are headed there too, both of them speed-walking from the den. We exchange startled glances—whoever is on our porch is practically banging the door down—but none of us slow our stride.
I’m the first one to make it to the front door, but just as I reach for the knob, I feel Uncle Mark firmly take my forearm and pull me back. He peers into the peephole as the banging continues.
“Is it Blake?” Aunt Meg whispers.
Uncle Mark shakes his head.
“Let me look,” I say, then nudge him out of the way and peek outside.
“It’s Garrett,” I tell them. “Blake’s brother.”
Uncle Mark pulls me back once again and opens the door. Garrett’s fist is primed for another whack as the door swings open. He gapes at our faces.
“Garrett?” I say.
He blushes, tossing rain-soaked hair from his face. “Uh … yeah. Hi, Anne. Look, I’m so sorry to bother you folks … ”
“Is something wrong?” Uncle Mark asks him.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh … no, no … just … dropping by.”
“It sure sounded like something was wrong,” Uncle Mark says, narrowing his eyes. “Why were you banging on the door?”
Garrett blinks several times in quick succession. “Banging? Oh, geez, I’m so sorry, was I banging? How rude. So sorry about—”
“Garrett, do you need to see me?”
All eyes fall on me.
“Uh … if you have a minute, yeah, that would be great,” he tells me, his cheeks still bright scarlet.
“We’re all right here,” Aunt Meg says stiffly. Wow. I’ve never heard her sound unperky to a guest before.
“It’s okay, Aunt Meg,” I tell her, working my way out the door. “I’ll just talk to him on the porch … ”
“It’s pouring rain and you’re in your robe,” she says, pulling me gently back into the foyer. “Inside, please.”
“I’m so sorry to disturb you like this,” Garrett murmurs. “And again, I feel terrible about the banging. I guess I thought you might not be able to hear me over the rain. Boy, it’s really coming down, huh … ”
“Do you want a towel?” Aunt Meg asks him, surveying his wet clothes and finally stepping back enough to let him inch his way into the foyer.
“A towel? No, no … But don’t worry, I won’t sit on your furniture or anything. I’ll just stand right here. I have a quick question for Anne about … school.”
Aunt Meg and Uncle Mark exchange wary glances.
“It’s fine,” I tell them. “We’ll just be a minute.”
Aunt Meg surveys us both, then says coolly, “Stay in the house please, Anne.”
I nod.
“Your uncle and I will be in the kitchen. Right there in the kitchen.” She points to the adjoining room with a raised eyebrow, staring at Garrett.
He gulps and nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’ve got to admit, I’m embarrassed yet touched at the same time. Who knew Aunt Meg could transform into a mother bear?
She and Uncle Mark hover significantly for a long moment, then walk reluctantly into the kitchen, glancing backwards at us several times en route.
I wave an arm toward the living room couch. “Sure you don’t wanna sit?” I ask Garrett.
“No, no,” he says, motioning apologetically at his rain-soaked clothes.
The drops are still pounding on the roof.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
After seemingly tossing words around in his head, he finally responds. “I just … I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I study his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He twists his fingers into pretzels. “I heard Blake leaving messages on your cell phone. He sounded kind of … frantic.”
“I haven’t listened to any of his messages,” I say.
“Yeah … I guess that’s why he kept leaving more. I wasn’t eavesdropping, really I wasn’t, but he sounded pretty agitated, and I couldn’t help but overhear … ”
“Garrett, why don’t you want me alone with him?”
My question sucks the oxygen from the air. I’m just as surprised as Garrett; I don’t even remember forming the words in my head.
“Alone … ?” he asks, shifting his weight nervously.
I stand straighter and cross my arms. “I overheard you. On Sunday, when I was over for dinner. I heard you telling Blake you didn’t want him alone with … somebody. You were talking about me, weren’t you.” It’s a statement, not a question.
He squeezes his eyes shut, shifts his weight again, then looks at me again. “Anne, I love my brother. I really do. I just don’t always … trust him.”
I consider his words, then say, “Because?”
He grips his hands together. “Blake is used to things going his way. I know