Page 14 of Pen Me

“Sauce,” I wanted to apologize, but he wouldn’t look at me.

He just grabbed another five bags in his fist and yanked them out of the cart. He put one foot on the tire and hefted himself back up, stuffing them between the boxes in the truck bed.

“Ready?” he asked, hopping off the tire and dusting his hands off, his eyes meeting mine finally.

He was so cold. So distant. Those eyes weren’t, though.

They were big, green, and pleading with me to let it go.

I smiled against the urge to tear up. He might have a patch, but he was still my little brother. The peacekeeper.

I nodded and got in the truck, letting it all go with a heavy breath.

Chapter Seven

My Sister’s Keeper

Sauce

My sister wasn’t like me. None of my siblings were, but Sammy was farthest from it. She had shit together. Always.

The girl graduated early. She didn’t just go into the service; she became a marine. Even that wasn’t good enough. I’m pretty sure she was dipping into the military legal stuff, JAG or whatever she and our dad called it.

She was not flippant. She wasn’t sour or sullen. And she never snapped at anyone like that. My sister was the queen of reducing someone to size without uttering a single cuss word. She spoke with patience and precision. She could insult someone so gracefully they wouldn’t even realize she’d hit them until she was gone, and they were reflecting on her big words and wit.

She never openly judged our parents, even if I knew they were what she was really running from. The turbulence was too much for her. Conflict far and abroad was something Sammy excelled at, unless it involved people she loved.

We were all that way.

I’d walk away from someone I cared about before I’d engage in some eardrum rattling shouting match. I spent enough time with all of that during my formative years.

We rode in silence for a while, the vent of the truck blowing a gentle warmth into the cab that countered the Spring nip lingering in the evening air.

“Sam,” I started, and even that felt too far out on thin ice.

She snorted and pain splintered through my upper arm as she randomly popped me one from the passenger seat.

“Shit! What’d you do that for?” I huffed.

“You told me to leave it. So, fuckin’ leave it…Sauce.”

“I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Your eyes did, back there unloading that cart,” she mumbled, her attention locking on something outside the passenger window.

“Did something happen between you and Mom?” I gently pressed.

She cleared her throat and shook her head, but didn’t look at me.

She didn’t say anything either, not until we were back at her house and all of her things were unloaded.

“Hey, thanks.” She shoved twenty dollars into my hand and smiled awkwardly.

“You’re welcome.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the twenty-dollar bill.

My stomach flopped and it felt like something the size of the Grand Canyon was silently stretched between us. My mouth went dry.

“Yeah.” She nodded, and I could feel her pointedly staring at me, waiting on me to read the silent social cues that had guided our lives for longer than either of us would ever care to sit down and contemplate.

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