“She is?” my friend replies cautiously.
“Jake does like me in basic white cotton. It’s not like it’s staying on long anyway.”
Christina’s jaw drops and her cheeks turn flaming red. For once, she’s left without a retort, and she tosses the tank top in her hand on the nearest table and storms out of the store. Claire and I hold still until the door swings shut and then we burst out laughing, doubling over from the pain.
I don’t find the boys anything that afternoon, but I do leave with one present: the gift of getting even.
24
Charlie
The routine of our life changes a lot since we moved in with Dad. There’s less fun and fights, something that comes from living without the guys. Dad doesn’t have the same spark Sierra carries; who’s caught somewhere between a mom and a sister. Even when he’s being nice, he doesn’t have a nurturing bone in his body. At some point, maybe always, his life became about survival and we were just one of the obstacles in the way.
The resort is packed for the holidays and that makes him busy—he gets overtime and he likes it. My job is only part-time so it’s over at eight every night and George fills in where needed, but since it’s inconsistent, my brother has taken on the role of shopping and cooking. We both learned how to navigate this kind of thing at Sierra’s where everyone had to pitch in. I don’t mind the job so much. It’s tedious but quiet. I can sneak in time to play my games and qualified for a tournament coming up on the 27th at the university in Reno. There’s a five-thousand-dollar scholarship for the winner.
“I still can’t believe he’s letting us take the car up for the Christmas party,” George says as he covers a plate of food for my dad. He’s working late, which is one reason he said we could go to the party. Guilt, I think, for working on Christmas Eve. I’m surprised he even feels it. Maybe he is making progress, but I’m not willing to say that out loud.
We stop by his office and drop off the food, leaving it on his desk.
“Have you told him about the tournament?” George asks in the hallway.
“No. I keep waiting for the right time.”
He snorts. “Good luck with that.”
He’s right. There’s no such thing as the right time where dad is concerned. We’re both still walking on eggshells waiting for the “real” him to come back out. The one that rages and rants at George. The one that hits. I haven’t seen that person since we’ve been back, but it’s only been a few weeks.
“I’ll tell him after Christmas.”
“You’re cutting it close.”
He’s not aware that I’ve signed up and confirmed. I’m going to that tournament—with or without my dad’s approval. I would just be nice if he’d cooperate, since I need his signature on the form.
George drives the beat-up truck up the mountain. With the leaves gone and the holiday lights out, it’s interesting to see the tiny spots of civilization along the way that you can’t normally find. Little cabins and cottages up and down the mountains.
“I kind of hate this drive now,” George says over the music. The radio is stuck on country, or so he says. I think he likes it.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard going up there, you know? Seeing what we’re missing?”
I nod. Staying away from Lee Vines, from Starlee, is hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. “It’s better than shutting it out, right? Because that’s the only other option.”
“I know,” his hands grip the steering wheel. “It still sucks.”
“I don’t think they’re enjoying life that much more. From what Dexter says, Sierra hasn’t budged an inch on them seeing Starlee.”
“Oh, I know that’s true. I saw the interaction between everyone at the Wayward Sun the other day. She tried her hardest not to have me drive up there with them and Dexter was livid. I got the feeling it was the first time Starlee had been in there in weeks.”
George had told me about this kid Jasper flirting with Starlee. I know it’s not unreasonable. She’s beautiful. Sweet and fun. Why wouldn’t the vultures circle once we were out of the picture? But it makes my skin itch to think about another guy near her.
As we near Lee Vines, George slows the truck, entering the little town slowly. Even though everything is closed, there are lights everywhere—the tree in the middle of the big yard. The windows at the lodge and a large wreath hanging from the diner’s door. The
book and grocery store have small trees in the windows and the hiking shop has a full display, including Santa and his reindeer. We spent the last two Christmases up here and yeah, George is right, it hurts as much as it helps to come up here.
He parks the truck in the Wayward Sun driveway and we step out of the warm cab and into the cold night. We pass the big tree and I can hear the holiday music coming out of the café. Everyone we know is in that house. Our real family and friends.
“There’s Starlee,” George says, looking in the big front window. The Epic Café is an old bungalow, with a front porch and picture window. Sure enough, she’s standing right in the front, talking to Gertie who owns the Gas-and-Stop. Her face is lit up, beautiful, and I know one thing is true: as bittersweet as coming home feels, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.