Crow’s Row (15 page)

“Where did you go yesterday?” I asked, bringing Cameron out of his daze.

“Just work stuff,” he replied with firm vagueness.

“Boss stuff?”

A smile reached his eyes. “Boss stuff.”

“You looked pretty tired this morning,” I observed, mentally noting that he was starting to look less tired.

“It was a long day,” he distantly admitted.

“You should get more sleep. You can have your room back if you want, I can sleep on the couch.”

“If only that was all it took to make a difference. You’ll make more use of that room than I ever did.”

He paused. “How was
your
day yesterday?”

“Kind of boring,” I blurted.

His brow worriedly furrowed. “You don’t like it here?”

“It was just a bit lonely, that’s all,” I said. “This place is a palace compared to where I came from.”

“You mean your place. In Callister.”

I rolled my eyes. “Where else.”

“Why do you live in that dump?” He was swimming on his back looking up at the sky.

“I don’t know,” I struggled, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s cheap and close to school. The house has tons of character, and my roommates are decent, for the most part. It’s a really great place.”

He didn’t look convinced.

It wasn’t the first time that someone had criticized my choice of housing. I smiled to myself, remembering the day Isabelle was in Callister for a charity benefit and decided to stop in for a surprise visit. She stayed less than a minute, long enough to get gum on the heels of her Manolo Blahniks.

“I guess I just like to keep my parents guessing,” I said aloud.

“Your parents don’t approve,” he summed up.

“Oh! They hate it!”

“You don’t get along with your parents.” I noticed that his questions had become statements of fact.

“No, it’s not that I don’t get along with them, not really anyway. It’s more that they don’t know me … or maybe it’s that I don’t know them, or that I don’t understand them. I’m not sure … we’re very different.”

He looked perplexed.

I racked my brain, trying to find a way to explain something that I still hadn’t figured out. “My parents like to focus on what I do or don’t do, like live in a bad neighborhood or go to a bad school. Things like that are what they draw on to decide if I’m the daughter they can be proud of. My brother Bill and I never seemed to make their cut.”

“When I was a kid,” I rambled on because he was staring at me, “I was in the car with my mom, my dad, and my brother.” I left out that our nanny Maria was also in the car. “My dad stopped at a gas station, and I begged my mom to let me get a soda, but she wouldn’t. Bill went inside and stole one for me, but he got caught and the store clerk started going around from car to car, dragging him by the shirt, asking if anyone knew him. My dad just drove away and left Bill in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t send anyone for him for three days, after Bill had spent a night in a jail cell, and been put in a group home by the police.” I left out that my parents had sent one of the maids to get him. “Bill never even cried or said a word about it after he got home.”

Cameron remained silent, looking at me.

Standing next to each other, half-clad in the shallow end of the pool, our bodies shimmering with water, I suddenly felt that I needed to tell him something that I had never said out loud, or to anyone else but myself.

“Bill died of a drug overdose when I was thirteen. I blamed my parents for this,” I blurted. That was the whole truth—and a revelation to me as I said it.

Cameron hadn’t moved a muscle while I gabbed away.

I tried to wrap up my endless sob story. “Bill is buried in the same cemetery where …” I glanced up through my eyelashes, “Well, you know which one. I guess that’s the real reason I live in that dump, as you call it—it was the best place I could find, that I could afford, that was close to school and Bill.”

Cameron stared at me so gravely that it was like he was staring right through me. I had given him a whole lot more information than he’d probably wanted to hear. I didn’t know why I had just told him all that, though I wished that I would have just stuck with “I don’t know” when he had first asked me why I lived in a dump.

Cameron took his time. “I can see that your brother’s death was … difficult for you.”

“He was my best friend. Toward the end, I only saw him a few times a year. He changed so quickly. Then he was gone.” I ducked my head underwater to hide any salty evidence that may have been lining my cheeks and I swam away.

I could feel Cameron’s stare boring into the back of my neck while I swam around.

“Hey!” said a voice from above. Rocco was standing on the balcony of the main floor. From the pillow indents still on his face, he had clearly just rolled out of bed. “Don’t move! I’m going to grab my trunks!”

After he had dashed back into the house, I turned to Cameron.

“How old is your brother?”

“I think about sixteen. I don’t really know, he won’t tell me,” he said, smiling at last, shaking his head in wonder. “Rocco and I didn’t grow up together. Hell, until about a year ago when he knocked on my door, I didn’t even know that he existed … though I think he’s forgiven me for that by now.”

Rocco came running in, cannonballing into the water and spraying a disgruntled Meatball. I got out of the pool, moving away from the line of fire, and sat on a long chair, curled up under my towel. Meatball had run off, seeking a quieter place to sleep.

I watched the two brothers splashing and wrestling in the water. When they stood next to each other, it was easy to see the similarities. Like Cameron, Rocco had shaggy dark curls that hung around his face and looked like they had never seen the pick of a comb. They both did this thing where they would shake their hand through their hair, and then shake their heads like dogs to get the rest of the water out. The brothers also had the same full-toothed grin and an infectious laugh—something that I hadn’t heard much of, but that now seemed natural. Both boys were tall and lean, though Rocco still had a bit of baby fat in his rosy cheeks and stomach. Cameron was more solid. Rocco was almost as tall as Cameron now—I supposed that within a year he would probably grow to be slightly taller than his big brother.

When Carly walked out of the pool house, balancing a stack of papers in one hand as she closed the door behind her with the other, the brothers furtively glimpsed each other. They grinned, coolly, as Carly too coolly walked too close to the battleground. Then they wound up their arms like paddles and showered her with half the water in the pool.

With a shriek followed by elongated cursing, Carly, who was completely drenched, shook herself—and her now-soaked paperwork—off. I shuddered, suddenly reminded of my first encounter with Carly’s wrath. Rocco and Cameron just high-fived each other and snickered as she stomped away, still swearing under her breath. She was powerless against their lapse in maturity.

Carly had momentarily disappeared into the house. But, to my utter amazement, she walked back out after a few minutes and came to share my long chair.

I hadn’t noticed until that moment that Spider had been standing on the sill of the basement doors, looking at all of us with a confused look on his face. And then he practically tiptoed over and sat next to Carly. I moved down the chair to give them some room and me some distance from Spider. As usual, he nervously sat on the edge of his seat, unable to just sit and relax. Though, after significant taunting from Rocco and Cameron, he went to join them in the pool.

It was strange to see all of them together, playing around. It was as if they were acting their own age—and I didn’t feel like I was a kid among adults.

Eventually, Cameron gazed down at his water-pruned hands, climbed out of the pool and came to sit next to me, letting Rocco fend for himself in the pool.

“How is it that you and your brother only just met?” I wondered.

“Technically, he’s my half-brother—same mother, different father. My dad and mom had me when they were teens. When I was six, I was sent to live with my dad. Our mom had a bunch of kids with different guys, from what Rocco tells me. The only times I saw her was when she managed to track my dad down to get some money.”

“Why didn’t you stay with your mom?”

“She’s a drunk and had enough problems of her own without having to worry about another mouth to feed,” he said. “My dad was forced to take me in when the social worker threatened to put me in a foster home.”

“So you lived with your father.” I mulled it over. “Where did you grow up?”

“Everywhere, I guess. We moved around a lot.” He continued to watch Spider and Rocco play in the pool, but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind was elsewhere.

And then he snapped out of it and looked at me with his wide, overwhelming grin. “Any more questions?”

“At least a thousand more,” I gasped.

He warmly put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me in a half-hug. “You’re exhausting, you know.”

Before I had time to get my breath back, I jumped. A curly blond little boy had come bounding into the pool. The person who trailed him surprised me even more.

 Chapter Eight:
 Unclothed

She was a tanned, bouncy, blonde beauty. Like a girl from those hair removal cream commercials: long legs, cutoff shorts, strutting in heels—I was expecting her to break out into a song about her short-shorts any minute. In the few seconds it took her to glide a few steps, the climate around the pool went from warm and cozy to below freezing. I watched Carly’s smile turn tortured. I watched Spider’s eyes circle to Carly, his face turn to ice; he lunged out of the pool and met the blonde. I watched Rocco gawk dreamily at her. He was apparently in charge of keeping the pool water from turning to snow.

I watched her as she watched me; her gaze fell onto Cameron and then back to me. I noticed all of these things, but not before noticing that Cameron’s arm had shot away from me as soon as she had materialized. His jaw had clenched, snapping the beautiful, youthful features of his face shut. When I met his eyes, I was frightened by the blank man who had taken his place once again.

Spider had—somewhat gently—grabbed the girl by the arm, rerouting her back into the house. Cameron chased after them, without a word or glance back. When they had vanished, Carly was stilled. Her head was bent forward, her hair hiding her face. I shrugged out of my soaked towel and wrapped myself in the one that Cameron had left behind. I sat on the edge of my long chair with my back straight up and took a moment to get my voice back.

“Who was that?” I managed. There was panic in my voice, and I didn’t know why.

“That,” Rocco told me, “was Frances.” He said this with admiration. He said this as if it were enough to satiate all the questions that were running through my head.

Rocco squinted while the little boy splashed water at him. “Superman,” his tiny voice commanded, spread-eagle arms out. Rocco picked him up by the torso and flew him over his head with a whoosh. The curly blond kid looked more like a cherub or a clip-winged Gabriel than a Clark Kent. There was something familiar in his triumphant, devilish grin.

“And who’s this?” I tried to sound non-creepy and directed my forced smile in the child’s general direction. But I was always awkward around kids, especially when I had been one of them. The only kid I had ever known was my brother, who was seven when I was born and was already more of a grown-up than anyone else I knew. I tended to ostracize myself from other kids when I was forced to assimilate, positive that they could smell fear. They pounced on carrot-haired oddballs like me all the time.

“This little guy is Danny,” Rocco said to me. He fell backward, letting Superman plunge into the water. Daniel’s head popped back out, and he giggled while Rocco remained submerged.

“How old are you, Daniel?” There was that awkwardness again.

The kid did the other thing that kids tended to do around me: he completely ignored me. He busied himself with dog-paddling around the pool, trying to sink Rocco’s submarine body. I readjusted my towel and peeked at Carly. She hadn’t moved a muscle.

“He’s six,” she conveyed flatly. She then stood and walked into the pool house. A few seconds later, Spider emerged from the patio doors, snuck a quick look around the pool, and kept going into the pool house, banging the door so violently that one of the flower boxes on the windowsill tumbled to the stone ground—petals, earth, and roots spilling over.

Rocco was heavily engaged in a new game of water wrestling, having finally found a partner he could beat.

I waited two long seconds for Cameron to reappear too. He didn’t.

Curiosity edged my impatience, but jealousy made it boil over. Cameron was in the empty house with the blonde mannequin, sans his arachnid chaperone. It was silly to be jealous. I barely knew the girl. I barely knew Cameron. I had no claim or cause to hope. I was being silly. I was being silly and completely ridiculous. So I snuck back into the house when Rocco was sunk, armed with an excuse of needing a fresh towel if I was discovered.

Inside, the house was hushed. I could hear the wheezing of the night guards who were sleeping in one of the basement rooms. Floorboards were slightly creaking upstairs, and voices were moving about. Through the kitchen, down the upstairs hallway, the strained voices became strained words. The door to the library was ajar. I crept toward it, the bottom of my naked feet sticking to the hardwood floor.