Page 14 of The Other Brother
When the painters take their morning break, I’m about to head inside for a snack, but then I realize the piece of scaffolding they’ve just set up looks directly into Cody’s room.
I climb it carefully, inching my way over to Cody’s window. Then I do my best bullfrog impression, pressing my face up against the glass and puffing out my cheeks.
Cody’s sitting at his piano. He’s not playing, just studying the keys. Then he puts out one hand and plays a few haunting notes. He stops abruptly and reaches for a notepad, writing something down. Then he goes back and plays a few more keys.
I can’t tear my eyes away. He’s so intense, so absorbed in what he’s doing. The look on his face, it’s like everything else has melted away, and the only thing that matters is the piano and the sounds he’s creating. He bites his lower lip in concentration, and a flash of… admiration swirls inside me. Have I ever been so focused on anything? Ever?
My cheeks begin to hurt. But I’m the person who once posed as a teapot from the "I’m A Little Teapot" song for over an hour on a dare, so I’ve had practice suffering for the sake of ridiculousness.
When Cody finally looks up and sees me a few minutes later, it’s worth the sore cheeks. The look of surprise on his face is like a cartoon character—mouth falling open, eyes bulging.
I laugh so hard I almost fall off the scaffolding.
When I finally recover, Cody’s trying for a glare, but his bottom lip is twitching.
I give him a cheery wave then climb down. Mission accomplished.
“So,you’ve got a thing for watching people through windows?” Cody asks when he comes into the kitchen at lunchtime. I’m getting out some bread for the start of an epic sandwich-making operation.
“Yeah, I think I might stalk you permanently. Could be a fun hobby.”
Cody pulls up at the counter, resting his elbows on the top as he looks at me. I have a sudden flashback to Cody and me when we were little. I think it was Kate’s tenth birthday party, so Cody and I would’ve been around five. I’d scooped up a bowl of M&Ms and crawled under the dining room table where the long tablecloth hid me from view. Somehow Cody found me and wiggled his way in, and we sat there munching M&Ms together in a conspiracy of silence.
I remember his warm, chocolaty breath and the same intense stare.
“Do famous classical musicians really get stalkers?” I ask, breaking eye contact to butter the bread.
“Sure. Nicola Benedetti had a stalker.”
“Who’s Nicola Benedetti?”
“A famous violinist.”
“Oh. Right.” I’ve already confessed to my complete ignorance of classical music, but I still feel stupid. “You want a sandwich?”
He blinks. “Um… sure.”
“Cheese and tomato?”
“Sounds great.”
As I turn to the fridge to grab the ingredients, an evil idea creeps into my brain. And like all evil ideas, this one deserves some indulgence.
Mel comes into the kitchen as I finish making Cody’s sandwich.
“Bon Appetit,” I say, sliding the plate over.
“Thanks.” Cody flashes a genuine smile which gives me a pulse of guilt about what’s currently lurking in his sandwich.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he and Mel chat about some neighbors who’ve just arrived at the beach.
Cody’s halfway through his sandwich when his expression suddenly morphs into a frown. He slows his chewing, gulps something like he’s swallowing glass, and then whips the top off his sandwich to inspect it.
He flicks his gaze up to mine. “Did you put raisins in my sandwich?”
“Maybe.”
His eyebrows quirk. “Maybe?”
