Page 170 of Remiss
“Rule would like to talk to his mother and sister,” Freya announced.
“He would?”
“Yes,” Rule answered. Maybe if he refused his medicine and his condition deteriorated again, Mom would relent. “Just for a few minutes.”
Pursing his lips and pulling at his collar as if it was too tight, the priest glanced over his shoulder, toward the administrative offices.
“Talking to her may not help you,” Father Wilkins said, ringing his hands and then clasping them together. “Let’s go to the restaurant. I don’t want you to have a setback. You were…it was frightening.”
“I’m not all that hungry.”
“I should’ve come up to you.” Father Wilkins half-turned, glanced in the same direction. Snatching a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his brow. “It is most urgent that we leave now. I thought you’d be happy. I didn’t think you’d put up so much resistance. Otherwise…” He dabbed the cloth over his lips and nodded to the long hallway on the right. It led to a private parking lot, reserved for staff. The priest was permitted to park his SUV there. “Take him to my car, Freya. I will see if your friend would like to ride with us. Fresh air will do you a world of good.”
He walked around Rule and pressed the button on the elevator, then nodded toward the door at the end of the hallway. “Hurry. Go.”
Freya turned his wheelchair in the direction, but before she had a chance to push Rule away, one of the office doors slammed open.
Mom stormed out, then turned and waited until Rebel limped into view, painfully slow and in tears. At first, Rule thought he was imagining them, until Rebel lifted her head and her gaze fell on him.
“Rule!” she squealed, sobbing, and clutching Mom.
Turning, Mom took in the scene, sweeping her furious gaze from Freya to Father Wilkins, and finally to Rule.
He forgot to ask Freya to wheel him and, instead, guided himself to Mom and Rebel, operating the chair with the two big back wheels. Rebel hopped her way to a group of chairs, finding the same newfound energy as Rule.
She didn’t say that. He just knew. The thought settled into him. He could feel her again, know her without words, connect with her on a level that only twins shared.
They met each other halfway. Rebel leaned down at the same moment he leaned forward. In sync, they wrapped their arms around each other. For long moments, neither one of them spoke. They didn’t have too. Not then and not ever, though Rule had so much to tell her.
Starting with… “I’m so sorry, Rebel,” he whispered tearfully. “I—”
Rebel straightened and tangled her fingers through his hair, just the way they did when they were little. They loved to play dress up. Because Rebel dressed in Mom’s clothes, Rule had, too.
Mom, Dad, his brothers never disparaged him. They just chalked it up to the usual: Rule following whatever Rebel wanted.
“I’m sorry, brother.” She blinked; tears poured down her cheeks anyway. “I was so mean and horrible to you. I should have been kinder. More understanding. You wouldn’t have gotten so bad off.”
“It isn’t your fault,” he told her.
“It isn’t your fault either, Rule.”
“My head isn’t right. My brain. It is my fault.”
“As opposed to whose head? Certainly not Daddy’s. Mine. We’re all fucking lunatics.” Rebel clapped her hand over her mouth and lowered her lashes, more tears rushing down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
Rule smiled and grabbed the hand that didn’t have a cast. “You will forever be wild and free, sister. Don’t change. I always admired you so much.” He drew in a breath. “And if you want Diesel—”
“He’s our brother. That’s gross.”
Rule wouldn’t say anymore.
His sister leaned in. “Do you want to see Mom?” she whispered, close to his ear. “That fuckhead director said you didn’t.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Rule threw the priest an evil eye. “I wonder where he got that idea.”
“I need to sit, but if you don’t want to see her, we can go.”
“I miss Mom as much as I miss you.”
