The Winner's Game(49)

“Then why did you help her?”

He shrugs a third time. “Just…because. To be nice, I guess.”

Thank you, Cade. “Excellent. So do you all see why that bothered me?”

Everyone is staring back at me with blank faces. Nobody responds.

“What Cade did truly concerned me, and while I was reading a book last night, I figured out why.” I turn once more to Cade. “When was the last time you held a door for your sisters?”

“Like, never.”

“Like, precisely. What bothered me about you holding the door for that woman was not that you helped her—which was very sweet—but that we almost never show such courtesies within the walls of our own home. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that we, as a family, treat complete strangers better than we do each other. Why is that? Why are we so hostile to those we’re supposed to love, yet kind and courteous to people we don’t even know?”

Again, nobody has an answer, so I continue. “During our first week here, I heard all sorts of hurtful things between you kids. I know part of that is just that it’s summer time, and you guys were cooped up a little more than expected, but it really bothered me hearing the things you said to each other. ‘She touched me.’ ‘He put his foot too close to me.’ ‘She eats too much.’ ‘He’s a stupid brat.’ And my personal favorite: ‘She’s breathing my air.’” I let the words hang out there for a moment, then ask, “Would any of you say those things to a complete stranger?”

Again, silence.

“Would any of you even say those things to your friends or acquaintances at school?”

“Probably not,” admits Bree.

“No, probably not. And yet those aren’t the worst things that have been said around here lately. Cade, would you care to repeat what you said in the car about your sisters?”

“Not really.”

“Indulge me.”

“But I was mad. I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it. And what was it, exactly, that you said? You remember, don’t you?

Cade drops his eyes to the floor and nods. “I said I hate them.”

“And Ann,” I continue, “what was one of the mean things you said this morning? Any one will do.”

Her response comes as a whisper. “I wished I was an only child.”

I purse my lips. The best is yet to come. “How about you, Bree? What awful thing did you say to Ann that you would never tell a random person on the street?”

It takes several seconds, but finally Bree whispers, “I wished she was dead. But I didn’t mean it! She made me mad and it just came out!”

I put my hands up to calm her down. “Bree, I know how you feel. None of us is perfect. We all lash out from time to time and say things that are hurtful or that we don’t really mean.” I pause momentarily, suddenly thinking of Dell and the things we’ve said to each other over the years, and especially during the last twelve months. I wish he were here to hear this. “And I think it’s because we love each other that we end up saying or doing things that are unkind, as a way to get the attention of those we care most deeply for. Or to retaliate against them for some perceived injustice. When strangers wrong us, we tend to give them the benefit of the doubt. We tell ourselves that it was a simple accident, or that it’s no big deal, and we let it slide. But when someone in our family does something that we don’t like? Watch out.”

“Why are you bringing this up?” asks Ann. “You already gave us your little stone-throwing lesson.”

“Because I want to fix it. I want the way we treat each other outwardly to match the way we feel about each other in our hearts. This may sound odd, but I want us to love each other like family but be kind like strangers.”

Bree looks the most perplexed. “How?”

“Can I wait to answer that? I want to read something first, which I think will explain it better than I could.” I hold up the thick, leather-bound volume that I finished reading late last night. There is no title on the cover, only a few faded gold letters on the bottom-right corner. “Do any of you know what this is?”

Several heads shake.

“Is it a diary?” asks Ann.

I give her a wink. “To be more precise, it’s a ‘gurnel’—one of many old journals that Grandma kept. I found a whole box of them in the attic on Saturday night.” I turn to a page marked by a yellow Sticky. “I’ll just read a handful of passages to give you a flavor, and to show that not everything I imagined about my grandparents was true. I thought they had the perfect marriage…and maybe they did. But it wasn’t without its ups and downs.” I clear my throat and begin reading: