Bran was shaking his head even before Zach finished. “Not about you. It was Sheila, Mom, Dad. Everything spilled over.”
Zach understood that. “Mom called yesterday.”
Glass halfway to his mouth, Bran went completely still for a few seconds. Then he took a long swallow before setting the glass down. “You implied you don’t have much contact.”
Zach shrugged. “We talk every few months. I don’t know why she called this time.”
“Did she know you moved back to Clear Creek?”
“Not until I told her.” His gaze met his brother’s. “She was even less happy when I told her why.” He paused. “And then I mentioned that you were here. Oh, yeah, and that Dad died last year.”
Bran’s fingers tightened on his glass, but his other hand was out of sight beneath the table and he succeeded in appearing almost bored. “Yeah? Was she interested?”
“In Dad dying? Not all that much. In you? Yes. She wants to fly up here to see you.”
“No.” It was flat. Final.
He shrugged. “I asked.”
After a minute his brother’s shoulders sagged. “Crap. She won’t just show up, will she?”
Zach thought about it. “I don’t know. She sounded...like it really matters to her. So...maybe.”
“Why?”
Zach had been asking himself the same question. “She did try. I remember her crying once after hanging up the phone because you wouldn’t talk to her.”
“After I saw her in bed with—” His shoulders moved. “It was like our bright and cheerful mommy was a veil and I could see through it. She made me sick. Once it occurred to me one of her men might have snatched Sheila, I didn’t want anything to do with her.” He grunted. “And how long did she try? A few months?”
“More like a year.” This, now that he thought about it, was surprisingly persistent. His mother craved affection, attention, given as extravagantly as possible. If it flagged...she sought it elsewhere. Really sustaining a relationship with her oldest child would have meant she had to do all the giving, with barely a hope that someday he might again reciprocate.
That would have required depths she didn’t possess.
Loyalty to her, despite her failings, kept him from sharing what he was thinking with his brother. Instead, conscious of Bran watching him, Zach said after a minute, “Dad didn’t do any better.”
Bran obviously struggled with this, but at last he let out a long breath. “If you’d given him the chance...”
Zach looked his brother in the eye. “If you’d given her a chance...”
Bran’s laugh didn’t hold a lot of amusement. “At least we each got one of them.”
In retrospect Zach thought Bran had had the better deal. He’d ended up with stability. To Zach, the whole concept of love and commitment was a joke. The breakup of his parents had been only the first blow. Any belief he’d retained had eroded as his mother dragged him along in her wake. He had been foolish enough to let himself get attached to the first couple of stepfathers and even a stepsister; he’d let himself make friends in his new schools. Once his mother left Lowell Carter because she loved someone else, Zach had quit trying. He would have said he’d forgotten how to grow attached to someone.
Funny now to find the bond with his brother might have endured.
Of course, Bran had had to keep living in a house that must have felt haunted and withstand the stares of people who had judged his father. That wouldn’t have been any picnic, either.
Bran growled an obscenity. “Keep telling her no.”
Understanding, Zach nodded.
A waitress appeared and took their orders. Only when she was gone did he say, “Thanks for helping out this morning.”
“You mean, handing you a bottle of cleanser? Big deal.”
“It was better than the alternative.”
“Which was?”
“Thinking you might have been in on it, too.”
Bran stared at him, his blue eyes unnervingly like the ones Zach saw in the mirror every morning. “You’re serious?”
“You’re part of this department. How do I know where you stand?”
“Not behind any crap like that.” Bran clenched his teeth. “Delancy—do you know him?”