“Yeah.” Gabriel paused. “I know.”
Michael turned and looked out at the night again. “So I’m kneeling there in the grass, wanting them back, feeding fury into the ground.” Another drink, this time a long one. He finished off the bottle. “The ground opened up and pushed their coffins to the surface.” He paused. “And not just theirs. Like twenty of them.”
Gabriel almost dropped his beer. He was horrified but also a little fascinated.
“Were they open?” he asked, his voice hushed.
Michael shook his head. “It scared the crap out of me. I mean, aside from the obvious, it was the middle of the afternoon ”
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean, what did I do?” Michael swung his head around. “I put them back. ”
“Holy shit.”
“No kidding.” He made a face and added, “I don’t even know if I put them back right.”
“You mean, Mom and Dad ”
“No, they’re right. Just . . . everyone else.” Michael paused.
“Jesus. What a week that was.”
“I’m surprised you came home,” said Gabriel, and he meant it. He’d never thought about what would have happened if he and his brothers had been thrown into foster care. If he and Nick had been split up.
“I did,” said Michael. “And that night was when I found the fridge. Fully stocked and all. I don’t even remember what made me go into that corner of the garage, but I swear to god, it was like Dad was standing right there, saying, ‘Here, kid, you look like you need a drink.’”
He stopped talking, and Gabriel let silence fill up the space between them for a moment.
Then he looked over. “Thanks.” He paused. “Does anyone else know?”
“No. Just you.”
That meant something. The beer, the story Michael was saying he trusted him. Gabriel wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“You’re not alone, you know.” Michael hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure Gabriel would keep listening. “Fire’s not my thing, but the pull, the power . . . I understand it. Nick and Chris do, too.”
Gabriel didn’t say anything.
Michael sighed. “I’m just saying. You’re friends with half the school, but you don’t have any real friends. You’re with a different girl every week, but you’ve never had a girlfriend, you don’t ”
“Wait a minute. Are you seriously trying to talk girls with me?”
“No Gabriel.” Michael sounded frustrated. “I’m trying to talk about being alone ”
Gabriel couldn’t decide if he was pissed or amused. “When was the last time you spoke to a girl? Are you even aware the firefighter chick was checking you out?”
His brother faltered. “She’s just a girl from school.”
“You should call her up. Ask her out.”
“Please.”
“God knows getting some would probably improve your mood.”
“I think that’s enough.”
Gabriel didn’t often think of Michael in terms other than overbearing and pain in the ass, but the secret beer had him wondering what else he didn’t know.
“Have you gone out with anyone since Mom and Dad died?”
Michael didn’t move, and Gabriel didn’t think he was going to answer. But he finally nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low.
“Once, when I was twenty-one. She said I had too much baggage.”
“What a bitch.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a real catch. I’m shocked they’re not lined up at the door.”
Gabriel reached out and gave his ponytail a yank. “Maybe if you didn’t look like Charles Manson, they would be.”
“I do not look like Charles Manson.”
Gabriel gestured at the door. “Go tap-tap on your laptop and look him up. Dead ringer.”
Michael laughed. It was a good sound, one Gabriel couldn’t remember hearing since . . . forever.
But then Michael stood up, and Gabriel lost the smile. He shouldn’t have mentioned the laptop. Their landscaping business was probably on the brink of collapse since Michael had spent ten minutes not being an ass**le. That familiar wall was going to fall back into place between them; Gabriel could feel it.
Michael stopped and turned. “I won’t tell Chris and Nick.”
Gabriel glanced up, surprised. “Thanks.” He paused. “I won’t either. About . . . the other stuff.”
And then Michael was sliding the door open, pushing through, leaving Gabriel alone on the porch. Game over.
But Michael stopped before sliding it closed. “You know, they won’t be home for a while. You want another beer?”
Gabriel smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
CHAPTER 8
Gabriel dribbled the basketball a few times and threw, making the basket for an easy three-pointer. He was alone on the court, killing time until Nick was done with whatever after-school do-gooder activity he’d signed up for.
Layne hadn’t said a word to him in class.
Gabriel hadn’t known what to say to her, either.
Dribble, dribble. Shoot.
Basket.
If Nick hadn’t broken his leg, Gabriel would be finishing the soccer season this week. He’d played under his twin brother’s name so he could get around the school’s stupid rule limiting students to playing on two varsity teams per year. Gabriel missed the team, the camaraderie, the physical exertion fed by a common goal.
Michael turned and looked out at the night again. “So I’m kneeling there in the grass, wanting them back, feeding fury into the ground.” Another drink, this time a long one. He finished off the bottle. “The ground opened up and pushed their coffins to the surface.” He paused. “And not just theirs. Like twenty of them.”
Gabriel almost dropped his beer. He was horrified but also a little fascinated.
“Were they open?” he asked, his voice hushed.
Michael shook his head. “It scared the crap out of me. I mean, aside from the obvious, it was the middle of the afternoon ”
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean, what did I do?” Michael swung his head around. “I put them back. ”
“Holy shit.”
“No kidding.” He made a face and added, “I don’t even know if I put them back right.”
“You mean, Mom and Dad ”
“No, they’re right. Just . . . everyone else.” Michael paused.
“Jesus. What a week that was.”
“I’m surprised you came home,” said Gabriel, and he meant it. He’d never thought about what would have happened if he and his brothers had been thrown into foster care. If he and Nick had been split up.
“I did,” said Michael. “And that night was when I found the fridge. Fully stocked and all. I don’t even remember what made me go into that corner of the garage, but I swear to god, it was like Dad was standing right there, saying, ‘Here, kid, you look like you need a drink.’”
He stopped talking, and Gabriel let silence fill up the space between them for a moment.
Then he looked over. “Thanks.” He paused. “Does anyone else know?”
“No. Just you.”
That meant something. The beer, the story Michael was saying he trusted him. Gabriel wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“You’re not alone, you know.” Michael hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure Gabriel would keep listening. “Fire’s not my thing, but the pull, the power . . . I understand it. Nick and Chris do, too.”
Gabriel didn’t say anything.
Michael sighed. “I’m just saying. You’re friends with half the school, but you don’t have any real friends. You’re with a different girl every week, but you’ve never had a girlfriend, you don’t ”
“Wait a minute. Are you seriously trying to talk girls with me?”
“No Gabriel.” Michael sounded frustrated. “I’m trying to talk about being alone ”
Gabriel couldn’t decide if he was pissed or amused. “When was the last time you spoke to a girl? Are you even aware the firefighter chick was checking you out?”
His brother faltered. “She’s just a girl from school.”
“You should call her up. Ask her out.”
“Please.”
“God knows getting some would probably improve your mood.”
“I think that’s enough.”
Gabriel didn’t often think of Michael in terms other than overbearing and pain in the ass, but the secret beer had him wondering what else he didn’t know.
“Have you gone out with anyone since Mom and Dad died?”
Michael didn’t move, and Gabriel didn’t think he was going to answer. But he finally nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low.
“Once, when I was twenty-one. She said I had too much baggage.”
“What a bitch.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a real catch. I’m shocked they’re not lined up at the door.”
Gabriel reached out and gave his ponytail a yank. “Maybe if you didn’t look like Charles Manson, they would be.”
“I do not look like Charles Manson.”
Gabriel gestured at the door. “Go tap-tap on your laptop and look him up. Dead ringer.”
Michael laughed. It was a good sound, one Gabriel couldn’t remember hearing since . . . forever.
But then Michael stood up, and Gabriel lost the smile. He shouldn’t have mentioned the laptop. Their landscaping business was probably on the brink of collapse since Michael had spent ten minutes not being an ass**le. That familiar wall was going to fall back into place between them; Gabriel could feel it.
Michael stopped and turned. “I won’t tell Chris and Nick.”
Gabriel glanced up, surprised. “Thanks.” He paused. “I won’t either. About . . . the other stuff.”
And then Michael was sliding the door open, pushing through, leaving Gabriel alone on the porch. Game over.
But Michael stopped before sliding it closed. “You know, they won’t be home for a while. You want another beer?”
Gabriel smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
CHAPTER 8
Gabriel dribbled the basketball a few times and threw, making the basket for an easy three-pointer. He was alone on the court, killing time until Nick was done with whatever after-school do-gooder activity he’d signed up for.
Layne hadn’t said a word to him in class.
Gabriel hadn’t known what to say to her, either.
Dribble, dribble. Shoot.
Basket.
If Nick hadn’t broken his leg, Gabriel would be finishing the soccer season this week. He’d played under his twin brother’s name so he could get around the school’s stupid rule limiting students to playing on two varsity teams per year. Gabriel missed the team, the camaraderie, the physical exertion fed by a common goal.
