Page 31 of Toxic Hope
As usual, things aren’t adding up, and maybe that’s what has me feeling uneasy. Uncomfortable, on edge. We don’t even have to volunteer today since we doubled our hours on Tuesday. Dad wasn’t a huge fan of that, but he really didn’t have any arguments that would make a difference, either. “There’s nothing technically wrong with what you did, but don’t get cute again,” he warned at the time.
Another example of why it’s always better to explain things later than to ask for permission beforehand.
Someone calls out behind us as we walk across the quad. “Hey! Wanna come over for a swim?”
Looking over my shoulder, I see Briggs walking hand in hand with Wren. The two of them are practically glued together night and day. It’s something I’m getting used to—at first, it was almost too bizarre. A glance at Easton tells me he doesn’t like the idea, which makes me feel better about not liking it. “I don’t think so,” I reply, shaking my head. “Next time.”
“I thought you guys weren’t volunteering today!” he shouts.
And that means there’s nothing else for us to do? “Next time,” I tell him again, turning around and continuing toward the parking lot. He needs to let it drop. I’m not in the mood to explain myself, not that I ever am, really.
“You don’t feel like going for a swim?” Easton is strangely quiet, hands thrust in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
Of course not, and he knows it. Just like I knew without him saying a word, he wouldn’t want to go to Briggs’s house. A month ago? Hell, even two weeks ago? We would’ve jumped at the chance, because swimming usually leads to hanging out with pizza and beer and bullshitting through the night. That’s always a good time.
Things are different now. Whether or not my brother and I can put the whole thing into words—which neither of us has been able to do yet. Yes, we agreed yesterday we wouldn’t do anything with or to Emma on our own, but… no matter how much of my time and energy go toward thinking about her, I don’t have the words to explain it to Easton. I wouldn’t know where to start.Hey, I think I’m obsessed. I might be addicted to this girl. I don’t know where the line is between making her sorry she was ever born and making her do things to me.
“I know what we should do,” I decide by the time we’re in the truck. It’s an idea that’s been picking at the back of my mind since I woke up this morning. Maybe even before then. Maybe itstarted when I picked Easton up yesterday in front of her house. “We should bring her something. Like soup.”
He doesn’t bother busting my balls, the way I thought he might. Like he would make a joke about me wanting to see her and looking for any excuse to do it. “Good idea. We can check on her. There’s a diner along the way. They have good chicken noodle soup, don’t they?”
“Yeah. Look at us. Being a little helpful and stuff. Caring about other people.” I have to laugh, since that is pretty far away from the front of my mind. But from the outside, that’s probably how it looks. Going into the diner, ordering a large soup to go, asking for extra cracker packets and everything. She is lucky to have people like us, trying to look out for her.
It’s hard not to laugh even at myself.
“So you said she owes you a favor,” I muse once we’re on the road again, with Easton holding the soup in his lap.
“Slow down,” he mutters. “I don’t need this shit spilling all over me.”
“Then you better hold it more carefully.” I can’t help jerking the wheel to make the truck lurch, and the sound he makes while he tries to keep the container closed makes me choke back my enjoyment. I don’t need him punching me while I’m navigating traffic. “See? You’ve gotta be careful.”
“Fuck off. And yeah, she knows she owes me a favor.”
“When are you cashing in?”
“I’m not sure. You know me, though. I don’t like to wait.” I do know him, which is why I asked. Mom used to always beg him not to spend his birthday money all at once, because there was always something else he wanted and would end up begging her to buy a few days after he blew his cash on whatever sparkly thing had caught his attention. Not that I’m much more patient than he is.
Pulling up in front of the house, we exchange a look. “Remember. We’re just two nice young men visiting a friend,” I murmur, unbuckling my belt. “It’s a good thing grandmas love us.”
“She just seemed happy Emma was finally making friends,” he points out. “But it helps that it’s so easy to charm old ladies.”
“And you’ve had plenty of practice from the hospital.” I’m still snickering at the way he rolls his eyes by the time we reach the front porch. But before I have a chance to ring the doorbell, the door opens.
It’s clear from the touch of lipstick Lois wears that she’s on her way somewhere. “Hello, boys!” She greets us with a wide smile. “I didn’t think I would see you again this soon.”
“I hope you’re not disappointed,” I reply with a grin and a wink.
“You need to watch out with that smile of yours,” she warns, wagging a finger. “You are a charming devil.”
Easton holds up the bag he’s carried since we left the diner. “We figured Emma’s not feeling well, so we brought her some chicken noodle soup.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better.” She picks up a purse, then checks inside while she explains, “I’m on my way out. Big bingo tournament.”
This afternoon keeps getting better. “Be careful. I hear those bingo tournaments can be pretty cutthroat.”
She might as well give us permission to do whatever we want to do. Like a sheep opening the door a little wider so the wolf can come in and make himself comfortable.
“We’re not trying to hold you up,” I tell her as we enter the house. No, the sooner she leaves, the better.
