Page 15 of The Long Haul

“Am, too,” I retort, each of us cracking up at the silliness.

“She’s watching you,” Catherine quietly informs me.

“Because we’re dorks.”

“Because she likes you.”

Don’t fall for it. Don’t give in to… “You think so?”

My need to know is worth any teasing she might throw at me. “She’s smitten, bro.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Vincent wants to know.

“About Carson being in l-o-v-e.” Vincent pauses, and I know he’s picturing the letters in his mind, piecing together what they spell. When he nods, I know he’s got it. Vincent is a visual thinker. He needs to see it. Otherwise, he struggles to make sense of it. We’ve all gotten used to it and know what he needs to help him process.

“With Aubrey,” he confirms. “We all love her.” Then Vincent grins and I groan. “Though not in the way Carson does.”

“I want a new family,” I declare, unaware Aubrey and dad had rejoined us.

“No, you don’t,” Aubrey tells me. “You need to be careful what you wish for, Carson Jenkins,” she says. “I know how badly it can backfire.” She sounds so sad, I want to embrace her, but mom beats me to it.

She’s always been the fastest of us when a hug is needed.

“How old were you when you lost your parents, sweetheart?” Mom asks, brushing hair from Aubrey’s face.

“Nine.”

“Just a baby. You poor thing.” Another hug, this one longer. “Can I ask…Would you mind if…?”

“I went into foster care,” she answers the unspoken question. “I was there for a year.”

“You were adopted then?” Mom is so hopeful, her heart hurting for that little girl Aubrey once was.

“Ken and Karen Trudeau took me in when no one else wanted me.”

My head whips toward them, the statement off. There’s no emotion in it. No thankfulness that she was adopted. Given a second chance. It’s as if…

“That was weird, right?” Vincent mouths after getting my attention. “It wasn’t just me?”

“Yeah and no.”

“Mixed signals, brother, but I get you.”

I see by dad’s thoughtful expression that Vincent and I aren’t the only people wondering what we’re missing.

Or perhaps what Aubrey is.

Chapter Four

Audrey

December 22nd…

“I know it’s last minute, but…”

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Jenkins, sorry, Diana as she asked to be called, wants to know when I don’t finish. It’s a gentle prod, the kind only somebody that cares about the other person can pull off without sounding pushy or impatient. Actually, what she’d said was, “Diana is fine, sweetheart. Or mom. Whichever feels right.” Mom feels perfect, and I wanted to use it immediately in reference to this wonderful woman. Holding me back? Knowing it’d make it even harder to leave when the time comes. And it will come. I can’t keep lying to them. It’s physically hurting me to do so. I’m losing sleep. My appetite. My heart.

Oh wait. I already lost that to all of them.

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