Page 67 of Little Bird
Sammy and I walk in that direction, our eyes on the furniture and Sammy talking a mile a minute.
“I know the owner, actually. Thomas. I went to school with his son. Good people. Really artsy.”
“You went to school up here, then?” I ask, surprised. How the hell would she have gone to the same school I was in and kept herself hidden? This girl is the opposite of subtle. I can’t imagine walking into a room she was in and failing to notice her.
She snorts. “If you can call that one-room hellhole a school. Sure. I grew up here, same as Gabe. How else would we be related?”
Except they’re not related, which I say. She laughs at this and launches into one of the most complicated stories I’ve ever heard. She’s never met her real father, as he was only in the picture long enough to get her mother pregnant. Her mother stayed in Hawke’s Wood, though, and had the baby, then got married to another man. Before that could lead to anything she died in a car accident, leaving a toddler girl behind.
And the new guy left town.
“So I grew up at my aunt’s house,” she finished. “With my stepbrother.”
“Wait, stepbrother?” I ask, my mind scrambling to catch up. “You mean your aunt’s kid?”
“No, Aunt Sue doesn’t have any kids. I mean Chris. My dad’s other kid.”
I shake my head. “Your dad was married to someone else after he was married to your mom?”
“Not my real dad. My stepdad. He had a kid with some girl from out of town who ditched the kid with his dad and never came back. So when he married my mom, he brought that kid along with him. And then when my mom died, we both ended up with Sue.”
This is like a fucking soap opera. I’m not even sure I have it right. And I have one very big question left.
“So this guy had a son and then got married and gained a stepdaughter. You. Both moms are out of the picture, and this guy is...?”
Not in the picture, evidently, since the two kids ended up with this Aunt Sue person.
Sammy shrugs and makes a face. “He didn’t stick around, either. Military guy. Left the moment he got new orders and didn’t come back until a few months ago.”
I struggle to put all of that together, then realize I still don’t have the full story. “So how are you related to Gabe? You’re a stepcousin. That would make... your stepdad...”
She turns large, luminous gray eyes on me. “My stepfather is Gunner’s brother,” she says quietly. “And he’s a fucking son of a bitch.”
Gunner’s brother?
I even know Gunner had a brother.
Though if what Sammy is saying is true, that’s because that brother has barely spent any time in town.
We step into the back room then, and I look around to find this Thomas person. It doesn’t take long; he’s the only one back here. I walk toward him, hand extended, and do my best to explain who I am: Gunner’s ex-stepdaughter, back in town for Christmas. I ask why he doesn’t carry any pieces from Gunner and Gabe, and the man shakes his head like this is a stupid question.
“I’d love to, but Gunner won’t hear of it. Every time I ask he says he doesn’t need the fucking help. Says his grandfather did just fine without putting his furniture in a shop, and Gunner is going to do the same.”
I’m shocked at this. What sort of businessman doesn’t want as much exposure as possible? I don’t know much about their business, but I know that if you’re making a product, you want as many eyes on it as possible.
When I say as much, though, Thomas shrugs.
“I would have thought that at one time, and Gunner would have agreed with me, but something’s changed about him in the last four years. He’s closed down. Gotten stubborn. Ornery. No talking to him anymore.”
That doesn’t make any sense.
Except it does, because I’ve noticed the same thing about him. Thought the same thing. He’s not the man I used to know.
Evidently that reaches further than just the house.
I turn and walk toward the exit, lost in thought. Gunner has spent years alienating his own son and withdrawing from the world around him, by all accounts, and it’s hurting every aspect of his life. His relationship with Gabe is practically nonexistent.
He’s sinking his grandfather’s business with lack of vision and stubborn pride.
