Page 89 of The Season
Eddie claps Matty on the back. “No worries, mate.” His voice is light, like he didn’t just pull Matty back from whatever hell he was trapped in within his own mind, but he keeps his hand on the back of Matty’s jacket as they climb up the steps, side by side.
I follow behind them, feeling a strange mix of relief and gratitude and longing. And maybe, just a little bit of loneliness.
Chapter28
Seth
The knife thuds against the chopping board, a steady rhythm that’s at odds with the thundering behind my ribs. My hands tremble, and I grip the knife tighter, focusing all my energy on cutting the potato into perfect cubes. Again. Since the ones I cut before are in the trash, along with the shattered baking dish.
He’s a good kid. Just needs to work on his anger management problem.
That’s what the principal of my school had told my parents. I remember hiding my hands under the desk when they came in, not wanting them to see the blood on my knuckles, the swollen and split skin.
Are you a retard too? I bet you are. Just a whole family of retards.
By the time I’d realized what was happening, John Gilbert was on the ground, unconscious, one tooth a bloody glob on the linoleum floor by the lockers.
It was the last time anyone ever said that word in my presence for the rest of the school year.
I’d held the twins close that evening, pressing kisses to their golden curls until they were squirming and laughing. ‘You’re perfect,’I had told them.‘Just the way you are.’ At four years old, they were still both small enough that I could lift them up together, one in each arm.
I give a wry smile, some of the tension bleeding out of me at the memory of them. Now, at ten years old, they’re more interested in riding their bikes or dressing up as supeheroes than cuddling their big brother.
Vaguely, I’m aware of shuffling behind me in the kitchen. Of the door to Tom and Lily’s room clicking shut, of Antoine and Liam’s whispers trailing down the hallway. And then I’m alone.
I let out a breath, and focus my attention on chopping potatoes. On piling them into the glass baking dish, drizzling oil over top, along with a healthy amount of salt and pepper. Once they’re baked, I’ll grate cheese over them.
A poor man’sTartiflette, my dad would call it.
I huff a laugh, and wonder what Antoine will think of that. Most likely he’ll just give me that half-amused, half-indulgent smile, like he did when I explained to him the vegetable and egg pie I made was the Canadian equivalent of a quiche.
The front door swings open just as I’m sliding the potatoes into the oven, and my heart skitters with excitement at the thought of seeing Lily.
That excitement quickly turns to concern when I see Lily’s face, pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed, as if she’s been crying.
“What happened?” I ask, tossing the oven mitt on the counter and crossing the short distance between the stove and the front door in a few long strides.
Eddie kicks off his boots, his face pulled into a scowl. “Lily nearly killed us with her driving. I think there should be a rule that she doesn’t drive in snow anymore. She’s fucking terrible at it.”
My brow dips, defensive anger rising up at Eddie’s words, and I open my mouth to say something, but he’s shouldering past, one hand pressed against Matty’s back as he practically shoves him down the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” Lily calls after them, her voice tremulous.
“Holy fucking shit, Jesus Christ. Oh my god.” Eddie’s voice rings out from the end of the hallway, the sound followed by a door slamming shut and then a mumbled: “What in the actual fuck?”
Lily stares wide-eyed down the darkened hallway, then presses her hands to her face, looking up at me with almost panicked amusement. “Did they… was that?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Did he just walk in on Liam and Antoine?”
I grimace, rubbing the back of my neck. “Shoot.” Should I have done something? Warned them, maybe?
“It’s okay, guys.” Matty’s voice rises almost comically high. “I’m cool with… uh… you know. Just… uh… maybe put a sock on the door handle next time or something.”
“It’s not fucking okay,” Eddie hisses, and then there’s the sound of another door opening. “Jesus fucking Christ, my eyeballs...” His voice is cut off by the sound of a door slamming shut, and I bite back a worried smile.
Lily drops her hands from her face, then steps closer to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face into the center of my chest, something between a sob and a laugh bursting out of her.
My heart stutters, a liquid warmth pooling through me at her sudden burst of affection, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing in the scent of swimming pool and shampoo.
“Your hair is wet,” I comment, rubbing soothing strokes down the length of her spine, smiling at how familiar her body is beneath my touch now. “Did you go for a swim?”
