I roll my eyes in her direction. “You get what you get.” I shrug, knowing I’m kind of being a dick right now, but dammit, between the shitshow with the lawyers yesterday and the need to be the man she deserves. Christ, it’s wearing me down.
“Please?” The question is quiet, not demanding at all. “You don’t have to tell me your deepest darkest secrets, or anything,” she smiles, “but can’t you tell me just a little?”
God. I’m an asshole, but I can’t deny her anything. I take a deep breath. “So, my dad died in April. My aunt came to stay with me, but she was a lot older. She was actually my great aunt. So, she stayed for a bit and I finished school remotely. Stuff got settled in court, and that took some time. And of course, I was in therapy, like, daily. So, I guess it was late May? That’s when my aunt Grace flew up to D.C. with me.”
“Your mom didn’t come to get you? Sorry. That was rude, but… I don’t know, I just figured that she’d go to Florida to be with you right after your dad died.”
“Yea, no. My mom is not the nurturing sort, at least not where I’m concerned. I’m the bastard.”
“Ty Marshall! You are not a bastard! And you certainly couldn’t have been one at thirteen. I mean, yea, it’s kind of an asshole age, but…”
“No, I mean that literally. I’m a bastard. The product of an extramarital affair.”
“Ok...but you’re still her kid. And, wait. You need to explain.”
“Get comfy,” I laugh, squeezing her thigh. We buckle up and I pull out of the parking lot and turn onto the main road that leads out of this sleepy college town and to the highway. Ollie’s family cabin is out in the woods, but I’ve got a solid half hour on the interstate before that.
“My mom and her husband were married, had a little boy. But a couple years in, she had an affair with a business associate of her husband’s. Anyway, that affair resulted in me. At first, my mom tried to play it off, but her husband was having none of it. After their son was born, he’d had a vasectomy, so he knew I couldn’t be his kid. They were on the outs for a while, but...my mom is used to certain comforts, comforts she couldn’t afford after he cut her off. So, she went back to him, begged forgiveness, and promised to give me up if he’d take her back. He did. She contacted my dad--it was less messy that way, I guess. She signed over custody, but not parental rights--that’s the kicker. Anyway, my dad and grandparents were there in the room when I was born. They took me home, and I never really knew any different. My dad and my grandma and pop were my family. My mom was some lady who gave birth to me.”
“My childhood was relatively normal, I guess. I went away to boarding school, just like my dad had. My grandparents died within a year of each other when I was ten, so after that, it was just dad and me when I was home on breaks.”
“And it would have stayed that way, except he died, like I told you. So... it’s, like, Memorial Day Weekend, Aunt Grace and I get to D.C., and I meet the family, so to speak. Needless to say, no one was thrilled to see me. Later that week, I was shipped off to summer camp. In the fall, I went back to boarding school. And it just sort of cycled like that. I see my mom and her family at holidays when I have to, but really, I try to avoid contact as much as possible.”
“Understandably. But you’re skipping stuff. Where do Whit and Knox and Booker fit in?”
“Yea, sorry. So, I met them at camp. It wasn’t, like, a nature camp. It was a place where rich people send their kids when school closes for the summer. So, that first day, I’m standing there, waiting for my cabin number, not really giving a shit that I didn’t know anyone. I was just minding my own business. It was definitely a skill I’d perfected over the years. Anyway, there was a commotion in the corner of the room, and I looked to see this kid--he looked all of ten--about to get his ass kicked. I expected him to be freaking out, pissing his pants, right? I guess he knocked into one of the kids and didn’t apologize adequately or some weird shit. Anyway, you’d think he’d be cowering. Nope. He was cussing them the fuck out, his fist cocked like he was going to land a punch. It was impressive, except for the fact he stood about five foot two and weighed about a hundred pounds.”
“So, I walked over and asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing. Those assholes assumed I was his brother--same color hair, same eye color. That’s where the similarities stop, of course. My hair’s wavy, Knox’s is stick straight. I’m fair-skinned and he’s tan all year long. But, to a couple of fourteen-year-old punks, those few similarities added up to the fact we were brothers. By that time, a counselor intervened, and wanted to know what was up. I said these guys were being dicks to my brother. Everybody bought it, and they put us in the same cabin.”
“Uh, it didn’t occur to anyone to look at your names or check to see who was paying your way?”
“Nope. At a place like that, all they care about is keeping campers happy so they don’t run home, crying to their litigious asshole parents.”
“Fair enough. Keep going. I’m waiting for Whit and Booker to join.”
“Not just yet. So, Knox and I leave the lodge, suitcases trailing behind us, and start making our way to Woodchuck cabin. I turn to ask him if he knows whether we should turn right or left, and he punches me, square in the jaw. It hurt like a sonofabitch.”
“What?”
“Right. I remember thinking,this kid’s fucking nuts. And honestly, I’ve had that thought every day since. So, he gets a good hit in, but when he rears back to throw another, I’m ready, and I grab his wrist, ask him what the hell his problem is. He tells me he can take care of himself and doesn’t need some dickhole--that’s the actual word he used--to fight his fights. Now, this is probably where I should have walked away. But damn, he was totally serious, that same fucking feral look in his eyes. So, instead of doing the wise thing, I just told him that’s what brothers do. Weirdly, that made sense to him. He held out his hand for a shake, busted knuckles and all, and that was it. We’ve been best friends--brothers--ever since.”
She smiles. “That makes me happy. He’s a good guy.”
I huff out a laugh, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as we eat up the miles on the highway. “He’s a fucking time bomb and life’s gonna catch up with him one of these days.” I shrug. “But, when it does, we’ll pick him up and put him back together. It’s what we do.”
Phoebe nods. “Still waiting for Whit and Booker to come in…”
I laugh. “It will come as no surprise to you that the first time I met Caleb Whitman, he was buck-ass naked, standing on the deck of our cabin.”
“You are correct. That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
I smile at the ridiculous memory. “So Knox and I are wandering around, totally lost. He spots this naked kid on the deck of one of the cabins, and says, ‘Jesus, I hope we’re not with that fucker.’ To be a dick, I called out, ‘Hey, are you in Woodchuck?’ The kid, Whit, it turns out, hollers, ‘Fuck yea!’ And then he starts, like, barking. He swears to this day that he was imitating the call of the woodchuck.”
“Oh, dear. Why was he naked?”
“Well, as we’ve all learned, that’s his favorite way to be. I swear to god, if he lectures me one more time about airing out my ballsack, I’m gonna kick him inhisballsack. He’s just an air-dry type of guy. And he sleeps naked. But, back in the day, he was...well, let’s just say there was a little more to love of Caleb Whitman, ok? He was kind of a heavy kid, and he hadn’t shot up past six feet yet, so, yeah, he was a little stocky. Anyway, we climb the stairs of the cabin to see him lift his fucking tits and tell us he’s trying to get rid of his boob sweat. I thought Knox was gonna bolt.”
“But, as is also typical, Whit had us laughing within five minutes, totally disregarding the fact he was naked and batshit crazy.”
