Grin and Beard It(79)

I quickly averted my gaze and descended the stairs two at a time. “Pardon me. I think I’ll go talk to Billy.”

I was twenty feet away when I heard Roscoe groan, “Oh, come on. Really? Go get a room. The house has like ten. Pick one.”



I ignored the ensuing good-natured ruckus behind me, readying myself for a confrontation with my brother. We didn’t have many. He mostly pretended I didn’t exist. Or, if it was a holiday, he pretended he didn’t hate me for the sake of the others.

The woodshed was a popular spot for us boys when aggression was high and options for releasing it were low. Suffice to say, we had a lot of cut wood. I decided to search there first.

Billy was setting up the chopping block when I found him, wielding an axe with white knuckles. He may have loathed my person, but I had no fear for my safety. I launched into the heart of the matter, anxious to have this one point sorted.

“Listen, I know I can never make up for being a terrible brother to you growing up. But there’s no call for you to be.”

“You’re bringing women home? Really, Jethro?” Billy brought the axe down with a furious thunk, splitting the log with one strike.

Yep. He was pissed.

“Yeah. So I brought a woman home. So what?”

“What about Claire?” He didn’t look at me as he asked the question, but there was something about the way he said my friend’s name that had me standing straighter.

“What about Claire?”

He cast his eyes to the heavens. Billy swore like he thought I was an imbecile.

Between clenched teeth he asked, “How do you think Claire is going to feel?”

I stared at him, not understanding his question. “About what?”

“About you stepping out with someone else, jackass.”

The question surprised me so much I laughed. “Claire couldn't give two shits who I see.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” I eyeballed my brother’s back, deciding he’d lost his mind. This was the longest conversation he and I had shared in over ten years. He never spoke to me, not if he could help it, and now he couldn’t shut up about Claire McClure.

“You go over there every Sunday, Jethro. You can’t tell me nothing’s been going on. You two, you’re always together.” He brought the axe down again with another furious strike.

“That’s because we’re friends, Billy. You should try it, having friends. It’s nice.”

“You two are not friends.” His statement sounded like an accusation, one that troubled him deeply.

“Yes, we are. We’ve been friends since Claire married Ben. Just because he died doesn’t mean we stopped being friends.”

“Right.” Another angry strike of the axe, another split piece of wood.

“Right, what? What are you so aggravated about? That I have friends, even though I’m not deserving? Or that Claire is one of them?”

My brother said nothing, just glared at me over his shoulder.

“What the hell, Billy?”

I was so tired of this. Both he and Ashley were right, apathy makes blood turn to water, but in that moment I prayed for apathy. His grudge, how he wore it like a badge, was wearing me down, pushing me to not care what he thought or what he did.

“You know what?” I shook my head, aggravated and exhausted and over his perpetual rotten attitude. “I don’t have time for this right now. I don’t have time to say I’m sorry for the millionth time for being a miserable excuse for a human being when we were growing up. I have a guest over—yes, a woman—and I’m so fucking tired of you hating me. If you’re going to be mean, go someplace else.”

He caught my arm as I moved past, his fingers grasping, but not punishing. I met his glare, expecting to see more of the same, but instead, the searching, hopeful quality there nearly knocked me on my ass.

What the hell?

“You and Claire, you never . . .?” His voice was strangled, as though the thought had been suffocating him, maybe for years.

The man looked tormented by the thought.

I turned and faced my brother. “No. Claire and I have never so much as kissed. We did a lot of hugging when Ben died. I used to stay the night at her house. On the couch. We slept together once, just slept, while I held her and she cried. That was the night we got the news.”

Billy’s eyes moved over my shoulder as I spoke, focusing on nothing. I saw his thoughts were turned inward, like he was sorting through a burden too big and heavy for his shoulders alone.

“But you haven’t . . . I mean, there’s been nobody. You had no girls over, and I haven’t seen you with anyone else since Ben died.”