Devoured: A Novel(11)

It was one of those fairytale moments where everyone was happy, and there was no animosity.

Three years later, Mom came back to Nashville with her new husband. And I quickly learned how completely stupid I was for hoping for her return.

If Lucas knows so much about Gram, what does he know about my family’s history?

I tighten my grip around the scrubber pad in my hand until the steel prickles painfully into my palm and attack a spot of invisible soap scum on the shower wall. Ever since Lucas left a couple hours ago, I’ve kept myself busy, alternating between cleaning and watching reruns of some mobster show online. Neither has been a very good distraction from thinking of Lucas or where Gram’s weekly Tuesday errands are actually taking her.

Again.

“You rushed me over here with your bags for . . . ?” the sound of a voice behind me just about pulls out of my skin. Splaying my wet palms over my chest because my heart is pounding so hard it aches, I scramble around on my hands and knees to face Seth.

“Don’t you knock? Or ring doorbells?” I cough. “I could’ve—”

“What? Attacked me with household cleaner? The papers would have a shit-fest with that one. ‘Pissy redhead mauls popular Vandy student with the remains of a Brillo-Pad. Charges are pending’.” Seth doesn’t seem daunted by the fact he scared the hell out of me. In fact, he’s smiling like an idiot. Begrudgingly, I take his hand when he reaches it out to me, and he pulls me up to my feet.

“You wouldn’t press charges against me,” I say.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a girl. And I’m betting you have some screwed up idea that admitting a girl kicked your ass makes you a lesser man. Am I right?”

Lifting an eyebrow, he laughs. “First time you’ve gotten something right about me in what? Four years?”

Ignoring the jibe, I follow him down the stairs. I almost expect him to take a ride on the wooden bannister like he did when we were kids, but he jogs instead. The coat rack in the foyer topples over from the motion.

We squat down at the same time to pick it up. As I pick up the jackets that have fallen to the floor, I decide to confront him about what Lucas pointed out earlier this afternoon. There’s a chance Seth knows something I don’t know, though I’m almost hoping he’s not for the sake of my not getting jealous again. “Where does Gram go every Tuesday?”

My brother’s light mood seems to change in a matter of seconds. His relaxed smile disappears, suddenly replaced by a tight frown, and his shoulders tighten. He pops to his feet, but this time, he doesn’t help me to mine.

“How do you know she goes somewhere every Tuesday?”

“Sh-she mentioned something about keeping to her usual Tuesday schedule this morning at breakfast,” I lie. Whenever Seth takes on the brooding expression he’s wearing right now, I know he’s only a matter of moments away from going over the edge. I don’t want to pair whatever is bothering him with letting him know Lucas was out here this morning.

Releasing a growl, Seth drags his hands through his wheat-colored hair and then stalks past me into the dining room. He sits down at the antique table where we used to eat dinner every night and slides out the chair beside of him, motioning for me to sit, too. I scoot it back in and opt for the seat at the other end of the table, directly across from him.

“I take it this isn’t good,” I say at last.

“Do you think it’s possible she’s been going to see Mom?” he asks.

Of course, but I was hoping Seth would reassure me it isn’t a possibility. Seth is so upset about the prospect, that he’s shaking. Out of the two of us, his bitterness toward our mother is twice as bad. But then again, I wasn’t the kid who Mom had almost convinced to take the fall for her sins.

Yet somehow, I’d found myself smack dab in the middle of it all.

And for the first couple years after everything happened, I was the kid who let Mom bully her around even from inside of a prison cell.

I place my hands together, rubbing them on either side of my nose. I must look like I’m praying to Seth because he rolls his eyes dramatically. “So what do we do?” I ask.

“She’s not a kid, Si. There’s nothing we can do.”

“You’re a pretentious ass—you always know what to do.”

“I’m not going to ask her if she’s visiting Mom because I’ve got no proof. If you want to, you can, but I’m sure you won’t.”