Saint Anything(69)

“Maybe another time,” I said.

At six p.m., like always, we returned to Seaside so I could head home, while Mac kept delivering until close. Usually, for the rest of the evening I’d wonder what he was doing. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might do the same about me. But that night, when I was sitting on my bed doing some reading for English, my phone beeped.

3 deluxe, 2 pepperoni mushroom. 6 orders garlic knots. Go.

I smiled. Has to be a team. All men.

A pause. I tried to go back to my book. Finally, a response: a picture of the sign in front of 7-10 Bowling Center. Impressive, it said below it.

I do my best, I replied.

Will stump you eventually, he wrote back.

I laughed out loud, alone in my room. Bring it.

That was how the texting started. No longer was Layla the only one who kept her phone within easy reach at all times. At night while I was eating dinner and doing homework, Mac crossing town, then back again, we kept in touch. It was the next best thing to being there. Or maybe the best thing, period.

*

“This is a collect call from an inmate at Lincoln Correctional Facility. Do you accept the charges?”

I could hear the garage door opening as my mom idled in the driveway. In just five minutes, she’d be inside. But Peyton was calling now.

“Yes,” I said.

There was a click, and then I heard my brother’s voice. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Sydney.”

“Oh. Hey.” He cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Good,” I replied. “Mom’s just getting home. She’ll be here in a second.”

“Okay.”

We sat there for a moment, the only sound the empty buzzing of the line. Finally he said, “So, how’s school? I hear you’re at Jackson now.”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “Different. But I’ve made some friends.”

“That’s about all I can say about this place.” He laughed softly. “Although I’d pick high school over it any day of the week. And I hated high school.”

“You did?” I was genuinely surprised. For all that had happened, I’d never doubted that Peyton had enjoyed himself, at least when he wasn’t in trouble.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “It was probably why I was such an idiot. Misery makes people do stupid things.”

It was so weird, talking like this. Like he was someone else I didn’t know at all. “Why was it so bad?”

He was quiet a moment. “I don’t know. The regular reasons. Bad grades, pressure from Mom and Dad. You know.”

But I didn’t, not really. I’d just assumed being the firstborn meant all the privilege; it hadn’t occurred to me that another level came with it, one of responsibility, everything happening to you first.

Thinking this, I said, “I saw that path the other day, the one we used to take into the woods here. Remember?”

He was quiet for a second. “Yeah. With the sinkhole.”

“Yeah,” I repeated. “You walked across it that time, on a dare.” As I said this, I realized how much I really did want him to remember.

After a pause, he said, “Not my brightest moment.”

Again, I was surprised. How much else did we see differently? “But you did it,” I said.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Like I said, I did a lot of stupid things.”

Neither of us spoke for what felt like a long time. It was so awkward that I finally said, “So I’m looking forward to our visit. We all are.”

“Your visit?” he asked.

“The graduation. From your class,” I told him. “Mom’s been talking about it for ages.”

“You’re coming?” He sounded surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” A pause. “You don’t need to.”

“It’s okay. Mom said you’d filled out a form for me,” I told him.

“I did. But that was just for . . .” He trailed off. “It’s really not a big deal. I doubt anyone else’s family is coming.”

“Mom’s planning this whole thing, though.”

“She is?”

“Yeah.” I could hear my mom putting her keys in the door. “I’m, um . . . It’ll be good to see you. Finally.”

Silence, but a different sort. The kind that means not only that no one’s talking, but that something very specific is not being said. My mom came in carrying two bags of groceries, her purse over her shoulder. “Sydney. You’re home already.”

“Is that Mom?” Peyton asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Sure.” I walked over to where she was beginning to unload her bags. “Mom. It’s Peyton.”

“Oh!” She turned, smiling, and took the phone from me. “Hey, honey. What a nice surprise. How are you?”

I went back over to the kitchen table, where I picked up the plate, now empty, I’d used for the slice I’d brought home with me from Seaside. I’d only stopped in, as Layla was with Spence and Mac was at band practice. My after-school piece of pizza had become enough of a habit, however, that I found I couldn’t miss it, even when I was missing them.