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Stephen stares at me for another beat, his eyes a vivid blue. The exact same shade as his sister’s. Then he nods and ducks back inside the car, turning over the engine.
“Sayonara,” Stephen calls as his car sputters into the street. “If you break my sister’s heart, you’re a dead man. See you in three months.”
I wave him off, unable to smile or even roll my eyes at his threat.
If I break Faith’s heart, I’ll welcome whatever punishment he can dole out.
Four
Faith
The sound of Stephen’s car engine drifts through my open window, and I roll out of bed with a squawk. It slaps me in the face: Stephen is leaving. What the hell am I doing, hiding out instead of saying goodbye to my brother?
He’ll be gone for three months. His job isdangerous.
What is wrong with me?
“Shit.” Yanking my yellow cotton robe off the bedpost, I shove my arms through the sleeves as I run out of my bedroom and down the hall. “Shit, shit, shit.”
My bare feet clatter down the stairs, then slap against cold tiles. I spill out into the street, gasping for air.
The rusted red lump of Stephen’s car disappears around a corner. That’s it: my parting look at my brother. One blink and he’s gone.
“No,” I breathe. And I wait, pulse racing, but he doesn’t come back. Didn’t forget anything, even though he always, always forgets something dumb.
Fresh misery swamps me, cold and clammy, and I sway back against our front door. I’m lightheaded.
How many bad decisions can I make in twenty four hours? Now my brother is gone, and I won’t see him for three months. That’s the memory I left him with: a tantrum.
“Faith.”
The low voice makes me jump, my shoulders banging against the door. Andre Silva stands on the sidewalk in front of his house, watching me. Always watching me with those steady brown eyes. His gaze leaves a warm, tingly trail wherever it touches my body.
Those jeans and that red t-shirt are yesterday’s clothes. Dark shadows cling beneath his eyes, and hey, my normally unruffled neighbor looks as kicked around by life as I feel.
Did he stay up to wave Stephen off? Gratitude floods me, washing away some of the bitterness from last night. At least my brother had someone.
“Um. Hi.”
Too late, I remember my skimpy white nightdress and yank the sides of my robe closed. Andre’s chest rises and falls as I knot the yellow tie.
Snippets of last night slam into my fuzzy morning brain: Stephen reading my letter aloud; Andre’s calm expression in the glow of my phone; the ringing laughter and the mutters in the crowd of ‘Dear Hattie’.
Sitting on these stone steps with my bruised heart cradled in my palms, hoping this man would take it from me. Hoping that someway, somehow, there could be a happy ending to my nightmare.
Then Andre’s non-answer. The cold slap of reality.
Yeah. Last night sucked.
And I want to be cool about this, want to brush it all off as though it’s no big deal, but as I stand out here in the fresh morning air… I can’t. It hurts too much.
“Faith,” Andre says as I turn to go inside. “Wait a second. Please.”
I’d ignore him if he didn’t sound as wrecked as I feel—but the chef’s voice is pure gravel. His steps are quiet against the sidewalk, and then he’s climbing the steps behind me.
Andre’s always been light on his feet. For such a tall, muscled man, you’d expect loud footsteps and bumped elbows, but he’s like a panther. Limber and lithe.
“Come here.” Strong hands turn me by the shoulders, and then I’m melting into my neighbor’s chest. “That’s it,” he says, rubbing my back as I sniffle into his t-shirt. “Good girl.”
