Four Steps (Four)

“Christine told me —”

I interrupt. “They were my stepbrothers a long time ago. They’re not anymore.”

Becca looks confused, and I feel bad for being short with her, but I’m just barely keeping myself together. I want to rage and howl, or turn myself into a tiny ball and cry in the corner until I disappear, but I won’t let myself do either of those things.

“I hate to do this to you, but I need to leave,” I tell her.

“That’s fine, Caz. Do what you need to do. I can cover.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You’ve covered for me plenty of times. Don’t worry about it,” she says, her eyes full of concern. “Can I help with anything?”

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.” I always am.

When the Stone brothers show up again at Rusty’s the following night, I’m angry but not surprised. Bracing myself with the expectation that I’d be seeing them helped a lot, and I manage to go about my job while I ignore their presence.

It’s strange to remember how close we used to be, and how they mean nothing at all to me now.

They used to be everything.

My dad and I had been close, but as I got older, it seemed that nothing I did pleased him. He had issues with my clothing, my music, my hair, even the few friends I had.

Then he and Rachel started fighting, or more like he criticized everything she did and she silently took it. My stepbrothers — especially Barrett and Bronson — stood up to my dad sometimes, and anytime he yelled at me, they’d always come and check on me afterward.

Though I’d always been an introvert with my nose in a book, I started spending more time with the twins. We rode bikes around the island, they taught me to throw a football, and they played Life, Monopoly, and Sorry with me, even though I knew they didn’t really like board games.

When I was with them, life was good.

Until the day after Lincoln and Lennox graduated from high school, when all four brothers left with no notice and no goodbye.

I’m waiting tables on the opposite side of the room from where the Stone men are sitting, but when a four-top opens up in my section, they claim it. After I deliver a drink to another customer, Bronson grabs my arm as I’m passing.

“Caroline.”

I shake him off. “It’s Caz. Are you still in town? I thought you’d have left by now.”

“We’re going to be here a while,” Barrett says.

“That’s great.” My tone is flat with no expression. “Excuse me, I’m working.”

4

I don’t need anything from you

They’re back the next night, and I can’t figure out why. Sure, there’s not all that much to do on the island, and maybe they need time away from their mom, but do they really need to become regulars at my place of work?

Becca was off the previous night, but when she notices that the brothers are here again, her eyes fill with questions. She opens her mouth to voice one, closes it, and then starts again with, “Are you doing okay, Caz?”

“I’m fine.” I should probably have those words printed on a t-shirt. “Can you take their table, though? And feel free to go for it with them; they don’t mean anything to me.”

Becca’s eyes flash sideways to Christine before she says, “I’m not going to do that. It seems like you have … things to work out with them.”

Everyone knows everyone’s business on this island. “I’m not interested in working anything out,” I tell her.

It’s Saturday night and Rusty’s is packed, so it’s easier than ever to avoid the Stone brothers. Some of my favorite customers are in, and I talk and joke with them, though I never manage to fully distract myself from a constant awareness of the men’s presence.

About an hour after they arrive, Bronson and Barrett approach me at the counter while I’m collecting drinks. I don’t see them coming until they’re a few feet away, and I’m carefully balancing my tray as I load it, so there’s no way for me to make a fast escape.

“Caz,” Barrett says, his voice so deep it’s hard for me to believe he’s the same person I used to know.

I set my tray on the edge of the counter and give them my full attention, anger prickling on my skin. Maybe if we have the right conversation, they’ll stop coming to Rusty’s every night.

“How are you?” Bronson says, as if finishing his brother’s sentence. The twins — each set of them — always spoke and acted in such effortless coordination. When I first met them, I thought it was the neatest thing.

The two of them are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, essentially forming a wall between me and the rest of the room. They’re both in dark-colored t-shirts and snug-fitting jeans. To my side, Christine is on alert, ready to come over if she feels I need help.