Letter Twenty #9
The next day, while you and Michael were setting up the volleyball net, Willoughby turned up on the beach, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek.
You and Michael froze, eyes wide, mouths parted in disbelief.
On Michael’s side, the pole slipped from his grasp.
He fumbled to catch it in time, causing the whole net to topple over and pull your pole out of the sand. You swore at him.
Willoughby asked if he could help, and Michael replied, “No, thanks. We’ve got it.”
Willoughby shrugged, then walked off to say hello to Tinsley and Bree.
You thrust your chin in his direction. “When did that happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your dad’s okay with him being here?”
“Well, obviously. We’ve been hanging out a lot these last couple of weeks.”
You stared after Willoughby a moment, then bent down to fix the net. Michael, biting his bottom lip pretty hard, fixed his gaze on mine.
“Michael,” you said, clearly irritated as you glanced up at him. “A little help would be nice.”
So Michael backed up and went to work. Willoughby played volleyball with you guys, Tinsley and Bree rotating out, while I sat nearby and watched. My dad’s rule still stood, despite the promise I’d made to him. No beach volleyball for me.
And then one night at dinner, during a lull in the conversation, I said to the table, “Hey, guess what? Casey went streaking at a big soccer game once.”
Everyone stopped eating. Your eyes grew big as you slowly lowered the fork to your plate, suddenly squirming in your chair.
“Casey,” scolded Nic, leaning forward over the table to shoot you a look of disapproval.
I added, “It was televised and everything.”
“No way,” said Tinsley. “Can we find it online?”
John narrowed his eyes at you. “Casey,” he said. “I can’t see you doing something like that. What were you thinking?”
You swallowed. “I—it wasn’t just me. It was a whole group of us. A stupid prank.”
Michael laughed. “It might not seem like it now, but Casey was pretty wild before he came over here. The stories I heard back in England? You have no idea.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “You think it’s funny, Michael?”
Michael shrugged.
“What about this story? The one where you told your girlfriend she was allowed to hook up with Casey, too? Where you guys almost passed Sienna back and forth like a football?”
Libby, currently choking on her wine, began to cough. “Michael,” she croaked, lifting a napkin to her mouth. “What’s wrong with you?”
It was Michael’s turn to squirm, the smile wiped clean from his face, his wide-eyed gaze piercing mine from across the table.
Neither my dad nor John could look at you guys anymore, so I figured they were just really disappointed in you two.
Nic sighed as he picked up his fork to resume eating again.
Outside, on the back patio steps, you plopped down next to me. “Did you enjoy yourself in there? Was that fun?”
I smirked. “It was, actually. You didn’t think I’d completely let you off the hook for not believing me, did you?”
You glared at me. “I wanted to believe you. In fact, I told Michael you sounded as if you were telling the truth over FaceTime. I worried over it for days. I—”
“Was it really awful back home? With your adoptive dad?”
You blinked at the sudden change of topic. “It wasn’t great. But Michael being there…helped. Claire absolutely adored him. She claimed she could see some similarities between us.”
“You are similar,” I agreed, “in some ways.” I paused. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
You dropped your gaze to your hands. Studied your bracelets. Twisted them around your wrist. “I didn’t tell him.”
I sighed. “The longer you put it off, the harder it’ll be.”
“Claire thinks so, too. I tried telling him. I promise I did. I kept thinking, It’ll be okay. I’ll make him understand. But in the end…I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
You hesitated a moment, then finally said, “After Claire showed him all those photos of me as a baby—of my mum, of our whole family together—he asked if I’d been adopted. And he was very hurt when I confessed that I was.”
I leaned back. “You never told him you were adopted?”
“No,” you said, closing your eyes.
“But he’s your best friend. No wonder he was hurt.”
“I know,” you groaned. “I know. And once I saw how upset he got over that, I hated to think of how he might react to the other thing.”
I sighed again—much deeper this time. “This secret of yours is killing my dad, by the way. He hates keeping something this huge from John.”
“You think I don’t realize that? Add this to the long list of reasons I’m indebted—” You paused, eyes narrowed. “Wait. Did Nic tell you that?”
“He knows that I know.”
“What?”
“I slipped and referred to Michael as your brother.”
Wild-eyed, you pushed a hand through your hair. “What if you’d done that in front of John or Libby?”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
You looked doubtful. “Jesus.”
“Oh—and he wants you back in therapy once the summer’s over.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. I’m going, too. We’ll go back together.”
Panic washed over your face.
I patted your shoulder as I stood to head back inside. “Welcome back, Casey.”