Harder (Caroline & West #2)(59)

“What was the other movie?”

“It was like … I don’t know how to describe it. Kind of old-timey, but it wasn’t old, and there were boats and stuff? I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Rikki said it was nonrepresentational, which means it wasn’t really about anything.”

“What’s the point of a movie like that?”

“It’s what they were watching.”

“I mean, is it supposed to be pretty to look at it, or some kind of commentary on the human condition, or what?”

She shrugs.

I wait a beat, but that’s all I’m getting out of her. “Did you have bad dreams over there?”

“No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t you?”

“It was nice,” she says. “Their guest room has the softest blanket in the whole world, and one of those mattresses like on TV that’s made of foam. When you lay down on it you sink in like you’re going to sleep in an alien pod.”

“I’ve never slept on one of those.”

“It wasn’t very comfortable. But it was cool.”

Having temporarily forgotten she’s supposed to be annoying me with the pancakes, she cuts off a sliver of a bite from the edge. Too sweet. I can tell by the way she chews slow and drinks a lot of water afterward.

“You want me to do the pancakes over?”

“Nah. I’m not that hungry.”

“All right.”

I get up to do the dishes. I place the stopper, squirt soap into the sink, watch steam rise off the stream of hot water coming from the tap. That was the longest conversation I’ve had with Frankie in ages, and I don’t want to wreck it.

“West?” she says to my back.

“Yeah?”

“What did Mr. Gorham say?”

A real question about a real thing, asked in a civil tone of voice.

I could f*cking cheer, it feels like such an accomplishment.

“He said he’ll take care of things with this Clint kid. You won’t have to sit near him on the bus anymore, or in class.”

Silence.

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Thanks.”

I swallow over a lump in my throat. “I didn’t do much, but you’re welcome.”

While the bubbles rise in the sink, I think about what else there is to talk about. About how to get from surviving to thriving. I haven’t got a clue, so I think about what Caroline might say.

“He wants to get you doing more gifted and talented stuff.”

“He always says that.”

“It sounds like he thinks it’s pretty important.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

I turn to look at her, trying not to let on how much her statement worries me. My sister looks sallow under the kitchen lights. She’s sitting with her arms and legs crossed, a stubborn frown fixed on the far wall.

“Sure you do,” I say.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t, okay?”

“No, look—”

And then I stop myself, because I can hear my volume rising, and no.

Not going to be that man.

I recognize the way she looks right now. I’ve felt that mask on my own face, that hard set to my jaw, that steel in my eyes. All I’m going to accomplish if I keep after her right now is to make her dig in further.

I don’t know what her reasons are, but she’s got them. Me and her—we’re alike that way. So instead of giving her grief, I ask, “What do you want?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t want pancakes for breakfast, you didn’t want to move here, you don’t want gifted and talented—what do you want, Franks? You want to go back to Silt? You want to take art lessons after school? You want me to find this Clint kid and punch him in the face? What?”

Her eyebrows are drawn in, her face sharp. “I want to go to my room,” she says.

I close my eyes and breathe.

This is what I’m getting from her right now, and it’s fine. It’s not what I want, but I can live with it.

“I’m trying to do right by you,” I say. “You know that.”

She nods, slowly.

“So think about what I asked, and when you know the answer, tell me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” And then, as though it’s an afterthought—as though I haven’t been thinking about how to tell her all morning—I say, “Caroline’s coming over later.”

“What for?”

“To study. And she’ll probably stay for dinner.”

“Good.”

Frankie starts down the hall.

“She might stay the night.”

Frankie stops on her threshold. “Like, in your room?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

“Gross.”

Then she disappears, closes the door shut behind her, and I’m standing there like a jackass, unsure whether to count that conversation as a success or a failure.


There’s snow flurries that afternoon. It’s too early for snow.

I’m watching them fall in fuzzy, lazy swoops when I see Laurie come out of the house and go into his workshop.