Page 33 of Paging Dr. Hart
Curtis snorts in response. “You’re clearly an only child, Red. Brothers don’t do that. We don’t say sweet stuff to each other unless Mom makes us.” I’m about to convince him that’s stupid when Ethan returns and we drop it.
At twilight, Curtis offers to play catch with Ethan at the park down the street.
“Why?” Ethan scoffs. “You know I’m way better than you.”
“Yes.” Curtis sends exaggerated head nods and eye flicks toward me. He lowers his voice. “I’m trying to make you look good in front of the beautiful lady, you dumbass.”
I act like I’m not listening and pretend I don’t notice the blush that spreads over Ethan’s cheeks.
In a songlike voice, Curt calls, “You’re coming along, too. Right, Red?”
I’m already reaching for my sneakers. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Both men smile at me, so pleased it makes me freeze. I’m not used to making people this happy. It feels a bit like responsibility.
Ethan produces a worn baseball and glove that I’ve never seen before. When I give him a questioning squint, he shrugs, trying, and failing, to appear casual. “Keep it in the bottom of my suitcase.”
We are off to the park. As the sun sets behind them, blazing warm red, pink, and yellow, the brothers throw the ball back and forth. I watch them from the bleachers, holding a hand up to shade my eyes.
Curtis was right. Ethan looks good with the ball and glove in his hand. A gentle wind tugs on his clothing, pressing his shirt tight against his muscular chest. His biceps flex, straining his sleeve, as he sends the ball with near-perfect accuracy across the field. It’s a little hard not to stare. When I pry my eyes away and see Curtis watching me with a sly grin, my cheeks warm and I know they’re turning the same color as the sunset.
26
Bloody knuckles, running down the Las Vegas Strip, a coffin lowered into the ground.
I had hoped that after such a nice day with the Clark brothers the nightmares would leave me alone.
No such luck.
I peel myself out of bed, sticky with fear and sweat. My breathing is labored. Running from my dream demons is exhausting, as always. I grab the blanket from the end of my bed and wind it around myself.
When I get to the balcony, I’m surprised to see Ethan outside. I’m usually the first one out, then he follows. As I sit, he hands me a beer already opened. A shaft of light bleeds through the curtains to illuminate him. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he takes a drink from his own bottle. I swallow thickly, although I haven’t touched my beer yet.
“It must be nice, having your brother visit. He’s such a character.” I smile, remembering some of Curtis’s most entertaining stories and jokes. I also remember when Curtis said good-bye earlier tonight, how he had dragged me in for a rough hug and quietly whispered in my ear, “Keep an eye on Ethan for me. Make sure he’s okay.” As I stepped back, our eyes had met, and I had nodded in agreement.
Now, I doubt it was smart to make that promise. Who am I to be responsible for Ethan’s well-being? I’ve proven myself to be an unreliable friend in the past.
“It was good to see him.” Ethan’s voice is slow, thoughtful. “We drive each other crazy sometimes, but we love each other too.”
I wait, sensing there’s more.
“A lot of his personality is an act. When he was younger, he would try tocover up his intelligence, didn’t want to be left out or made fun of. Back when he was 13, he would spend hours in the bathroom. My parents were in a fit about it, all awkward, not sure what to do. You know what they thought he was up to in there.” An embarrassed twitch of his eyes to mine. I nod, my cheeks heating. “I decided to expose Curt, couldn’t wait to humiliate him. Next time he was in the bathroom, I flung open the door. Very dramatic, as 11-year-olds tend to be. Guess what I found out?”
Ethan doesn’t wait for my response. “He was in there reading Shakespeare’s works. Like the entirety of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets. The whole thing. I laughed and laughed, but Curtis was mad I blew his cover. Took one of those heavy books and hit me over the head. My mom had to come and drag us apart.”
We both chuckle, laughter leaking out of us into the cool, dark air. A street light flickers, blinking on, off, and on again in the parking lot below.
After a minute, once the light stays solidly on, Ethan continues. “It wasn’t all fun, though. Curtis can be over the top. He pisses some people off. It’s true that he fought the kid for me, but much more often I had to gethimout of fights. Play peacemaker.”
“You think that’s one reason you’re a people pleaser?” I question, thinking about how easygoing Ethan is. How he gets along with everyone. “Trying to keep people happy? Not fighting?”
His sigh wisps over to me, resignation on the wind. “Probably.”
“He told me he thinks you’re too nice sometimes,” I confess, curious to see how Ethan responds.
“Curt’s not the first person to say that.” His shoulders slump, and his head rotates slowly to me. “What do you think?” he asks in a quiet voice. “AmI too nice?”
I sip my beer, contemplating. It’s not that he uses his kindness as a mask. Ethan’s not fake. It’s more like he wears it as armor. It keeps things on the surface so you don’t dig too deep. But ever since I met him, and especially here in the darkness of this balcony, he’s given me glimpses of his more private side. I like it, seeing him sometimes flawed and sometimes flawless. “I think it’s nice that you’re so nice.”
