Page 36 of Cassie
Took her from me
Faith
Rolling her eyes at the level of sound coming from the living room, Faith leaned against her headboard. Sammy was on one of his video games and seemed to spend more time shouting at his character than actually playing it. “House, vidcall Gilda.” The screen mounted to the wall over her desk flickered to life and she waited as the device attempted to make the connection. A minute later she heard, “Call not accepted.”
Darn it. Gilda was either busy studying, or—Faith rolled her eyes again—just getting busy.
“House, play 90s music.” In response to her command, soulful guitar music filled the room, and Faith picked up her reader. “Guess it’s just me and you, Enrico.” She gave the cover image a pat, smiling at the bare-chested model hovering behind the title of the book. “Let’s learn more about how passionate Spaniards can be.”
Six chapters later, her door flew back on its hinges, protected from slamming against the wall only by the pile of shoes behind it.
“Faynez, it’s time to do something.”
She settled her reader on her chest and glared at her brother leaning against the doorway. “I am doing something.”
“Something fun.” He danced into her room, waving his hands through the air in time to the music. “Groovy tunes, little sis.”
“Reading is fun.” He raised both eyebrows and she shook her head, amending her statement to fit his reality. “To me.”
“And being physical is fun to me. Come for a run.” She stared at him, then looked at the scattered shoes. He followed her gaze and laughed. “Not a running shoe in the mix, got it. What do you do when you aren’t reading?” Sammy flopped across the foot of her bed, as annoying now as he’d been her whole life. He reached out and slapped her leg, not hard, just teasingly. “I’ve been gone a lot, what do you do these days?”
“I help Dad with the studio. I study. I make sure things get taken care of around the house.” Faith shrugged. “The usual.”
“I peeked in earlier. You’re right. He has been working. It’s good, what he’s been doing. Really good.” Sammy stared up at the ceiling, one corner of his mouth quirked up. “I spoke to her tonight. At the game, you know?” Sammy had brought Faith home from the game, appearing in the club’s private box in his gameday suit and making the rounds shaking hands before arriving in front of her with a scowl for Garrett. “She’s prettier than I thought she’d be.”
“Prettier than you remembered?” He nodded, reached out and grabbed her foot, rocking it back and forth. “Was she nice?”
“Seemed to be. I think I made her nervous.” He rolled up on an elbow, glaring at her. “Know who I don’t make nervous, but should? Garrett Mason. That kid is annoying.”
Faith grinned. “How is Gar annoying? He never says two words when you’re around. I don’t think you make him nervous. I think you terrify him.”
“Good.” He flopped on his back again. “He should be terrified of me. Did you see me smash that guy’s face tonight? I’m terrifying.”
“Jonny played well.” She said the words carefully, aiming for exactly no special intonation on his name.
“Eh, he did all right.” Sammy sat upright, knees bouncing. “I’m still wired, I guess. Was a good game.”
“It was,” she agreed and swung her feet off the bed to match his posture. “What do you want to do?” He turned with a grin, frowning as she held up a palm towards him. “And be reasonable. It’s—” She twisted and looked at the screen, then back at him. “—nearly one in the morning.” Sammy’s shoulders slumped and she shook her head. Falling back on an old standby, she offered, “Movie marathon is doable.”
“Movies. Yes!” He stood with a grin and reached back for her hand. “Oldie but a goodie and always a fav.”
“You make the popcorn. I’ll be right there,” she promised, placing her reader on the charging pad. He left the room and she took in a deep breath, blowing it back out slowly. Meeting the woman tonight had unsettled him, even if he didn’t realize it yet.He misses Mom. She knew the signs, had learned them early, and knew what to do to best soothe her big brother, one of her favorite people in the world.I’d do anything for him.
She glanced at the pictures on her walls, a mixture of candid photos and her father’s sketches. One of the pictures caught her attention and she stood, turning slowly to face it. Four pairs of shoes were arranged in a row on spring-green grass. From left to right, they were her father’s running shoes, scuffed and broken in from hard use. A smaller pair of pristine pair of tennis shoes, laces still in that complicated weave only shoe stores knew how to do. Another set of men’s shoes, sized to fit Sammy’s sixteen-year-old stinky feet, soles held together with duct tape and not much else. On the end were her shoes, round-toed to keep her eight-year-old self from tripping.
She remembered that day. Sammy had just gotten his driver’s license, and they had made their first trek to the graveyard without their father accompanying them. It had seemed surreal to be driving between the gates singing along to the song on the radio, Sammy’s face wreathed in a wide smile, happy to have the freedom of a car’s steering wheel between his hands. Normally those trips started out upbeat, but by the time they made it to the cemetery a blanket of sadness would have settled on all of them, silencing any chatter. That was the first time he’d told her one ofthestories on his own.
Sammy leaned into the back of the car and took out a box. “Faynez, grab that blanket, would ya?”
“Okay.” Eager to help, she wrestled the door open on her side of the car and wrapped her arms around a bulky bundle of fabric. It stood up in front of her face and she leaned her head to the side to see around it, careful of the curb. Her big brother appeared next to her and closed the car door with a bump of his hip.
She followed him, walking the path he trod, weaving in and out around the huge headstones that were planted in long rows. She knew the way, but Sammy had gotten so tall, it was easier to keep track of him than wrenching her neck to see.
He placed the box on the ground and took the blanket from her. Faynez shook her tired arms out, looking around. “It’s just us today.” Sammy grunted as he spread the material on the grass next to their mother’s grave. “Kinda nice, Samboni. It’s never just us.”
“It is nice.” He dug in the box and handed her a bottle of juice. “Did you put sunscreen on before we left the house?”
“Shoot.” She wrinkled her nose and he laughed.
