Misconduct(61)

No. Tyler Marek was a fling.

I licked my lips, flashing my brother a smile. “He makes me laugh and he turns me on,” I taunted. “And I love it when he does this thing with his tongue —”

“Okay!” he burst out, turning away. “We’re not that close.”

I shook with quiet laughter, sinking down onto the couch.

“You want to know the best part?” I asked, and he looked at me.

“I haven’t counted anything since yesterday morning,” I told him.

He looked at me like he didn’t believe me. “Really?”

I nodded, standing up and crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m keeping my expectations reasonable,” I assured him. “But for now, I feel relaxed for the first time in forever. I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

He seemed to give up his objections, because he slowly started nodding and taking deep breaths. My brother was a contradiction, and I still had trouble understanding him. He wanted me to move on, but he seemed to get antsy whenever I picked up a racket. He wanted me to date – not just have dalliances – but apparently someone like Tyler Marek wasn’t what he had in mind.

If anything, I would’ve thought my brother would entertain the idea. Tyler was successful, connected, and political, everything my brother wanted to be.

I knew what my brother said he wanted for me, but on the rare occasion – like lately – when I seemed to go after it, he would try to pull me back, and I didn’t understand why.

“Well.” He heaved out a sigh and shot me a nudging smile. “Since you’re in such a good mood, I have been dying for some of your bacon and mushroom quiche.”

“Quiche?” I winced. “Do you have any idea how long that’s going to take?”

He widened his smile, looking more comical than sympathetic, with both rows of teeth showing.

But I couldn’t deny him. Being needed kept me busy.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but I’m playing music, then. Use the headphones if you want to watch TV.”

I rounded the couch and walked into the kitchen, halting immediately when I spotted three cabinets and a drawer open.

Seriously?

“Jack!” I called, walking over and closing everything. “If you’re going to hang out here, at least close the cabinets and drawers after you’ve opened them.”





“Now, in the decades between the American Revolution and the Civil War” – I paced down the aisle in my classroom the next day – “our country experienced the First Industrial Revolution,” I told the students, summarizing the reading from the storm break.

“What kind of inventions sprang forth?” I asked, snapping my fingers. “Let’s go. Come on.”

“The cotton gin!” Rayder Broussard shot out.

“Which did what?” I continued, listening as I stared at the tile and paced back and forth.

“Uh,” a girl stuttered, and then shouted, “Cotton fibers separated from seeds, enabling clothing to be more quickly produced!”

I looked up, seeing it was a student from Team One, so I jetted over to the board and tallied a point for her team and one for Rayder’s.

“What else?” I called out.

The students flipped through their notes and charts, working vigorously and still going strong despite being worked like machines from the moment they’d stepped into the room today. They sat or stood scattered around the room in organized chaos with their groups and with their noses buried in their research. I would’ve loved this level of participation if my intentions were noble.

But they weren’t. I’d needed the distraction ever since my brother’s visit yesterday. He’d denied leaving my kitchen a mess, and now it was all I could think about. If Jack hadn’t left the drawer and cabinets open, then who had?

He should’ve known. The minute he’d walked into the apartment the night before and seen the kitchen out of sorts, he should’ve known something was wrong. I never left things out of place.

Four cups in a stack in the cabinet, two turns to close the toothpaste, closet organized – blouses, shirts, pants, skirts, dark to light – everything was always in order.

But upon further inspection yesterday, I’d found my shower curtain also open and two skirts I hadn’t worn lately hanging on the back of my bedroom chair.

My heart started to pound again, and I swallowed.

While I arranged and organized things as a way to achieve a small sense of control, it had begun as a way to tell if anyone had been in my space.

At sixteen, when I’d started obsessing, if something was mussed, crooked, or out of place, I would know that I wasn’t safe.

And while now I still did it for a measure of peace, I hadn’t felt unsafe in five years. Not since the last time I’d seen him.

Maybe I’d taken the skirts out two nights ago, when Tyler had wanted to take me to dinner. Maybe I’d opened the cabinets and drawer before that, when I was arguing with Jack.

I hadn’t counted anything lately, so maybe I was starting to loosen my grip on the order I’d once needed. Maybe my brain was so preoccupied with my class and with Tyler that I’d started to do what I’d needed to do for years: move on and let go.

Or maybe my brother did open the cabinets and drawers and just forgot.