Page 9 of Actions and Reactions
Fuck!
“What are you going to do?” he asks when he catches up to me. The agitation and urgency in the question tells me I’m right about his feelings.
“I’m going to yell, probably,” I tell him honestly.
“Good,” he answers, his voice as full of anger as mine.
I open the door and walk right past the empty living room and over to the kitchen where, just as I thought I would, I find all the “adults” sitting at the big farmhouse table.
“Where’s Lottie?” I ask about my sister, looking right into my mother’s eyes. She looks up, startled—and who could blame her—but I’m not about to sugarcoat shit today.
“In her room,” Mom says, voice full of trepidation.
I turn when I hear a thunk, and see that Ivan’s dropped his big duffel by his feet, and then he kicks it down the hallway so hard it collides with his room’s door at the end.
Our parents’ rooms are upstairs, and we have the four down here. As far as I know, he always does that when we get here because, at least when we were kids, he couldn’t bother to take the minute to put his suitcase in his room before running out the door to start his summer fun.
His impatience clearly hasn’t changed.
“Why don’t you sit, boys?” Dad asks, his voice so damn careful. Like he thinks he’s talking to wild lions.
“Oh no, fuck that.” I shake my head and put my bag down too.
“Yeah, no,” Ivan agrees and crosses his arms. “You have some explaining to do for all this bullshit.”
“Hey, watch it!” Hulk snaps at his son, and his stormy eyes would intimidate literally anyone else, but Ivan only tips his chin up a little more then scoffs.
I walk around the big island and open the liquor cabinet.
Just like I thought, there’s a brand new bottle of Uncle Hulk’s favorite vodka, so I snatch it and walk back to Ivan.
“We...” I gesture to Ivan and me. “Are going to the dock to get shitfaced, and you guys should think about how hurtful you’re being.”
“You’re acting like a child, Si,” Mom tells me softly.
“No,” Ivan snaps. “You’retreating us like children. If you’d done that seven years ago, maybe I would’ve been at Silas’s graduation, or maybe he would’ve been at my draft, but you treated us like adults when we weren’t, and now you don’t get to coddle or meddle anymore. Not while we figure out how to move forward. Thanks for yourhelp,” he emphasizes with obvious derision. “But Silas and I are fine, and now we’re going to have fun away from all of you.”
I don’t know if I agree with every single word. I know all four of them did the best they could with the information we gave them, but they could’ve pushed us more to explain the situation no matter how embarrassing.
We were kids, and we were hurting.
My parents were also hurting, I admit that—Iunderstandthat. After all, I almost lost my leg, and seeing me so hurt was hell for them too.
But I know now that after—months after when I was done with my physical therapy—they should’ve pushed me to talk to them or anyone about Ivan.
It’s hard to come to peace with the fact that they did the best they could, though.
“Come on,” Ivan whispers and nods to the back door.
We follow the path through the woods that leads to thelake, and when we get to the shore, I’m not surprised when he walks right past our dock and toward our neighbor’s.
“Do you think maybe there’s someone there this time?” I ask, my tone deceptively calm, but I need to try, for both of us.
“No,” he says shortly and shakes his head once. “I came last year and it’s still empty.” He opens the bottle and takes a mouthful then passes it over to me.
I take it on autopilot, and before I can second-guess myself, take a swig too—aaaandimmediately regret it.
“Oh god, that’s bad,” I say between coughs. “I don’t know what kind of life you think I’ve led, but drinking vodka straight from the bottle really hasn’t been a part of it at all.”
