already turned away when Dane’s voice calls me back.
“Seven o’clock tonight. And no need to bang on the door; I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Jude isin the kitchen when I return, eating the best breakfast he could manage without a working stove, fridge, or toaster. He’s cut a banana into uniform slices and topped each one with a dollop of peanut butter. He spears the slices with a fork, placing them carefully into his mouth. Since he was a toddler, Jude has hated getting his hands sticky. He even eats pizza with a knife and fork.
“Where’d you go so early?” he mumbles, mouth full.
I give him a brief recap of my encounter with our neighbor. Jude laughs in my face, which doesn’t improve my mood.
“You accused him of breaking into our house? Jesus, Remi, this is why you don’t have friends.”
“I have friends!”
“Yeah, but I’m your best friend.” He grins. “Which is a little pathetic.”
“Why is that pathetic?” I ruffle his hair. “You’re my favorite person.”
He smooths his hair back, frowning. “Better make yourself Dane’s favorite person or we’re screwed.”
“I bet his favorite person is Ted Bundy.”
“Then start stabbin’—‘cause we need to stay in his good graces.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Whatever it takes—isn’t that your motto, sis?”
“I guess.”
I grab a banana and an untoasted piece of bread, wishing Jude wouldn’t use my mantras against me.
I eat my food on the drive back into town to buy our first haul of construction supplies.
“Back already?” the lady behind the counter says. She’s in her sixties, wearing a green apron with the name tag “Rhonda” and cat-eye glasses with jewels at the corners of the frames.
“You’ll probably be seeing a lot of me. I’m renovating the Blackleaf house.”
“Oh, really?” Rhonda pauses in scanning my items, giving me a much more intensive up-and-down. “Where are you staying?”
“At Blackleaf.”
“Inside?” She shudders. “You wouldn’t catch me within fifty miles of that place.”
