Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(41)

“That’s weird, isn’t it? I mean,” I look over my shoulder in the direction of the house, though I can’t see it from where we are, “I’d think your mom would be big on family holidays together.” I’m guessing Christmas with Wilma would be a just like in the movies, the house smelling of gingerbread and decorated in mistletoe.

“Yeah, it used to be a big deal around here,” he says with a sigh, and I feel a hand casually graze my back. “A lot of shit has gone down here, with my dad. No one comes around much anymore.” I feel like Ben has more to say but he leaves it at that.

“Not even to see your mom?”

“She went to California a couple of years ago to see Elsie. And she went to Chicago for a weekend to see Rob this past Easter. She ended up having a minor heart attack while she was there. A fluke really, but it’s a good thing it wasn’t out here, all alone.” Ben closes his eyes. “Everyone misses her, but not enough to come back here.”

“Why? What happened?” I know I’m prying, but this is Ben. If he doesn’t want to tell me, he’ll find a way around it.

“Just . . . family drama. My dad’s an * and he doesn’t treat my mama well. He used to treat her really bad. You know, cheating on her and stuff. Now he’s just an old, pathetic drunk who hates the world.” Ben heaves a sigh. “I hate drama. I stay far away from it.”

“Switzerland.”

“Yup, you got it. Switzerland,” he murmurs, seemingly peaceful with his eyes closed. But there’s not a hint of a smile touching his lips and that’s rare for Ben. It makes me think he may actually be sad. “What about you?” he asks. “Brothers? Sisters? Besides Mason, of course.”

“Nope.” Annabelle said she didn’t want to ruin her body any more than she already had, having me.

“What’s with you two, anyway? I can’t tell if it’s all an act or if you actually hate each other.”

“It does seem like that sometimes, doesn’t it?” I’ve often asked myself that question. “I know I drive him nuts with the way I don’t hang my jacket up and how I leave coffee stains on the counter. I’m not sure if that’s just him being a neat freak or what.”

Ben chuckles. “Yeah, I love bugging the shit out of that guy. I go into his office and move all of his stuff around.”

“You’re the one doing that? He’s been blaming me for it for the last two weeks!” I reach out and smack the width of his bare stomach, just above his belt line. I swear, I’d believe he was waiting for it because the hand that was touching my back hooks around my side and pulls me back until I’m lying down, my head resting in the crook of his arm. He chuckles softly. “Keep your hands to yourself or I’ll tell my mama that you’re trying to sully me.”

“She won’t believe you,” I throw back, trying to squirm away. When I realize Ben’s not letting me go anywhere, I give in and nestle into the cushion of his chest. We lie in silence for a few long minutes as the sun beats down and the cicadas sing. I know a lot of people can’t stand those things, but I kind of like the melody they create.

“What about when you two were kids? Did you get along then?”

“Oh, he definitely hated me then,” I admit. “I remember the day we moved into Jack’s house. I had only met him a handful of times and he seemed really quiet. Stupid me—I thought things would be different. It was going to be cool to have a brother . . .” I smile at the memory of nine-year-old Mason, a scrawny kid with glasses and really messy black hair. Funny, all that’s changed is that he’s a man instead of a kid. “Jack said Mason was just mad at him for ‘replacing’ his mom—she died of a brain aneurysm a few years before that—and that’s why he was hiding in his room all the time.” I shrug, a strange sadness enveloping me as I recall the day I realized that Mason would never be like one of those older brothers you see on television, who gives bear hugs and chases all the mean kids away. “One morning when I was about eight, I decided to put all three of his Siamese fighting fish in one tank. I didn’t believe they’d actually kill each other. But when we came home from school and Mason went to his room, well . . . let’s just say he was down to one pet.”

“So you were one of those little kids.” I feel Ben’s head shake with disapproval but when I glance up, I see an amused smile.

Ducking back into his chest, I go on. “Mason was so mad at me that he went to school the next day and told Chase Butler, this loudmouth dickhead, that my daddy left me like a stray in a truck stop. Well, within ten seconds of walking into the cafeteria, Chase had the entire room chanting ‘Stray MacKay.’ I knew right away why. After that, I didn’t have much love for Mason either.” The nickname stuck all through middle school. Kids can be *s.

“Huh, so that’s what he was talking about . . .” Ben murmurs. “Is it true about your dad?”

I pause, picking my words carefully. This just isn’t something I talk to with anyone and if Ben were to start teasing me about it . . . “Yeah, I guess. I mean, my dad did leave me in a diner, but I don’t remember that day being scary or bad. I just remember taking a long ride in his truck, and chasing chickens and pigs around at some farm. And laughing a lot. The way Annabelle tells the story, though, it sounds like he was this awful man and I was in grave danger. Apparently they had a fight and he took off with me in his truck, saying he was leaving her and never bringing me back. So Annabelle called the police and reported me as kidnapped. My dad already had a record—some stupid bar fight that put a guy in the hospital—so adding a kidnapping charge was bad. I’ve always believed that’s why he left me there.” I add in a softer voice, more a confirmation to myself, “That’s the only thing that makes sense.” We fall into silence as I listen to Ben’s strong heartbeat next to my ear, letting the afternoon sun bathe my skin, hoping that it’ll scare away the gloom that always creeps in when I think about my father and how he just abandoned me, like I was a cat he didn’t want anymore.