I don’t deserve it.
“You don’t understand,” I start to say, then decide I’d sound crazy if I tried to explain.
“You can’t say that, because you don’t know me,” I say instead, my voice harsh and stilted.
Dare runs a hand through his hair and his eyes glint like obsidian. “I guess not.”
And then he abruptly turns and walks out, his shoulders wide as he strides across my lawn, away from me.
Something bothers me as I wipe off the counters, and it isn’t until I flip off the lights and walk into the Great Room that I realize what it is.
He acts like I disappointed him.
I don’t know why.
12
DUODECIM
Calla
I haven’t seen Dare in days, which is strange since he lives here now. But not so strange, considering that I’ve somehow disappointed him.
I’ve heard his motorcycle roar to life in the mornings, then I hear him come back home late at night, but I haven’t personally seen him for seventy-two long hours.
“I wonder where he goes every day?” Finn muses at breakfast, as we hear his bike roar down the mountain. My father shrugs.
“Don’t know. It doesn’t matter to me. He paid for three months of rent in advance, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s not my business until September.”
Three months in advance? That’s interesting. I chew my biscuit as I consider that. Is that how long he’s staying?
I feel Finn watching me, waiting for a reaction, but I don’t give him one. For some reason, I don’t want to let him know how much time I spend musing about Dare DuBray, how I’ve laid in bed for three nights, obsessing about his voice and what it might be like if it was whispering into my ear in the dark.
“Want to do something today?” Finn asks, after taking a swig of orange juice. I shrug.
“Sure. Like what?”
He eyes me over his glass. “Maybe we could go to the cemetery?”
And just like that, it feels like he stomped on my solar plexus, squeezing out every last vestige of oxygen from it.
“Why would we do that today?” I manage to ask around the constricted muscle. Our father is unusually silent as he watches our interaction.
Finn levels his gaze at me. “Because we haven’t been there yet. I don’t want mom to think we’ve forgotten.”
Dad makes a choking sound and picks up his plate (which incidentally is one of a set of 16 perfectly matched china plates from their wedding) before rushing away to the kitchen, and I glare at my brother.
“Mom’s dead. She’s doesn’t think anything.”
Finn’s gaze doesn’t falter. “You don’t know that. You have no idea what she sees or doesn’t see. Now, do you want to go visit her today?”
There’s a stern tone to his voice, something firm and judgmental. I swallow hard because I’m so not ready for that.
“I can’t…yet,” I finally tell him quietly. His blue eyes soften although he doesn’t look away.
“I don’t think it’ll get easier with time,” he answers. I shake my head.
“That’s not what I’m hoping for. It’s just that… I’m not ready. Not yet.”