“My life is none of their business,” I blurt out. “If I tell them I don’t need their help, they should mind their own business.”
She’s quiet for a minute. A car honks out on the road, followed by the sound of tires burning rubber on the asphalt.
“Don’t you need to be inside?” I ask her.
“Tom’s got it covered. Do you mind if I ask, have they said they expect anything from you in return for the money?”
“No, but I don’t want anything from them.”
After another long silence, she says, “They’re your brothers, and it’s natural they’d want to take care of you. I don’t think they meant any harm by giving you money, when they have plenty to share.”
When I don’t say anything, she continues. “Have you thought about why it makes you so angry?”
I don’t really know what to say. I was mad at them for years, and so angry at them for coming back and thinking they can just pick up where they left off, but is that really what they’re doing?
“They hurt you, didn’t they?” Christine asks, her voice gentle.
“They did,” I admit, my voice small.
“Are you’re afraid they’re going to hurt you again?”
I nod, my throat feeling tight.
“That’s reasonable, but maybe you should give them a chance. It was a long time ago that they left — they were practically still boys — and maybe they had their reasons.”
I nod again.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve noticed that you tend to keep people at arm’s length, Caz. Becca and I consider you our friend, but I think we might just be coworkers to you. That’s fine, of course, but I noticed there were no other friends at your father’s funeral, and I thought that seemed unusual.”
I shrug.
“Not letting people get close can save you from getting hurt, but it’s no way to live your life.”
I stare at the ground, wanting to tell her she doesn’t know me, but realizing that what she’s saying is actually hitting close to home.
20
Ours
Christine goes back inside the bar, and a few minutes later, I follow. Lennox and Barrett are waiting for me just inside the door.
“Caz, can we talk?” Barrett asks.
“Yes, we need to talk.”
Barrett glances at his watch. “It’s almost closing time. Do you want to come over again?”
“Sure, but just to talk,” I say.
“That’s too bad. I was going to make cheese sandwiches again, but if you only want to talk…”
Without thinking, I give his arm a playful punch, and instantly I’m transported back to childhood. The gesture feels so familiar and so natural. “What kind of addictive drugs are you putting in those sandwiches?” I ask.
He smiles, seemingly relieved that I’m not yelling at him. “I’ll never tell.”
At their beach house, the mood is notably different from the previous nights. Barrett makes the sandwiches right after we arrive, and we eat in near silence. We start off on the deck, but the wind is blowing hard, so we end up in the living room.
I’m in a comfortable, oversized chair. Bronson’s in a chair opposite mine, and the other three men are on the sofa. I’m nearly through a glass of wine, and I’m still trying to decide how to say what I want to say.
Before I find the right words, Lennox speaks up. “Caz, we never meant to offend you.”
“I know,” I say, looking down at my lap.
“Money can make life easier and more fun, and that’s all we wanted to do for you. We were wrong to say that you were struggling,” he says.
“Thank you, and I’d be lying if I said I never did struggle, but I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen, and I’m proud that I’ve never had to ask anyone for anything.”
“You should be proud, Caz,” Barrett says.
“I know you’re just trying to be kind, but my independence is important to me.”
The brothers are quiet as I take another sip from my glass.
“I’m going to send the extra money back to you. I don’t want to feel indebted.”
Bronson bangs his hand on the arm of his chair, making a soft thud in the padding. “You are so stubborn.”
“I’m stubborn? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“Let’s just keep talking, okay?” Lennox says, his brow knitted in concern. “No more fighting.”
“You wouldn’t be indebted to us, Caz,” Barrett says. “You don’t owe us anything. We don’t look at it like that at all.”
“We want to do nice things for you because we can,” Lincoln says.
“We’re family, Caz, even though we messed up by never getting in touch with you after we left,” Bronson says.
I finish the last of my wine and focus on the circles I’m drawing on the base of the glass with my finger.
“We wanted to contact you,” Lennox says, “but we knew your dad used to check your phone. We didn’t want to start trouble for you.”