Page 110 of Hate You, Maybe
A tiny laugh bubbles up in me even as tears roll down my face. “See? This is exactly how you get everyone to like you. Effortlessly.”
“I’ve got news for you, Kroft.” He chuckles, swiping at a tear. “You took some real effort.”
“I always will.” My voice is shaky, and my breath catches. “Whether I’m in Harvest Hollow or Charlotte. At Stony Peak or Carolina Arts.”
“That’s okay with me,” he says. “Let me be okay with it.”
“Why would you ever want to take that on, though?” I rub my wet face with my sleeve. “Dexter Michaels doesn’t do rainclouds. Your family’s all sunshine and rainbows, andhappiness is a choice. All the time.”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Something skitters behind his eyes, and he works his jaw back and forth. “Maybe it’s time you knew the truth.”
“What truth?”
“It’s a who, not a what.” He shifts his body so he’s facing me on the bed. I meet his gaze, and he draws in a long breath. “My sister.”
“Which one?” I blink. “You’ve got three of them.”
“That’s the thing.” He swallows. “I actually have four.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sayla
Goose bumps ghost up the back of my neck, but I’m not sure what he means. “There’s another sister?”
He nods, slowly. “Clara was only three when we lost her.” His voice is full of gravel. “But she’s still one of us. She always will be.”
My stomach plummets, and I can’t find the right words. Thereareno right words.
Except …
“I’m so sorry, Dex.” I reach for his hand, cup it in my lap.
“I was twelve at the time. Kendal was ten. Landry, eight. Jojo, six. Clara was the baby. A surprise, my mom said when she told us she was pregnant.” He lets out a broken laugh. “After Clara was born, we called her a blessing, though. And she really was.”
“Of course.” I squeeze his fingers.
“They were such good parents,” he says, his gaze lifting again. “I mean, theyaregood parents. Even with five kids,they never seemed to be stretched too thin. They probably were, though.” He shakes his head. “But we sure didn’t see it. They didn’t show that to us. My sisters and I always felt safe and cared for.”
“I’m sure you did,” I say, softly, but then I tell myself to keep quiet and let him talk.
“We had this routine whenever we got sick,” he says, “which was pretty often with so many kids trading germs. Hot soup. Cold washcloths. Honey for a cough. Rest in bed.” He squints, recalling the details. “Mom kept an eye on any fevers, and if things didn’t get better after a day or so, we’d go to the doctor. She did the same with Clara, the last time, too. The doctor looked her over, prescribed some antibiotics. Ear infection, he said. Told my mom she’d be fine. My mom told my dad.Fine. They repeated that word all over our house. Fine. Fine. Fine. They trusted the doctor. But doctors are human.” His shoulders hitch. “They make mistakes too. At least this one did. So Clara got worse—more listless, pale, glassy-eyed—and eventually they ended up in the ER. My mom insisted something was off. That Clara wasn’t Clara, she kept saying. By the time they figured out what was really wrong with her, it was too late.” His face goes grim. “Meningitis can be like that, apparently.”
“Oh, Dex.” My words are etched with sorrow.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, pulls his hand free to rub at his upper arm. “The tattoo the girls and I all got? That was for her. For Clara.”
I nod, breathless. No wonder he protects that part of himself. “Right up to the moon,” I say.
“And back,” he adds. “It was her favorite book. Just one line in my mom’s handwriting means we’ll always have her with us, you know?”
No. I don’t.I can’t even imagine. And I never should’vemade any fuss about me today. Any fuss ever. Me, complaining that I had to move around a lot.
That’s nothing.
I’d move a million more times to take the sadness out of Dexter’s eyes.
“The bear in my office—he was Clara’s, too,” he says. “Well, he started out as mine. That part was true. Years later, Clara found him in an old toy box. Named him Clarence.” A smile tugs at his lip. “We teased her for not being very original. But she was three. She named all her stuffed animals some form of her name. She slept with the thing every night.”
