Pete grimaces. “I don’t think they’re getting along well right now. Things got kind of tense at the end of the semester.”
“Because of the Citadel?”
“He doesn’t like it,” Justin says. “And his dad doesn’t care. If Whit’s going to college, it has to be at the Citadel or his father won’t pay for it.”
“That sucks.”
“They’ll work it out,” Pete says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
Justin slides onto a stool at the counter. “How was your day with the reporter?”
“Exhausting. I just feel weird talking about all this. It’s ancient history and not my history, either. Thank goodness Nick was there. He kept her busy with photography talk.”
“Are you supposed to see her again?” Pete asks.
“She’s supposed to call tomorrow, but I think I’m going to bail. My mom will be home in a few days and we’ll have the party and she can finish the interview there.”
“If you need us to run interference, we can do that,” Justin says.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just been a long two days. I thought Donald Gaskins was behind us, but his ghost keeps following us around.”
The soup comes to a boil and I find a bowl in the kitchen and ladle in a few scoopfuls. “I’m going to head back in—you guys should stay away from the plague. Someone can stay at my place tonight, if you want.”
“If you’re so tired are you sure you need to be here?”
I hold the bowl in both hands. “Honestly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
I leave the boys in the kitchen and head back into Whit’s bedroom. His eyes flutter when I walk in and he stretches his arms over his head. “Did you bring me food?”
“Soup. If you think you can eat it.”
He nods. “Thank you.”
I settle on the bed next to him as he moves to a sitting position. His chest is bare and his abs rippled and tan against the white sheet. I give him the soup and germs be damned, snuggle up to his side, hoping that just by being here maybe he’ll feel a little better.
15
Pete
After Summer disappeared back into Whit’s room to take care of him, Justin decided to stay down in Richard’s house, away from the illness but close enough if they need him. I headed home to my parents’ small house a few blocks away from the trailer park. I pass my father’s work truck, going in the front door, and they’re asleep when I get home. Even though I wake up early, my mother’s in the kitchen when I get up the next morning.
“Hey,” I say, heading to the cabinet for a bowl and some cereal. “Where’s Dad?”
“He had a delivery coming in early for the development in Shallotte.”
My parents got married when they were sixteen. I came seven months later. My dad and his whole family worked as welders, inside the union, the whole deal. My mother worked retail occasionally but mostly stayed home. They worked hard for me to have a different life, different choices, and the pride they have about me going to Clemson and into engineering is something they can’t hide.
I don’t mind their encouragement, not the way Whit does, even though it can be a bit smothering at times. They were strict when I was growing up, to keep me on the straight-and-narrow, to keep me from being distracted. But as I get close to graduation they’ve seemed tenser than before. Like they think I’m going to blow it at any moment.
I eat quickly and my mother checks the clock on the microwave, “You in a hurry?”
“Last night when Justin and I got home from the marina, Whit was pretty sick. I’m going to run by before work.”
Her forehead creases. “You call his parents?”
“No. You know he’s not talking to them right now.”
“So, Justin stayed with him?”