Page 18 of Goldilocks (Salt and Starlight #2)

As Sam unlocked the cabin door, the boat rocked to the side. He saw Eric out of the corner of his eye, but Sam continued ignoring him.

“I know Dad’s not a bad person.”

Sam flicked on the lights inside and mindlessly scanned the small space for something to distract himself.

“I know he worked his whole life to support us.” Eric’s voice came closer. “And after Mom died, he had a hard time, especially with two kids giving him constant grief.”

“You gave him grief.”

“I gave him enough for the both of us.”

Sam flicked through his notebook of jotted-down coordinates – indecipherable to him – but he pretended he was reading it.

Eric leaned his shoulder against the frame of the cabin, hands deep in his pockets. “I didn’t get that he was working so hard for us. That he wanted me out on the boat to help make money to support us. After Mom died, everything was just difficult. Everything made me angry. I struggled every day in school and afterwards, at home. Even reading became hard.”

Sam’s fingers froze over the black markings on the paper, which might as well be Latin. He looked at Eric. “Reading was hard?” he repeated, his heart skipping in his chest. He never knew that.

“Everything got better after I left,” Eric said. “The problems I was having with my temper, my outbursts, even being able to read – it all got easier. But I was still angry at Dad for a long time. Still am, sometimes. But I get now that I shouldn’t have been angry at him for doing his best to keep us fed. Or be angry that he insisted I keep going to school, even though I hated it. And I shouldn’t have been embarrassed that he was a fisherman.”

The sounds of breaths filled the air between them. Eric’s eyes were determined; Sam saw no lie in them.

Eric straightened away from the doorframe and stepped into the cabin. He slowly raised his hand and cupped the back of Sam’s neck. Sam repressed a wince when his fingers brushed against Goldilocks’s bite mark. “I didn’t mean anything bad out there. I realise now how it sounded. That wasn’t even about Dad. I can’t even describe it, Sam.” Eric’s voice thickened. “Just the idea of you being on this boat scares the crap out of me. It’s this dread. This certainty that you’re going to get hurt somehow.”

Sam frowned. “I’m careful.”

“It doesn’t matter if you tell me that. It’s not a reasonable feeling, Sam. I’m just scared.”

“I’m careful,” Sam repeated, sterner this time. Not to make Eric back off, but to make him believe.

Sam had never understood why so many people had talked badly about his dad. Why not having been born into money had somehow painted a target on his back. He never went after people. He never picked fights or harassed anybody, yet from the moment he set foot in school, people had seemed to have it out for him.

He bowed his head as Eric pressed their foreheads together. “I should have stuck around. I should have been there to make sure nobody was giving you crap.”

Should have .

It was nice to hear, Sam supposed. But Eric had come here to tell him he was leaving. That he was going to text and call . He’d made plans with Sam he had no intention of seeing through.

Sam let out a long breath, the moment feeling as bitter as it did sweet. But he knew he should appreciate the sweet. This was his brother. Eric had struck out on his own and managed to find his footing. He had an entire life built up where nobody gave him shit like Sam got growing up in this town. That wasn’t something Sam could begrudge him. Ugly envy blossomed regardless. Eric was free to just leave. He could go, nothing weighing him down, and all the responsibility of their dad’s care remained solely on Sam’s shoulders. Not that it would have been any different if Eric stuck around, Sam thought almost forcefully. Not when Sam didn’t trust him to even go into the house.

“I get why you left,” Sam said. “And I’m glad that things turned out good for you. I’m not just saying that.”

“I know.” Eric moved back, and he nudged Sam’s chin so that he would lift his eyes. “And I want you to believe me too. I am going to call, and I am going to text. And I’m going to be back to see you more, and I’d also like to get you out to see me in the city as well.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “You believe me or not, Sam? Because you made a face like I was full of crap when I said that two minutes ago, and I don’t feel good leaving with you thinking this is the last you’ll ever see of me.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. And he meant it. He didn’t believe Eric when he said it on the wharf, but now he did.

“Good. Thank you.” Eric glanced around himself, examining the inner cabin in detail. Sam was glad that all of his bedding was tucked away in a trunk because he didn’t think Eric would take well to the idea of him sleeping out here. “And you know, I’m not swimming in cash back home, but I’m getting by. I’d like to send you some money each week for college if that’s okay.”

Sam winced. Even if he hadn’t technically withdrawn from school yet, he knew where he was going to end up, and it wasn’t going to be as a graduate, even if he did stick out classes till the end of the year. Assignments he could manage. But end-of-year exams? He was going to bomb every single one. Maybe it was pressure or perhaps growing fatigue, but Sam’s dyslexia had worsened to a nightmarish degree.

“No pressure, no obligation. Spend it on whatever you want. Take a night off now and then, maybe. Or don’t and just save it all. It’s up to you.” Eric shrugged. “I’d just like to send something.”

Sam wanted to say no. It was reflexive to reject aid at this point, but depending on what Eric sent, he could get his dad a nurse for a day or two during the week. Or maybe get his dad out of the house? The nurses Sam hired to keep his dad company never came back after the first day.

“Alright,” Sam agreed.

“And I’ll coordinate with you, but I’ve reached out and left messages with the local nursing homes. I’m hoping to have two people available by next week, someone to cover Monday to Friday, and then someone else for the weekends,” Eric explained.

Sam snorted. “It costs six hundred a week, minimum, for five days.” And Sam didn’t need to know what Eric made at Ivan’s tattoo parlour to know it wasn’t enough to consistently cover that.

“With Dad’s situation, he’ll get state support to cover at least 70 percent of that,” Eric said calmly.

“I applied for that already. They said no. I applied for every support there is, and they all said no.” Did Eric think that Sam had just sat back and done nothing? That he hadn’t even tried?

“They said no two years ago, saying the support wasn’t necessary,” Eric said, surprising Sam with his knowledge of the claim. “He’s gotten worse since then. Hasn’t he?”

Two years ago, there were still days when Sam could get his dad out of the house for a while. The last time he’d tried that – months ago now – he’d never even made it to the front door, and his ribs had ached for weeks afterwards.

“They’ll quit,” Sam said. “None of the nurses last more than a day in that house.”

“We’ll find the right match.”

“That—” Sam caught himself, apprehension swelling within him. Eric was waiting for his response calmly. And Mary had been on his case earlier today too. Just because Sam didn’t think it would work out didn’t mean he shouldn’t try again. And it would be so, so nice if a paid professional could cover a day or two. “Go for it.” He shrugged.

“Here.” Eric offered Sam an envelope. “Ivan’s waiting for me.”

Sam took it. He stared, long and hard, as he read the S-A-M on the back of it. Text and call .

“Just call,” Sam said. “I’m not on my phone often, so I usually miss texts.”

“That explains why you haven’t answered any of mine,” Eric noted. He rocked on his heels, gaze darting around the cabin. “It’s the same,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“The hull is awesome.”

A smile tugged at Sam’s lips. “Thanks.”

“I bet you could make more doing that as a side hustle than fishing.” Eric nodded toward the next pier over where the first of the pleasure sailing boats of the season were parked. “You’re in the perfect spot for it.”

“Nah, with art, I just enjoy it. It’s relaxing. A break from everything,” Sam explained. “I don’t want to add the pressure of trying to make money out of it and stop enjoying it.”

“I understand…Will you sucker punch me if I hug you?”

Sam snorted. “I’m not going to punch you, Eric. Seriously. Have I been that horrible?”

Eric pulled Sam into a tight bear hug without hesitation. Sam huffed, his sore hip twinging, but he didn’t complain. He hugged Eric back. He breathed him in, and it was familiar. Every part of it. Eric was bigger, broader; he smelled like lemon and lime body wash.

“You haven’t been horrible,” Eric said, not releasing the hug. “I expected you to make me run around a bit. I thought I was prepared for that, but I don’t think I ever prepared myself for the fact that you weren’t going to be a kid anymore.” He rubbed Sam’s back.

Sam wanted to remember him. In that moment, he wished it would all come rushing back. A light bulb would brighten, and the memories would resurface. Instead, there was a glimmer in the distance. Eric coming home from school and running straight to the bathroom to scrub himself raw. Lemon and lime soap bottle emptied by the end. Sam waiting in the hall because he knew Eric was upset by something, and he wanted to hug him and make him feel better.

An ache cut through the glimmer. Sam squeezed his eyes shut.

Sam had loved his brother, even though he couldn’t remember it.

Eric pulled back, and before he was out of Sam’s grip, he tensed. He cupped Sam’s shoulders. “You’ve gone pale again.”

“Yeah.” Sam covered his face with a hand. “I think remembering you is wrecking my head a bit.”

Eric squeezed his shoulders. “You remembered?” he asked, and the hope in his voice was unmistakable.

“Just a small bit, sorry.”

“No, please. Don’t be…Wait, remembering me is what’s giving you the headaches?”

Sam sighed and dropped his hands. “I don’t know.”

Eric’s phone buzzed. He dug it out. “It’s Ivan.” He looked conflicted, glancing between Sam and the phone. “He’s waiting for me. He’s got a full house of clients lined up first thing tomorrow.”

“Answer. I’m just going to tidy up a bit before I head home. No work tonight.”

“None of your, uh, boat stuff?”

“None.”

Sam walked Eric off the pier. He didn’t seem to react to the water at all this time, and clearly he’d pushed through whatever had been scaring him off to come to Sam on the boat. In the direction of the pub, Sam saw a bench occupied. Ivan’s form filled it, and Laurence’s smaller one was right next to him. Even from where he was, Sam saw the sketchbook open on Laurence’s lap.

They both stopped, watching the pair from a distance.

“Drive safely. Tell Ivan I’m sorry for snapping at him the other day.”

“He’s sorry too.” Eric hugged him again. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Me too,” Sam said. And he was determined that it wouldn’t be a lie. He would put in effort to answer Eric’s calls and try to take the initiative to call first, even if he felt awkward about it. “Would you mind waiting here a second?”

Eric nodded, and Sam trotted back down the pier to the boat. In the back of the cupboard, he pulled free the white cup. Eric’s cup. Sam stared at the stick figures of two brothers holding hands, hesitating in his crouched position. Sam didn’t necessarily want to give it to Eric. For some reason, it made him feel naked. But a strong part of him also thought that he should, that Eric would like it. And however many years ago it was, even though Sam didn’t remember it, his younger self had made it for Eric.

Resolutely, Sam straightened. He re-wrapped it in the piece of cloth that had kept it safe all through the years, forgotten on the back of the shelf, and he returned to the pier. Ivan had joined Eric on the walkway, and Laurence was gone. Sam groaned internally, debating not giving the cup after all now that Ivan was there.

When he finally reached them, he handed it to Eric before he could change his mind. It made him feel vulnerable, but Eric had done nothing but show Sam his vulnerable sides and gotten jabbed right through them in thanks. It was only fair Sam opened himself up and risk the same treatment too.

“I found this the other day on the boat,” Sam said. “It’s yours.”

Eric accepted the bundle and proceeded to unwrap it right in front of Sam. Sam felt like he was peeling off skin from muscle, not cloth from ceramic. He didn’t even remember making it, yet he felt more exposed than Vi and Yven seeing his drawings of Goldilocks. Eric turned over the cup in his hand, and Ivan peered over his shoulder to examine it. Eric’s chest stopped moving as he stared at the drawing, the messy as hell E-R-I-C, the teacher’s neat ‘ best big brother! ’

Feeling immensely antsy, Sam buried his hands in his pockets. “My art skills have definitely gotten better,” he mumbled.

Eric swallowed thickly. “When did you make this?” Eric asked, voice rough. To Sam’s absolute horror, Eric raised his free hand to roughly wipe away tears from his cheeks. Sam’s throat tightened suddenly, and he felt like he wanted to cry.

Sam cleared his throat instead. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t look like it was ever used, so maybe sometime after…” ‘You left’ felt distinctly like the wrong thing to say. “…after third class, maybe?”

Ivan’s arm slid up Eric’s back, his mouth pursed as he controlled whatever expressions were trying to show on his face. Eric was not nearly as controlled, and Sam probably fell somewhere midway between the two. He didn’t let himself say something stupid like ‘ Oh if you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it ’. Sam wasn’t that dense. He’d just handed Eric something the kid he remembered made, and it was clearly having an emotional impact on him.

“You guys have a long drive ahead. I won’t keep you,” Sam hedged, hoping to prompt Ivan to move things to the car where Eric couldn’t set Sam off in sympathy tears. It was ridiculous that Sam felt like crying too when he didn’t even remember Eric.

Ivan gave Sam a look, and there were a lot of complicated feelings in that look, and Sam weirdly felt like he could hear the man’s thoughts when their eyes met. Ivan was thinking ‘ You absolute brat. Why’d you go and give him a keepsake from when you were a kid that’s just going to remind him about running away and abandoning you at that age and is obviously going to upset him, and why’d you have to give it to him just before we’re about to get into a car and drive for three hours? ’

Eric’s look wasn’t nearly as complicated. He was torn between looking at the cup, crying, and looking at the back of his hand as he roughly wiped away tears.

Sam ignored Ivan and moved in to hug Eric. “Don’t be upset,” Sam suggested as kindly as he could. It probably sounded more like he was begging. “It’s a gift. I’d rather it made you happy.”

“It does.”

Sam hummed. “It takes family to like a terrible stick drawing like that,” he said lightly. He pulled away and offered Eric a smile. “Send me a photo when you use it, though you’d better clean it first. Your tea might taste like fish otherwise.”

Eric’s tears stopped, just barely. “Thanks, Sam.”

Ivan gave Sam one last complicated look before he hooked his arm through Eric’s. “Ready?” he asked.

Eric didn’t say yes. And Sam didn’t think he was able to, given the conflicted look he cast at Sam when Ivan asked. Sam kept his expression neutral. He could tell Eric not to leave. And Sam bet that Eric would stay. Stay, because Sam had managed not to be a dickhead toward him for five seconds.

Sam kept his mouth shut. Better that he leaves, Sam thought. Because he’s giving me headaches and I’m giving him grief and Eric is too sensitive to be happy here .