Page 78 of The Edge of Summer
Warily, he stands, too. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
I descend the steps and then take a hard right, setting a path across my parents’ lawn. Parker hurries to keep up. He wants to act disinterested, but he’s still following me willingly. Progress. A little more of this and we’ll be better off than when we started.
Parker quickens his pace to match my stride. “Trying to bond with me won’t help you get in my sister’s pants, you know,” he says casually.
Looking over my shoulder at him, I arch a brow. “You seem awfully concerned with my being into your sister for someone who hates her.”
His steps falter. “I don’t hate her.”
I shrug. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He glares, stopping short. “Idon’thate her.”
I stop a few paces ahead. “Well, there’s obviously something eating you up inside.” He glances away, telling me everything I need to know. “You don’t have to tell me, Parker, but I’m here if you want to.”
We walk the rest of the way to the pond in silence. Growing up, some kids had pools—I had a pond. Clara, Gabe and I spent countless summer days swimming in the backyard. And when the weather turned, we used to skip rocks. Along one edge of the pond, on either side of the small wooden dock, Mom keeps a rock garden. She was always after us to stay out of it, but we couldn’t help stealing some of the smooth, flat stones for skipping.
I take a couple stones from the pile, and then with a flick of my wrist, I send the first one sailing across the surface of the water. It skips twice before promptly sinking.
Parker sends me a skeptical look. “This is what you want to do right now?”
“This is what I want to do right now. Feel free to join me.”
He picks up a rock, then hesitates. “And you aren’t going to ask me a million stupid questions?” At my questioning look, he sighs. “Delilah made me see a shrink after Mom and Dad…you know. She asked me all these questions I didn’t know the answers to and it made everything worse.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “No questions.”
He studies me for a moment, trying to decide if he believes me. I pick up another stone and cast it over the water. After a minute, he follows suit. His first couple attempts skip once and then drop. By the third, he grows agitated. He lets the rock fly and it immediately begins to sink. A noise of frustration falls from his mouth.
“She always treats me like a fucking child. She didn’t even ask me what I thought about moving or selling the house. She just went and did it.”
He picks up another rock and throws it. It sails halfway across the pond before hitting the surface. I don’t say anything, letting him have his moment. It seems like he needs it.
“She walks on eggshells, trying not to talk about them. We don’ttalk about them.” His voice breaks with emotion. “I miss them.”
The last part is little more than a whisper, but I hear him loud and clear. “She misses them, too,” I say, because I’m sure of it. Because I see the grief that clouds her expression when she thinks no one is looking.
He lets out a humourless chuckle. “She has a funny way of showing it,” he says. “Some people said our dad crashed on purpose, you know. They speculated and made jokes that it was suicide.”
This stops me in my tracks.What the hell?As far as I know, it was an accident. Their car hydroplaned and that was it. The articles didn’t say anything about foul play or suspicious circumstances.
“Why would they say that?”
“Because of her.”
What is that supposed to mean?I want to ask, but I don’t get the chance. Parker drops the stone, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and then charges back toward the house. Instead of going inside, he heads toward Delilah’s car and gets in the passenger seat.
I scrub a hand down my face.Fuck. I hope I didn’t just make everything worse for Delilah. But I have a feeling that’s exactly what I did. When I make it back, Parker is still sitting in the car. Delilah steps out of the house and meets me on the porch.
“What happened?” she asks. “Parker texted me and said he needs to go home.”
“I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. Sometimes I truly can’t leave well enough alone. “I thought I was helping, giving him a place to vent. Things were going okay, and then he shut down.”
She shakes her head. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s not your job, Luke. He’s my responsibility.”
“I know. But it’s not fair that you have to do it alone.”
