Page 64 of Second Story

“Why not?” Isaac’s own T-shirt muffles his question. He pulls it over his head, and I’ve seen him wear so many expressions, but I don’t know how to name what this dappled light shows. It darts just below his surface like the little fish that Lenny chases.

He slips, arms wheeling, and I wheel just as fast to catch him, which breaks a moment Isaac isn’t ready to let pass without speaking. He’s still dappled by sunshine, his voice as fractured as the green and gold light filtered by leaves.

“Swim, Joe.”

I do once I’ve stripped to my boxers, leaving my shirt behind for once and wading into water that is only chilly under the trees. The spot I find in sunlight is warm like I am all over again to see Isaac watching.

No. Not watching, or staring at my scars.

He stands guard, and I’m a little fractured too by that. Can hear it when Lenny wades in to join me and my voice cracks. “Hey, wait. How well can you swim, mate?” I relax once Isaac digs in a nearby bin for water wings and floats that he throws our way, and once I’m sure Lenny won’t sink, I follow what mighthave sounded like an order from anyone else. From Isaac, that instruction to swim is a gift, and for the first time in years, I don’t think twice.

I play by testing the depth of the pool first, then give my own brother a run for his data-collecting money by figuring out which boulders I can jump from. I bet my cannonballing gets old fast. I splash Isaac so many times it should wear out his sense of humour. He laughs instead. Then he yells when I pull him under.

Lenny laughs like a drain when his brother bobs to the surface. We all play then, until Lenny runs out of steam and sits in the shallows to spot more little fishes.

Isaac joins me where it’s sunny. He’s draped with water weeds, his hair a wet disaster, and he looks so easy in his skin that I realise I am too.

If a clock ticks, I don’t hear it. I forget too that a train will carry me away when Isaac rests against the same sun-warmed stone as me, one of his legs over mine, like he’s worried I might float away without him as an anchor.

No chance.

He finally acknowledges what can’t be put off.

“Ten more minutes, Len.” His leg hooked over mine pulls me even closer. We’re hip-to-hip instead of heart-to-heart. Mine clenches as soon as he asks, “This was okay?”

“Okay?” I let out a breath that goes on for forever. “It was pure fucking magic.” So is Isaac, to me. And so is getting one last chance to support his suddenly worried little brother.

Len hesitates on the lowest rock around this pool, poised inches above the water to jump in for a last swim.

“You can jump, mate.” I cut like a knife through the water to open scarred arms for him. “I won’t let you sink.”

Isaac agrees from the shallows. “You can jump, Len.” He trusts that I’ll catch his brother for him. Believes in me. “Youdon’t need to worry about falling.” That belief is as clear as the water Lenny splashes into with me right there to catch him.

This is clear too.

Don’t worry about falling?

Too late, mate.

I already fell for Isaac.

18

ISAAC

Joe’s advocacy work keeps him away for longer than the week he’d hoped for, but that’s okay. He calls every evening, filling a nightly gap that Mum’s missing calls have left vacant.

He must have practised reading stories, putting in enough work that Lenny doesn’t critique his delivery while Tor shares his pillow. Later, we speak as I’m propped on my own pillows, Joe right there with me, and I can’t care about this sensation of falling, this leap of trust I never thought I’d make but is easy whenever he smiles out from my phone screen.

He asks me about everything and nothing. About my work, which settles into an increasingly easy rhythm of shelving books and helping children to tell their own stories. Joe asks about my brother, and I tell him about Len’s second visit to Sealife School. “The waves were too high outside the harbour for a boat trip. It’s looking better for this weekend. He can go spot some seals if we don’t hear from Mum about a visit. You better watch out.”

“Why?”

“Len’s got a thing for Luke’s dad now. Got a whole new case of hero worship brewing.”

“Not on my watch.”

We chat shit, joking and teasing. We also tell the truth to each other. I hear that loud and clear one night when he rubs at tired eyes in a shadowed bedroom.

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