23. Easton
EASTON
All good things have to come to an end. “You’re sure you have everything you need?
We can’t bring you anything?” I ask once I’m finished getting dressed.
I don’t want to leave her, but of course, I have to.
We have no reason to stay around—I don’t think she wants us to, either.
There’s a fine line to walk now. Knowing she wants her space, which means having to step back.
It fucking sucks, but she could tell us to go fuck ourselves otherwise.
I don’t want that. I want her to want us to stay around. Nobody ever told me I would care about this kind of thing one day. I’m not prepared.
“No, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” That’s easy for her to say. It feels like she’s all I can think about, all I can worry about.
“If you say so. But I’m going to need you to make me a promise.”
Emma looks like she just swallowed a bug or something once I turn around to face her. It’s too easy to set her off. I guess I should feel bad about that, since it’s not like we haven’t given her a reason to doubt us. “It depends on the promise.”
“Listen to this,” Preston mutters as he finishes putting his shoes on. “First she almost orders us out of here so we’ll have time to go home and change before school, then she gets all mouthy.”
“I’m just saying. I wasn’t born yesterday.
” She folds her arms and sticks her chin out, and it’s honestly adorable how she thinks she’s tough shit.
The girl has been through things I don’t even want to think about, but I kind of want to pat her on the head, too.
I’d probably lose my hand, which is why I don’t bother.
“Listen.” Instead of patting her head, my hands find her shoulders. “You do too much. You push yourself too hard. You’re going to start logging in from home a lot more than you do now.”
Why is it not a surprise when her eyes narrow? “I’m sorry. Sometimes my memory gets foggy. I don’t remember asking whether you think I should log in or go in person.”
“He’s right.” Preston stands and folds his arms. He can look pretty intimidating when he feels like it. “You need to start thinking more about keeping yourself as healthy as you can. When I think about all the disgusting assholes you come into contact with on campus, it makes me sick.”
“I come into contact with you, too,” she mutters, smirking.
“We mean it.” Having Preston on my side is a big plus. My voice is louder than before when I ask, “Who are you trying to impress? What do you have to prove? You’re only risking your health when you push yourself.”
Why does she have to be so damn impossible? Even now, when we’re making sense and giving a shit for once. “And what if I tell you I’m perfectly fine to make my own decisions based on how I feel?”
“I don’t remember asking for your input.” Preston crowds in so we’re both in her face. “We see you around school, and you’re going to have some explaining to do.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” she grumbles—but I wasn’t born yesterday, either. She’s trying to fight back a smile. After being almost alone for all this time, she has people who are willing to order her around if it means keeping her safe. It has to feel good.
We can actually make her feel good. Not only her body, either.
All of her. I’m not a humble person, but I think the feeling swelling in my chest is from the way she humbles me.
Like there’s this big responsibility, making her feel taken care of when she’s lost almost everyone who ever took care of her before us. She’s worth it.
A stack of mail sitting on a table just inside the front door catches my eye on the way through the living room. The envelope on top has a slightly smeared stamp on it in bright red ink. Final notice. That doesn’t sound good.
Preston’s teasing her over something, and she’s not paying attention, meaning I can flip through a little to get an idea of what’s really happening around here.
She didn’t exactly make it sound like things are great when it comes to money, and all these bills tell me she’s not lying.
When I come across an envelope printed with the name of the hospital, I snag it before I can think twice and shove it into my back pocket.
I don’t know why I need to know. I just do.
I have to know everything about her life.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of learning about her.
And if she needs help, maybe we can be that help.
At least, that’s what I think before I actually open the envelope once we’re in the truck.
“What is that?” Preston leans over to take a look once I have the bill unfolded.
My stomach drops around the same time he lets out a high-pitched whistle.
“Holy shit. They put a decimal point in the wrong place.”
I’m too surprised to say anything right away. “I mean, I knew people spent a shit ton of money on medical bills,” I finally croak. “But I never actually knew a specific number.” And I kind of wish I still didn’t.
Preston looks up at the house, then back down at the bill, which he takes out of my hands so he can get a closer look. “No way they can handle this.”
“I don’t really think they have a choice.
” I’m so uneasy inside as I sit back, trying to come up with reasons why I shouldn’t go back into the house and wrap Emma in my arms and tell her everything’s going to be all right.
“It’s not like you can randomly decide to not treat your cancer. I mean, I guess you can, but…”
“I get your point.” He scowls at the clock on the dashboard. “We need to get moving if we’re going to get changed at home before class.”
Like I care about class. Like I care about anything else now that I have an idea of what Emma and her grandma are staring down. And this is just one bill. How many more are there?
The question rolls around inside my skull the whole way home, where, for once, the sight of Dad’s car sitting in the driveway doesn’t make me roll my eyes or plan how to avoid running into him.
It’s not that I don’t like him—I mean, I guess I like him as much as anybody likes a parent.
It’s just that most of the time, I don’t feel like dealing with him.
It’s not easy, having a dad who always seems like he’s looking down his nose at you, for one thing or another.
“I wonder if Dad can do something about this.” I’m already out of the truck and halfway to the stairs, in a hurry to catch him before he leaves for the morning.
Once that happens, there’s no way of knowing when I’ll see him again, and it’s going to drive me crazy if I have to sit around and wait to talk to him.
Preston mutters behind me as I lead the way into the house. “There’s nothing he can do,” he argues, but I’ll wait until I hear it directly from Dad before I start thinking about a Plan B. I mean, technically, this isn’t even Plan A, because it isn’t really a plan. More like a shot in the dark.
“Morning. Where are you boys coming from?”
We both pause in the front hall, looking up the stairs at Mom.
She’s taking her time, and I notice how tightly her hand grips the banister, but she’s walking smoothly enough, and her eyes look clear enough by the time she reaches us.
Maybe she’s having a good day. I’m not used to seeing her this early and fully dressed.
“We stayed over at a friend’s—it was too late to drive home.” Preston kisses her cheek before she turns to me and points to her other cheek, silently requesting a kiss.
“I swear, more and more often these days, I feel like I only catch sight of your backs while you’re on your way to one place or another.” She winds an arm around mine, patting my biceps. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for caffeine.”
Preston strokes his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I think we can solve that problem in the kitchen.” The two of us exchange a look over the top of Mom’s head, and it feels good.
Almost like normal. She’s trying. I wish there was a way to tell her I see that without making it obvious we know she’s got a problem.
I guess the only thing we can do is take the good moments for what they are.
Dad is haphazardly smearing cream cheese on a bagel when we walk in together. “Oh, good morning,” he murmurs, eyeing me and my brother. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, we decided to get a jump on the day.” Again, I exchange a look with Preston, but it’s a different kind of look this time. Why does he have to be such a know-it-all prick?
Might as well get this over with while the memory of the tens of thousands of bucks listed on that bill is still fresh.
“Hey, Dad. I wanted to ask you about something.” I don’t care what Preston thinks, and I don’t care if Dad has no power over this.
I need to know I tried to do something. “We were hanging out with a friend of ours last night, and I saw this lying around.”
“Stealing someone’s mail?” The look on his face…! Like I’m fucking Jack the Ripper or something.
“I picked it up because I know they’re having trouble paying it.” I wait for him to skim the bill before adding, “That’s a lot of money. They can’t manage it. What is she supposed to do?”
“She?” I swear, it’s like an antenna goes up on Mom’s head. “Who is she?”
“I know who she is.” And Dad does not look happy. A dark flush starts to creep up his neck as he turns our way. “This is the girl from the parking lot, isn’t it? The one who found you beating on Brody.”
“How do you know her name?” Preston asks.
“I make it a point to know things.” This prick . “And right now, I very much hope you aren’t trying to somehow prod this girl into recanting the statement she gave at the hospital.”
I swear to God, he will go out of his way to underestimate us.
Like there is no low he doesn’t think we would sink to.
“That’s not what this is. She’s… become a friend of ours,” I explain.
The words are sour on my tongue—I hate that I even have to explain things to him when he couldn’t understand if he spent the rest of his life trying to. I barely understand it myself as it is.
Mom passes behind Dad and glances at the bill, then winces. “It’s good of them to want to help a friend,” she murmurs. She can’t see the way he rolls his eyes, but I can. Seriously, it’s like he goes out of his way to be a prick.
“We just wanted to know if there’s anything we could do to make it easier on her.” I hate feeling like I have to defend myself for giving a shit. “Do you think there’s any way we can help?”
“I’m not sure what you think would be possible,” Dad murmurs as he slowly folds the bill. “I wish I could help all of our patients. I really do. You don’t see what goes on behind the scenes. We don’t set arbitrary costs for the care we provide. A lot of it is out of our hands.”
Something moves across his face when he looks at us from across the breakfast table.
He’s exactly what anybody would expect from the head of a hospital—in his suit and tie, perfectly groomed, totally in control.
But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t look sure of himself.
Like maybe, for once, he doesn’t have all the answers. “Does this really mean so much to you?”
“Yeah. It really does,” I tell him. “She’s been through a lot, and so has her grandma, and it doesn’t seem fair that they should basically spend all the money they have just to keep Emma alive.”
“That’s terrible.” Mom looks at Dad over the top of her coffee mug.
With a sigh, he lifts his shoulders. “There might be a program or two they could apply for and receive a little assistance.”
The hope that sparks in my chest is new. I can’t remember the last time I felt it. “Do you think somebody at the hospital could tell Emma about it when she comes in for her next treatment?”
“Yeah,” Preston agrees. “It has to sound like it’s coming from the hospital. Not from us.”
Dad’s lips pull into a tight line like he’s disapproving, but he has to know he’s way outnumbered. Otherwise, he wouldn’t finally nod. “All right. I’ll make arrangements to have someone give her the information. But I can’t promise anything more than that.”
“Now I think you boys need to get ready for school,” Mom concludes. It’s so unusual for her to say anything like that anymore that I don’t even think about leaving the kitchen and going upstairs to get changed.
Even if I don’t really feel like we accomplished anything.
“There must be something else we can do for her now,” I decide when we reach the upstairs hallway. Coming to a stop between our bedrooms, I turn to Preston, who looks as unsettled as I feel.
He’s scowling when he turns to me. “What are we supposed to do? I’m all ears.”
The answer is so obvious, and it’s right in front of us. “What if we offer to get her necklace repaired? She has that pouch, right? We could take it to a jeweler.”
“Oh, you mean… this pouch?” I couldn’t be more surprised when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little velvet bag.
“What are you doing with that?”
He blinks hard at me. Like he’s wondering if there’s something wrong with my head. “I always thought I would look good in pearls. What the fuck do you think I’m doing with it?”
“You stole it from her?”
“I’m going to need you to stop and think for a minute.
” Rolling his eyes, he shakes the pouch to make the pearls rattle.
“I thought we could get them restrung for her. To apologize and all that.” He says it with a tight jaw.
His teeth are clenched, too. If I was a stranger, I’d think he’s pissed off.
Maybe he is. Maybe he’s pissed at himself for breaking the necklace.
It must have meant everything to her if she crawled around, searching the sidewalk in front of strangers and whatnot.
“Then that’s what we’ll do. We can drop it off at the jewelry store in town before we go to school—we should just have time,” I decide, checking my phone. “But we need to hurry.”
“Give me five minutes.” There’s a new feeling in the air when we split up to go to our rooms. Now we have a goal. We can’t undo the past, but we can try to make up for it. And even if it won’t be cheap, it doesn’t matter.
I’m finally starting to figure it out. There are more important things. And the happiness of a new necklace will be worth ten times whatever we spend.
It might make me happy, too.