The Reunion(109)

“Yes,” Palmer says, looking confused.

“Do you remember the conversation we had?”

Palmer gives it some thought. “Not word for word, but I remember you telling me it didn’t matter that we weren’t blood—we were connected by our souls, and nothing could break that.”

I nod and play with the napkin in front of me. “And I said that no matter what, we were never going to leave you. That night and for an entire week, Ford and I slept on the floor of your room to show you we weren’t going anywhere.”

“I remember that,” Palmer says, a small smile pulling at her lips. “That’s when Mom’s cat Otis was stuck in the room and freaked out so bad that he ended up puking on Ford.”

“I can still smell the puke,” Ford says absentmindedly.

“We made it a tradition, that we spent the night in your room every year for the first week of school. Do you remember that?”

“I do.”

“And then Ford went off to college, but it was okay, because I was still there with you. And when it was time for me to go to college, I stayed at home and commuted, so I was always there.” Palmer nods. “But your senior year, I moved in with Dealia because we were getting married.”

She looks away as she props her chin up on her good hand. I pause, waiting for her to say something as a tear streams down her face.

Finally, she takes a deep, shaky breath. “You were always so afraid Mom and Dad were going to leave you, but I was just as terrified I was going to lose my brothers—and I did.”

“But you didn’t lose us,” Ford says.

“Dude, you have to listen,” I say. “You have to listen to her feelings. Not to start a fight, but that’s one of the biggest issues you have. You scratch the surface with us; you don’t dive deep. So listen to Palmer.”

Understanding crosses his face as he nods. “Sorry. Why, uh . . . why did you feel like you were losing us?”

Palmer looks grateful for the moment to speak candidly. She takes her time, though.

“I always . . . well, I always had you two by my side, loving on me, playing with me. I know you worshipped me more than you should have—I was definitely spoiled—but you two were amazing brothers growing up. Always dealing with my annoying little-sister tendencies. But because of the age gap, you left before I was ready to say goodbye, before I was ready to give up those everyday interactions. And I know it’s not your fault, but it still gutted me. Ford, you took off, and it felt like you didn’t look back. You came home for holidays and summers, but you were different. Serious. Didn’t want to goof around, and it felt like you didn’t have time for me anymore. And Cooper, you stayed at home, and I cherished those moments with you, but they also started to dwindle, especially when you met Dealia. I felt abandoned, and it’s stupid because I know we’re all supposed to move on, but . . .”

“You weren’t ready.”

She shakes her head. “No. I wasn’t. And there was no proper goodbye, you know? You both just floated away.”

“Is that why you didn’t have a good senior year?” Ford asks.

Palmer nods. “I struggled. Honestly, I was lucky I got into NYU early after the grades I pulled.”

“And the fire,” I press, though gently this time.

Another tear streams down her face, but she doesn’t wipe this one away. “But . . . the cameras weren’t even running at that point, and they were destroyed in the fire. How do you know?”

“We love you, Palmer, but Mom and Dad had those security cameras, which you thought made the store look so hideous, installed that year because things were starting to be stolen. Some of your friends were a bit too friendly with the merchandise, apparently. And this is a small island—word spreads quickly, especially secrets. Between the rumors and the thefts, Mom and Dad realized their daughter was having parties in the store. Sure, they didn’t have footage of what happened the night of the fire, but they knew it was you.”

Guilt is written all over her face. “Why didn’t they say anything?”

“They wanted you to learn the hard way. They thought if the cops were called or something bad enough happened to scare you, that would teach you a better lesson than any lecture they might give you. But then the fire started. And they were in shock; we all were. We thought that was it—you were going to finally tell us—but you never did.”

“I was too ashamed,” she says. “I thought that Mom and Dad bought the story that I didn’t start the fire but was just trying to put it out, save the store. I thought it would all be okay, but that was the beginning of the end, wasn’t it?”

I nod. “It was for me. That’s where I felt the disconnect between us start to happen.”

“I encouraged Cooper to say something to you,” Ford says, “since you two were closer at the time. But he wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t have it in me,” I admit. “I couldn’t look you in the eye, knowing you didn’t claim one ounce of responsibility, especially after seeing how distraught Mom and Dad were. So, Ford and I got into a huge fight over it. We blamed each other for not saying something to you sooner.” I sigh, remembering all the useless anger, the hurtful words we threw at each other. “Nothing came of the fight besides resentment—neither of us could take the blame, could solve the problem—and as a result, we ended up going months without talking. After that, it felt like our relationship was never really the same.”