Page 23 of The Silence Between

“Start with what you already know,” I suggested, spreading Leo's textbooks across his kitchen table. “You've been managing finances for years. Basic accounting principles will feel familiar, just with formal terminology.”

It was Tuesday evening, four days after our dinner, and I'd offered to help him prepare for his first community college classes starting next week. Mari supervised homework in the living room while Diego and Sophie worked through their assignments, the apartment humming with the quiet industry of a family evening.

“Financial statements make sense,” Leo nodded, reviewing the sample balance sheet from the textbook. “It's just organized common sense, tracking what comes in and goes out.”

“Exactly. You've been doing this intuitively for years.”

He glanced up with a wry smile. “Though my balance sheet would depress most accounting professors.”

“Balance is balance, regardless of the numbers,” I replied. “The principles are the same whether you're managing a household or a corporation.”

We moved through the introductory chapter of his accounting textbook, his quick understanding confirming what I'd already known—beneath the practical intelligence that had kept his family afloat lay a sharp analytical mind that had never had the opportunity to be formally challenged.

“This business management class will be interesting,” he mused, flipping through the other textbook. “Especially now that I'm actually managing the bookstore.”

“You're getting the education to match the position you already earned,” I pointed out. “Most people do it the other way around.”

“Backward, like everything else in my life,” he said, but without bitterness.

Our study session was interrupted when Sophie padded into the kitchen in pajamas, hair damp from her bath, a troubled expression on her small face.

“What's wrong, honey?” Leo asked, immediately setting aside the textbook.

“Bad dream,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “The one about Dad again.”

Leo shifted smoothly from student to caretaker, his focus narrowing to his sister with practiced intensity. “Come here,” he said, opening his arms. Sophie climbed into his lap despite being almost too big for it, burying her face against his shoulder.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked softly, stroking her hair.

She shook her head. “Just stay with me for a minute?”

“Of course.”

I watched silently, aware I was witnessing something intimate and private. The easy way Leo transitioned between roles, never giving one less than his full attention while somehow maintaining space for all of them. It wasn't perfect or seamless, but it worked through years of practiced necessity.

After a few minutes, Sophie's breathing deepened as she dozed against his chest. Leo glanced at me apologetically.

“I should put her back to bed,” he said. “This might take a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “I'm not going anywhere.”

When he returned fifteen minutes later, having settled Sophie back to sleep with what I imagined were practiced reassurances, he slipped back into his chair with a tired smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don't apologize,” I said. “Your family isn't an interruption, Leo. They're your life. I understand that.”

He studied me for a long moment, as if testing the truth of my words. “Most people say they understand, but eventually get frustrated by the constant demands.”

“I'm not most people,” I replied simply. “And I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to.”

Something in his expression shifted, a softening around the eyes, a subtle release of tension I hadn't even realized he was carrying. We returned to studying, shoulders touching lightly as we bent over the textbook, the casual contact speaking volumes about growing comfort with physical proximity.

By the time I left, long after the younger siblings had gone to bed and Mari had retreated to her room with headphones, the evening had evolved into something I couldn't have anticipated when I first offered to help with coursework—not just educational support, but a glimpse of how our lives might potentially intertwine without requiring dramatic restructuring or impossible sacrifices.

Not perfect, not without complications, but possible in a way I hadn't dared hope for when I'd returned to Riverton.

* * *

“Cotton candy or funnel cake?” I asked Sophie. “My treat.”

“Both?” she suggested hopefully, shooting a glance at Leo.

He shook his head, trying not to smile. “One or the other, greedy girl. You already had a hot dog and lemonade.”

“Funnel cake then,” she decided after what looked like some serious mental calculations. “But only if we can all share it.”

Main Street had been completely transformed for the weekend fair. Food stalls lined both sides, the smell of fried everything mixing with caramel apples and popcorn. The late afternoon sun turned everything golden, and kids were running everywhere with sticky fingers and sugar highs.

When Leo had texted about the festival earlier, I'd tried to play it cool, saying I might stop by if he wanted company. His “we'd like that” had made my day. This was different from our usual meetups at the bookstore or school events. This was Leo choosing to hang out with me in public, with his family, where everyone could see us together.

Diego walked a few feet ahead, doing that teenage thing where he wanted to be part of the group but also looked like he might die if anyone from school saw him having fun with his family. Mari and Leo had Sophie between them like bookends, and I walked next to Leo, our arms bumping occasionally as we navigated through the crowd.

“Thanks for coming,” Leo said quietly. “The kids have been talking about this all week.”

“Just the kids?” I teased.

He fought back a smile. “Maybe not just the kids.”

Sophie spotted a ring toss game and tugged on Leo's sleeve. “Can I try? Please? I'm really good at this one!”

Leo dug into his pocket for change. “Two tries. That's it.”

As Sophie concentrated on her throws, tongue poking out slightly, Leo and I stood close enough that our shoulders touched. It was barely anything, probably invisible to everyone else, but for Leo to be this relaxed about physical contact in public felt huge.

“Watch this,” Sophie announced, then proceeded to miss spectacularly. “That one doesn't count!”

“That's exactly what counts,” Diego called back, but he was grinning.

“You're just jealous because you can't throw straight,” Sophie shot back.

“Oh really?” Diego walked over, mock-offended. “Give me those rings.”

What followed was five minutes of sibling competition that had Leo and Mari exchanging amused looks while I tried not to laugh too obviously. Neither kid won anything, but the vendor took pity and gave Sophie a tiny stuffed bear anyway.

“Victory!” she declared, holding it up like a trophy.

We continued down the street, stopping at various booths. Mari got deep into a conversation with the woman selling homemade preserves, asking about sugar content and preservation methods like she was conducting a scientific interview. Diego pretended not to be interested in the local band setting up on the small stage, but I caught him tapping his foot to their sound check.

“Oh look,” Mari said suddenly. “The arts council booth. Sophie, don't you want to see if Ms. Jenkins has info about that summer art camp?”

As they headed over to look at student artwork, Leo shifted slightly closer to me. We were standing normally, nothing that would draw attention, but I was hyperaware of the decreased distance between us.

“This is nice,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Yeah,” he agreed, watching his siblings interact with the art teacher. “It is.”

That's when I heard the voice that made Leo's shoulders tense immediately.

“Mr. Reyes, Mr. Webb. What a coincidence running into you both here.”

Townsend appeared from behind a nearby booth, wearing his fake politician smile. His eyes scanned our group like he was cataloging evidence, taking in how close Leo and I stood, how comfortable the kids seemed with me.

“Mr. Townsend,” Leo said, his voice carefully neutral. “Enjoying the festival?”

“Indeed. Community events like this really highlight Riverton's family values.” The way he emphasized 'family values' made my skin crawl. “I see you have all the children with you today. How... convenient that Mr. Webb is here to assist.”

The implication was crystal clear: Leo couldn't handle his siblings alone, needed help, wasn't capable of managing on his own.

I stepped forward slightly, putting on my brightest smile. “Actually, I'm just lucky they invited me. The Reyes family outings are considered the premium social events in Riverton. Very exclusive guest list.”

Sophie giggled behind her hand while Diego's eyebrows shot up, surprised by my joking tone. Mari, who was always quick to read a room, jumped in immediately.

“Absolutely. We're very selective about who makes the cut,” she said with fake seriousness. “Background checks, references, the works.”

Townsend's face went tight, clearly not enjoying being the butt of teenage humor. “How amusing,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Well, I won't keep you from your... fun. Mr. Reyes, I understand the custody review is progressing smoothly?”

“Completely standard procedure now,” Leo replied smoothly. “The accelerated review was deemed unnecessary after further consideration.”

Townsend's smile looked painful. “Indeed. Well, enjoy the festival.”

After he stalked off, Leo's shoulders dropped back to normal. “That was well handled,” he said quietly. “All of you.”

“Team effort,” Mari replied, giving Leo and me a knowing look. “Right, Mr. Webb?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. As we started walking again, I noticed Leo didn't put the same distance between us that he usually would after an encounter like that. If anything, he stayed closer.

“Can we get that funnel cake now?” Sophie asked, apparently unbothered by the weird adult interaction.

“Definitely,” I said. “I think we've earned it.”

At the food truck, we ordered a massive funnel cake covered in enough powdered sugar to put us all in diabetic comas. Diego tried to act too cool for it but grabbed the biggest piece when he thought no one was looking. Mari critiqued the oil temperature and frying technique until Leo told her to just eat the thing already.

“This is so good,” Sophie mumbled through a mouthful of fried dough, powdered sugar all over her face.

“You look like you have a beard,” Diego told her.

“You have sugar on your nose,” she shot back.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Children,” Mari said in her best mock-parent voice. “Behave yourselves in public.”

Leo caught my eye and we both tried not to laugh. This felt so normal, so easy. Just a regular family outing, except I was part of it. Not intruding or forcing my way in, but actually invited and wanted there.

As the sun started setting, they turned on the string lights hanging between lamp posts, making everything look magical. A local band started playing covers on the small stage, and Sophie immediately started dancing in place.

“Oh no,” Diego groaned. “She's going to embarrass us.”

“She's thirteen,” Mari pointed out. “Embarrassing you is basically her job.”

We wandered through more booths, Sophie dragging us to look at handmade jewelry while Diego suffered through it with exaggerated sighs. Leo bought Mari a cookbook from the library's used book sale after she spent ten minutes flipping through it.

“You don't have to—“ Mari started.

“Consider it an early birthday present,” Leo cut her off.

I watched their interaction, seeing how Leo was always watching out for his siblings, always thinking about what they needed or wanted. But I also noticed how they looked out for him too, in smaller ways. Mari making sure he ate some of the funnel cake. Diego offering to carry the bags without being asked. Sophie linking her arm through his while she chattered about school.

“Your sister's art teacher is waving you over,” I mentioned to Leo, spotting Ms. Jenkins trying to get his attention.

“Probably about the summer program,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

While he went to talk to her, I found myself standing with his siblings, suddenly aware this was the first time I'd been alone with all three of them.

“So,” Mari said casually. “You and Leo seem to be getting along well.”

I felt my face heat up. “We're... yeah. He's great.”

“He is,” she agreed. “And he seems happier lately.”

Diego nodded, surprising me by joining the conversation. “He smiles more. Like, actual smiles, not the fake ones he does when he's tired but trying to pretend everything's fine.”

“He laughed at dinner yesterday,” Sophie added. “Really laughed. He snorted milk out his nose and everything.”

I didn't know what to say to that, touched by their observations and what they implied.

“He deserves to be happy,” Mari said simply. “He's given up a lot for us.”

“He doesn't see it that way,” I replied.

“We know,” Diego said. “Doesn't make it less true.”

Leo came back then, holding some brochures. “Art camp secured for Sophie. Ms. Jenkins says she can get a partial scholarship too.”

Sophie lit up like Christmas morning. “Really? The pottery workshop too?”

“The whole program,” Leo confirmed, and got tackled.

As it got darker, the festival started winding down. Vendors began packing up, families headed home, and the crowd thinned out. We walked slowly back toward Leo's apartment, Sophie skipping ahead while still buzzing on sugar and excitement.

“That was fun,” Diego said, then quickly added, “I mean, for a small town thing. Whatever.”

Mari rolled her eyes at his need to play it cool. “You had fun. Admit it.”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

Leo fell into step beside me as we walked, close enough that our hands occasionally brushed. “Thanks for today,” he said quietly. “It meant a lot. To all of us.”

“Thanks for including me,” I replied. “It felt... nice. Being part of it.”

He looked at me then, really looked, and something passed between us that made my chest tight in the best way.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It did.”

By the time we reached their apartment building, Sophie was crashing from her sugar high, leaning heavily against Mari. Diego had stopped pretending he wasn't tired, and even Leo looked more relaxed than I'd seen him in public before.

“You don't have to stay,” Leo said after the kids had left, the apartment suddenly quiet in their absence. “I know it's been a long day.”

“I'd like to stay,” I replied. “If that's okay.”

His small smile told me everything I needed to know. We moved to the balcony, two beers from the refrigerator between us, the night sky opening above the cramped confines of East Riverton. The hours slipped by in comfortable conversation, moving from the day's events to books we'd both read, to plans for the bookstore's next event.

As midnight approached, the conversation gradually shifted into deeper territory, the darkness making vulnerability possible in ways daylight rarely permitted.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if things had been different?” Leo asked, his voice quiet in the midnight stillness of his balcony. The kids had long since gone to bed, the apartment silent except for the distant sound of traffic and the occasional dog barking in the neighborhood.

I considered the question carefully, aware of its weight. “Different how? If you hadn't needed to take custody of your siblings?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the city lights spread below us. “If we'd had normal teenage lives. Gone to college together maybe. Built something without all the complications.”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But it's a fantasy, not reality. Your siblings needed you. You made the only choice a person like you could have made.”

“A person like me?”

“Someone who puts others before himself. Someone with enough courage and love to sacrifice his own plans for three kids who needed him.”

He was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the lights of Riverton spread below us. I followed his gaze to where the river cut through town, a ribbon of darkness dividing east from west.

“I think sometimes about how close I came to never seeing you again,” he said finally. “If you hadn't come back to Riverton...”

“I almost didn't,” I admitted. “My agent thought I was having a breakdown when I told her I was quitting publishing to teach high school in my hometown.”

A small smile touched his lips. “Were you?”

“Having a breakdown? Maybe. Or maybe just finally having clarity.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Success was killing me, Leo. All those accolades, the reviews, the sales numbers... and I'd never felt more empty. More disconnected from why I started writing in the first place.”

“Which was?”

“To make sense of the world. To find meaning in the mess.” I shook my head. “Somewhere along the way, I started writing what would sell instead of what mattered. What people expected instead of what was true.”

Leo nodded, understanding without needing lengthy explanation. “Like when work is just about survival, not meaning.”

“Exactly. But coming back here, seeing you again...” I paused, gathering courage for honesty. “It reminded me of when words actually meant something. When connecting with one reader who truly understood was worth more than a thousand sales to people who'd forget the story in a week.”

The vulnerability in his expression as he turned to face me made my heart ache. “And have you found it again? That meaning?”

“I'm starting to,” I said softly. “Not in the writing yet, but in other places. In teaching. In the bookstore events. In moments like this.”

His hand found mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining with quiet certainty. Not a dramatic gesture, but a deliberate choice that spoke volumes.

“What do you want now, Leo?” I asked finally. “Not just regarding us, but for yourself?”

He considered this for a long moment. “I want to see Mari succeed at Northwestern. I want Diego to get the educational support he needs. I want Sophie to keep making art that lights her up from the inside.” The familiar litany of hopes for his siblings came automatically before he paused, seeming to recalibrate. “And for me... I want to finish my degree. Build something at the bookstore. Maybe eventually have time to read books that aren't required for class or bedtime stories.”

He turned to me, moonlight catching in his dark eyes. “And I want to see where this might go, between us. Slowly. Carefully. But honestly.”

“I want that too,” I said, twining my fingers with his. “However it looks, whatever shape it takes. I just want to be part of your life, if you'll have me.”

His hand tightened around mine, the semicolon pressed between our palms like a promise.

We sat together under the stars, not speaking of forever or making grand declarations, but acknowledging the fragile, terrifying hope growing between us. Not perfect, not simple, not without complications, but real in a way nothing in my supposedly successful life had felt in years.

For tonight, that was enough. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own opportunities, its own reasons to continue the sentence we were cautiously beginning to write together.