Page 18 of Forever Never
“You must be so proud of Brick,” Remi said.
He dared to sneak a glance inside. His grandfather, an old man with wispy hair and a wheelchair, sat at the kitchen table with his back to the door. Remi sat next to him, spooning up something bright yellow and holding it to the man’s thin, chapped lips.
It should have been sad, devastating even. The withered old man whose life had whittled down into a handful of rooms and a wheelchair being fed by the vibrant, bubbly teenager. But Remi was the wild card. There was something almost beautiful about it. About her.
“William,” his grandfather muttered gruffly in his painful, post-stroke speech.
“Icall him Brick,” she insisted, scooping up another spoonful.
“Dad prison. Same name. Same blood,” his grandfather rasped.
Brick shrunk back from the doorway, away from the truth of the words. Apparently Mackinac wasn’t far enough to escape a father’s sins.
“Well, that’s just silly,” she chided. “Brick’s as far away from a criminal as you can get. I’ve never met anyone with a bigger heart.”
“Big,” his grandfather wheezed.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Brick could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s why everyone thinks I call him Brick. Because he’s so big and strong. But really it’s because he’s impermeable. Indestructible.”
His grandfather chuckled then opened his mouth nice as you please for another spoonful. Brick shook his head. His grandmother was at her wit’s end trying to get her stubborn husband to eat. And all it took was a pretty girl who didn’t make him feel like an invalid. He couldn’t blame the man.
“While we’re on the subject, what did Brick and Spence’s dad do to end up in jail?”
Brick closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, willing the dread away. It didn’t matter what she thought. She was a teenager. The eight years that stood between them might as well have been an entire generation. She was the youngest of a tight-knit, loving family. He was the oldest of a splintered, scattered faction that didn’t have things like Christmas morning traditions or family cookouts.
His grandfather struggled with the words. She waited with what looked like patience and interest, just the right amount of both to defuse Pop’s automatic rancor at his condition.
“Hang on!” She lit up like the world’s greatest idea had just landed in her head. “Why don’t you write it down? I’ll get you a piece of paper.”
That sneaky little redheaded manipulator. Gram had mentioned to her in passing last week that they couldn’t get Pop to do his physical therapy. Which included writing.
“Here. I got you a pen, a pencil, and a marker,” she said, dropping the items in front of him on the sheet of paper.
Brick watched in amusement as Pop picked up the pen, then discarded it in favor of the thicker marker.
“I’ll get the cap for you,” Remi insisted. “There you go.”
Pop took the marker and, with a shaking hand, guided it to the paper. She leaned over the table, red hair falling over her face like a curtain of fire.
“Oh! He was a con man!”
At his grandfather’s harrumph, she rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not like he’s out there kidnapping and murdering people.”
“True. Still. Lazy,” Pop wheezed.
“Well, yeah. I mean, obviously, if he’s just taking someone else’s money and not trying to earn his own. But Brick’s nothing like that. I mean, all you have to do is look at how happy-go-lucky Spencer is. That’s all his big brother’s work there. I’m sure you know Brick didn’t have to come here. He’s a grown man. But he feels responsible for taking care of his brother. It’s obvious he’s done a heck of a job there. Spencer seems happy and well-adjusted to me, and I’ve known my fair share of teenage boys. There’s only two places that could have come from. His big brother and his mom.”
His grandfather’s shoulders slumped. “Should be with them,” he rasped slowly. The words seemed to exhaust him, and for the first time, Brick glimpsed the bone-deep disappointment Pop had for his only daughter.
Sheshouldhave been with them. But, like William Callan II, their mother had chosen another life. And just because her choice wasn’t illegal or unethical, it still left the same bitter aftertaste. Both parents had chosen something other than them. Thanhim. He never wanted Spencer to feel the weight of that.
Remi patted Pop on the arm. “I know. But if she were, they might not be here. It might be just you and Dolores in this big old house, and Brick and Spence might never have found their way to our little island. You gave them what they needed most. A home, a place to finally plant some roots. And they fit right in like they were born and raised here. That’s your doing and Dolores’s doing.”
That manipulative, little redhead. He saw exactly what she was doing. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Pop struggled to say something, his lips working uselessly to form the words that wouldn’t come. He gripped the marker and moved it over the paper.
“Pink s-h-o-r—” Remi broke off laughing. “Spencer’s pink shorts! Theyareterrible, aren’t they?”
