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“Because I wanted to help.”
“Why?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. “You don’t know me.”
“I don’t have to know you to want the best for you. Besides, you remind me of my brother.”
His eyes drop to my dark hands and move to his paler-than-snow complexion. “I do?”
“Not the way you look.” I laugh and reach out to ruffle his hair before I realize it might be too soon for that. I pull my hand back and smirk at him. “My middle brother is a spoken word artist. He likes poetry and plays and theatre too.”
“Yeah?” He looks genuinely interested.
“Yeah. But he stopped for a while. After our parents died.”
Abe squeezes his spoon. His eyebrows tighten. “Don’t try to win sympathy points. We’re not the same just because our moms died.”
“Hey, I lostbothmy parents in a car accident.” I lift two fingers. “Both of them. At once.”
“It’s not a competition,” Abe says haughtily.
“But if it were, I’d still win.”
His eyes narrow. The corner of his lips tremble. He’s trying not to laugh.
Good.
A lot of people think that losing my parents should be my entire personality. But I’m more than what I lost. It’s a part of me, sure. But it’s only a part. And that’s true for Abe too.
“It was hard for me and my brothers to adjust,” I share, pushing my ice cream cup away. “My grandparents stepped up for us though. They took us in, cared for us, made sure we had everything we needed.”
“If things were so good, why did your brother stop doing theatre?”
“Good question.” I squint into the distance. “My eldest brother, he was already looking to his future, getting ready for college, getting serious with a girlfriend. And I, well, I was the only girl. My grandparents paid extra attention to me because they knew I was fragile. But my middle brother,” I glance at Abe, “he kept to himself. Quiet. Not much for sharing feelings. Everyone thought he was okay.”
Abe pulls his lips into his mouth.
I check my watch. “Oh, we gotta get a move on or you’ll be late.”
Abe looks at me as if he wants to say something and then he changes his mind.
I have to drag Regan away from the playground. The kid is an adventurer at heart. I can totally see her traveling to Africa one day and bravely trying to ride a giraffe.
She’d probably succeed too.
After strapping Regan in the car, I expect Abe to climb into the backseat and return to his sulking.
But he doesn’t.
To my utter shock, he takes the front seat and looks pointedly at me.
I don’t comment on it, but my heart warms. He’s a sweet little boy.
Sure, there’s a thorny, prickly outer shell—just likesomeone elseI know—but inside he’s pure and innocent.
“Did your grandparents ever figure out that something wasn’t okay?” Abe mumbles as I drive. “With your brother I mean.”
“Oh, yeah. It was pretty easy to tell that something was wrong after he ran away from home.”
Abe’s eyes glimmer.