Page 37 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
NOW
I ARRIVED BACK FROM MYbrush with Henry’s ghost—overcaffeinated, towelless, clothes damp—to find my entire family awake and gathered on the rocks behind Sunny Sunday.
Caleb was stretching his calves. Taz was helping Helene fasten the Velcro straps of her waterproof Tevas. Pam and Tim were pointing excitedly at the rock bass swimming around the floating dock. Clarence was following Karma around, poking her with a piece of kindling. And Karma was pointedly ignoring Clarence while snooping around Mom’s shoulder, trying to get an early peek at the event list. Everyone was dressed in bathing suits, loose T-shirts, and running shoes.
And that’s when I remembered.
The Olympics. The Olympics were today.
“Do we have to do the Opening Ceremony?” Karma asked loudly, holding out a foot to try and trip Clarence during his next attack. “I thought that was just for little kids. None of us are little anymore.”
“Speak for yourself, princess,” said Clarence, giving up on bothering Karma to begin his search for a branch large enough to serve as the Opening Ceremony torch. “Adulthood is for alcoholics and suckers.”
“Or,” said Caleb dryly, raising an eyebrow at his little brother, “anyone who regularly remembers to check their mailbox for parking tickets.”
“Hey.” Clarence frowned over his shoulder. “That was one time.” He paused, chewing his lower lip. “Or maybe four. I don’t know.”
Caleb rolled his eyes.
As I watched the two of them go back and forth, I thought about what I’d overheard the night before:
How do you think she’ll feel when she finds out that she was the last one to know?
The last to knowwhat? It was something to do with Caleb, that much I’d gathered. Perfect, mature, wise, put-together Caleb. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad. Still, I couldn’t help but be curious. Something was going on in our family, and as usual, I was the last to know.
I could have just gone over to him and asked directly. Treated the situation as I would if it were Karma or Taz or even Clarence. But then…who was I kidding? I’d never have the guts to do that. He might have been my brother, but the truth was, he wasn’tjusta brother. He was myoldestbrother, the gap between us almost thirty years wide. He’d been married for longer than I’d been alive. He spoke to Speedy not as a father but as a close, confiding friend. I could never measure up to someone like that. Not a chance. When you’re stuck at the bottom of the family tree, the distance to the top feels unscalable, like clawing your way to the top of a redwood using nothing but your fingernails.
Caleb intimidated me. Always had and probably always would.
Up by the cabin, the screen door slammed shut. I turned around to find a towering head of dark, curly hair step out onto the back porch. His eyes found mine right away, as if they’d been looking for me.
We both looked quickly away.
“What exactlyarethe Cradle Island Olympics?” asked Pam, Helene’s mother.
“Excellent question,” said Mom. “The Olympics—”
“—are one of the oldest Beck family traditions,” interrupted Clarence. “Started decades ago, back when we spent months up here at a time. There were water balloon fights and scavenger hunts and capture the flag and Greased Pig, this truly psychotic version of water polo we play using a watermelon slathered end-to-end in Vaseline.” He smiled wickedly. “Things get vicious pretty quickly.”
Pam shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Ostensibly it’s a fun day for the kids,” said Clarence, who had finally located a branch of the proper size, height, and heft. He picked up the toilet paper roll on the deck and stuffed it onto the end of the stick. “But really it’s more of a safe outlet for all the grudges and frustrations that pile up when eight white people with too much time and too much money share one island for an entire summer.”
Helene laughed openly—a loud, appreciative sound. Mom looked like she wanted to murder her stepson. Clarence laid the unlit toilet paper torch against the patio railing and grinned cheekily.
I admire all of my siblings, but if I’m being honest, I probably admire Clarence the most. He possesses this magnetic self-certainty. Plays three instruments, speaks intelligently but never seriously, adopts conspiracy theories for the fun of it, and defends them with greater confidence than most display when naming what they had for lunch the day before. At every moment, he wears the same expression—glittering eyes and a bemused smile, as if someone has just said something childish and amusing. As if he’s always on the cusp of sharing some hilarious inside joke, then thinks better of it.
“You know what?” Mom said, eager to change the subject. “Let’s run through the whole schedule for the week.”
“Schedule?” Karma sighed. “So much for vacation.”
Mom ran inside and fetched a stack of sturdy four-by-six cardstock. The same kind we used at Blossom for mail-in promotions. She circled the group, handing them out.
Taron & Helene
A WEEKEND OF LOVE…
Day 1:Welcome Dinner
