a grudge all these years over nothing, Conall realized. He should be ashamed. It seemed like every time he dredged up memories, Duncan was at the heart of them. It wasn’t his fault that Conall had felt inadequate in comparison. It was probably even natural, given the age difference between them. How did a kid that much younger ever equal the big brother whose achievements loomed so large?
Conall had known all this intellectually. Even known that if their family hadn’t been so screwed up and Duncan had gone away to college, Conall would have been grateful when his big brother called or noticed him during school breaks. They might have grown into friendship later, as the years passed. But as things had been, even before Mom walked out, their relationship was doomed. Conall could close his eyes and recall what an explosive mass of anger he’d been. Duncan had saved him. The fact that he resented being saved had never made sense.
But that crawling sense of shame gave him a clue. Until then he’d been able to pretend he was keeping his head out of the water on his own. From the instant Duncan sat him down to say, “Mom’s left us,” Conall had known the truth. He was drowning, and his only chance of survival was the brother he admired so much, the one who was having to ruin his own life because he had to rescue Conall—the pathetic, scrawny, excuse-for-a-MacLachlan youngest boy. He’d known Duncan despised him even as he felt obligated.
That was what he couldn’t bear knowing. He’d wanted to hate someone else instead of himself.
He eventually heard the Subaru and couldn’t stop himself from going to the window to watch Lia, the boys and Sorrel troop across the yard. He could see their mouths moving but couldn’t hear a word. They were all carrying bags that looked like they held clothes and shoe boxes. So she’d taken them shopping, even picked up Sorrel from school so she could join them at the mall. The sight made Conall feel disgruntled. He took himself and his bad mood back to the other side of the attic.
Tonight was Jeff’s turn to eat downstairs. Conall didn’t get a chance to see anyone but Sorrel, who delivered his dinner tray. Her face was brighter and happier than usual.
“Hey,” he said. “Good day?”
She nodded vigorously. “Lia said we needed some summer clothes so she took us to the discount mall. I got some really cool sandals and shorts and—” She eyed him and said, “I guess you don’t care about clothes, do you?”
Conall looked down at himself and laughed. “I guess I don’t.” It was stuffy up here, and he wore sacky cargo shorts and a faded T-shirt. A clothes horse he was not.
“Dinner smells really good,” she told him cheerily and left him alone.
Dinner was good. Lia had used veggies from her garden in a stir-fry on rice. Just like one of the kids, he got a big glass of milk and two home-baked cookies, thick and chewy. He ate without the pleasure he would have felt if he were sitting at the table with everyone else.
He wondered what Walker and Brendan were asking Jeff tonight. Had they started speculating about sex yet? Conall kind of thought that by age ten he had been. Were they worrying about what would happen to them, or were they still too caught up in their mother’s death for it to occur to them how uncertain their futures were? He’d have to ask Lia.
When Jeff came up, Conall said in frustration, “We’re wasting our time sitting here staring at that damned house. It’s not quite time for the utility district meter reader to make the rounds, but would those guys know the difference?”
Jeff pushed out his lower lip while he thought about it. “Maybe not.”
“Could we get their electricity knocked out and use that as a guise to go visiting?”
Knocking out phone service was a handy dandy excuse, but these guys had never signed up for a landline. In fact, it appeared any telephone communications they had with others were made using throwaway cell phones. No major service listed them as customers.
“Hell,” he said irritably, on a sudden realization, “I figured out why they were so unfriendly to Lia. Her skin probably isn’t lily-white enough to suit them.”
“She looks more Caucasian than Hispanic.”
“Not with that hair,” he argued.
“No suggestion they’ve been real chummy with any of the other neighbors, either,” Jeff said mildly.
Conall grunted and