Page 48

Thankfully, he doesn’t offer comfort.

I wouldn’t know what to do with it if he did. I said it because the words were sitting somewhere behind my ribs for too long, and apparently, today is the day all my internal locks fail inspection.

“I was busy,” I continue, which is the cleanest, ugliest version of the truth. “That’s what I told myself. Work was intense. Maggie was drama, exhausting. Ben was…” I swallow. “Ben was Ben. Always fine… until he wasn’t.”

Ashby’s expression shifts. “He hid things well.”

“From you too?”

“Yes.”

That surprises me. I resume walking because standing still feels dangerous. “What did he hide from you?”

Ashby looks out at the river. “How much he missed you.”

My steps falter.

He continues before I can decide whether to shut him down.

“He talked around it. Made jokes. Said you were off conquering civilization one spreadsheet at a time. Said Maggie would probably burn down the house before you came back to organize the ashes.”

I press my lips together. “That sounds like him.”

Sounds like me too.

The path narrows ahead, forcing us closer between a redwood trunk and the riverbank. Ashby slows so I can pass first.

The courtesy is small, but it still gets under my skin. I don't like being handled carefully. I also don't like how much I currently seem to need it.

“Ben used to call me when things got bad,” I say. “Not always. Not enough. But sometimes.”

“When what got bad?”

I shrug, though nothing about it's casual. “Family. Money. Maggie. Our parents. Himself. It depended on the season.”

“Your parents?”

I glance at him. “You don’t know?”

“Only fragments.”

Of course. Ben and his fragments.

“Our father left before Ben graduated high school,” I explain. “Not in a dramatic way. He just became less present until absence was the only honest part of him. Mom checked out before that, emotionally at first. Then physically afterward. She followed a job, then a man, then whatever excuse made staying away seem like survival.”

Ashby listens without interruption. It’s unsettling.

“Maggie reacted by feeling everything more keenly,” I continue. “Ben reacted by making everyone laugh. I reacted by becoming useful.”

“Useful,” Ashby repeats.

“Yes.”

The word tastes like old metal.

“I got good grades. Filled out forms. Managed bills. Called repairmen. Remembered appointments. Knew which notices mattered and which could be ignored for a week. I got very good at making adults unnecessary.”

Ashby’s jaw tightens. “Then you left.”