Page 19 of Call It Home

“Um, yes, but you might want to check the date on them.”

I rubbed my hands together and walked into her kitchen, pausing to close the kitchen window now that the room had aired out. I studied the contents of her fridge and pulled out a red pepper, an onion, a tomato, and the carton of eggs that was still before the expiration date. I also found a block of cheddar cheese.

I felt Cameron watching me and turned to catch her staring at my ass as I bent over to look inside the fridge. “How do you feel about an omelet?” I asked, not bothering to stand up. If she wanted to look at it, I didn’t care. There was a list of things about me I was ashamed of, but my body was not one of them.

She moved her eyes to my face, not the least bit ashamed I had caught her. “I have even less confidence about my omelet-making abilities than my roasting.”

I stood with the food clutched to my chest and shut the fridge door with my foot. “I do, too. Fortunately, I can cook. Pan?”

“Huh?”

“A frying pan. Also, a cutting board and a knife. Unless you don’t mind me going through all your cabinets looking for them myself. I know just how awkward you are about that.” I winked and raised one eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes, but a small grin spread across her lips as she found the requested items.

“This sure is a fancy kitchen for someone who doesn’t cook,” I commented as I melted some butter in the pan and chopped up the vegetables.

She gathered up the burnt roast and dumped it in the trashcan with a grimace. “I like theideaof cooking. I just never have the time to put any effort into it. By the time I get home, I’m too tired to make such a mess just for myself. So, I keep things simple or order in. Or I get myself an invitation to Emalee and Zach’s. She’s the real chef in the family. But I’m a master at mixing drinks. Can I get you anything? Or a beer maybe? You don’t seem like a wine kind of guy.

“Just some water, please.”

I heard the ice clink against a glass as I sautéed the vegetables. “You don’t drink much, do you? Alcohol, I mean.”

I shook my head and poured some of the egg batter I’d whipped into another small pan, scraping the edge of the pan to allow the excess liquid to run beneath and cook. “Nope,” I finally answered.

She paused from the table settings she was placing at the bar. “Probably a good thing.”

I shrugged but didn’t answer. And fortunately, she didn’t push, which didn’t seem like her style at all. Maybe she was a little more intuitive than I initially thought. I flipped the omelet over in the pan and added the cooked veggies and cheese, folded it over, then placed it on the plate in front of her.

“Wow,” she said. “It’s perfect. How’d you learn how to cook?”

“We lived near a diner. I used to watch the cook. My brother and I were left alone a lot. It was either learn to cook or eat nothing but ramen or frozen food all the time. We were growing boys, and Trey was working a lot, so I learned.” It was a simplified version of the truth.

“Where’s your brother now?”

I flipped my omelet, setting the pan back on the burner a little harder than necessary. “Virginia.”

“And he’s who you drove to see?”

I blew out a quiet breath. I would have rather her dug in earlier about the alcohol. “Yes.”

“What’s he do?”

I might as well be truthful. If she wanted to pull the plug on me, it was better to know now. I waited until I’d plated my egg, then leaned my hands against the counter. “He’s in prison.”

Her eyes grew big, and she stopped chewing. “Why?” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” she mumbled.

I’d rather she hear the truth from me. After all, as soon as I left, she’d probably do a search and find out everything anyway.

I took a deep breath, my heart heavy with the truth. “He got involved in a fight. Trey threw a punch, and the guy went down, hit his head on the way, and died. Trey was convicted of involuntary manslaughter.”

I saw the shock on her face and braced myself for the usual reaction people gave about violence. “Oh, my god.”

I didn’t say anything, waiting for the usual comments that went to the tune ofviolence never solves anything.

She stared at the counter for a few minutes, I guess lost in thought or trying to think of a way to sever ties with me. But when she looked back up at me, her face was sad. “That sounds terrible. I’m sorry. You must miss him. I can’t imagine being separated that way from Chase.”

I couldn’t respond. Her sympathy caught me off guard. Not once had anyone ever thought past Trey’s crime to think of how it might have affected me or anyone else. They usually turned their nose up, choosing to think that my brother must have anger issues or something.

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