Teeth(26)

He double-takes like a cartoon character. “What?”

The ocean pounds three large waves in a row, like a drumbeat.

I say, “You never even talk anymore unless you’re fighting.”

“Hey, you’re not around that much lately, kiddo.” He wiggles his eyebrows a little when he says this.

I start talking fast, mostly so he doesn’t get a chance to ask where I am all the time or why he apparently thinks I’m doing something eyebrow-wiggle worthy. I guess I’m glad they assume I’m spending all my time wooing Diana. I say, “It’s just that ever since we’ve moved here it’s like we became different people. And it’s not like we’ve changed, or gotten better, or worse, it’s just that . . . we stopped being who we really are and started being who we expected each other to be. We’re like . . . caricatures, compared to how we were.” I dig in the sand with my thumb. “It’s like we’re all trying to disappoint each other in exactly the same ways we always have, so that there are no surprises.”

“Rudy.”

“I’m all aloof and you and Mom are all . . . cramped.”

“Cramped.”

“In the tiny kitchen. And the house is so dark all the time. And the ocean’s so loud . . . . ”

He exhales. “This is a rough time. We know that.”

“It’s been a rough time for three years.”

“But now you can’t get away from it. And I understand how hard that must be for you. Leaving your friends . . . ”

“It’s not that.” God, it has nothing to do with them.

How long has it had nothing to do with them?

Dad says, “But he’s getting better now. Considerably.” He looks down at Dylan and smiles. “Dyl, start heading back, okay?”

“Okay!” Dylan shouts. He turns around and starts coming toward us, still pretending he’s on a balance beam.

I feel Teeth watching him.

“I know you don’t like it here,” Dad says.

“It’s not that simple.” I look back out to the water, but it’s nearly still right now, and Teeth has disappeared.

“You miss home.”

“Of course.”

He says. “We’re a family. And . . . unfortunately . . . ” He puts an arm around my shoulders. “That means your mom and I are going to fight sometimes when things are this rough, and it also means no one’s going to bail on anyone else. Even on you, kiddo.”

I look at him.

He’s giving me this encouraging smile that I don’t deserve. “We know that you’re not having an easy time here, and we’re so sorry. And we haven’t forgotten about you, you know?”

But the thing is that sometimes they have.

I feel my voice catching. “It’s like you’re mad at me all the time.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. It’s like this was the part of the conversation he was waiting for, and he knows what I’m going to say before even I do. “Nobody’s mad at you,” he says. His voice is quiet, but it has all this air behind it.

“Like I don’t love him as much as you guys do.”

He frowns. “You feel like that?”

“No. You feel like that.” I push my feet hard into the sand. I have this stupid thought that I want to get trapped where I’m sitting, just to prove to Dad that I’m not going to get up and run away. Then before that thought is even finished, my brain screams at me to get up and run away.

Dad’s hand is suddenly on my shoulder, heavy and solid like a harness. He says, “It’s normal to resent him. It doesn’t make you bad. It’s understandable. He gets a lot more attention than you do. And I’m sorry for that, Rudy. I really am. It’s not as if, if we could . . . if we could have chosen things, this is where you would have ended up.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You were our only kid for a long time.” He gives me this little smile. “You were our whole world. We never would have planned for you to feel lost.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Though I have to admit that something in there plucked me in a way I wish it hadn’t. Because it sounds stupid to say that I’m my parents’ second favorite. I’m too old, anyway, to give a shit whether or not Mommy and Daddy love me best. Give me a break.

It’s stupid.

I tilt my head back and breathe out hard. Dylan is almost back to us. We need to finish this now. “I don’t resent him,” I say.

Dad watches me.

I choose my words as quickly as I can. “I am scared to death of him, Dad.”

Dylan runs—runs—into me and crashes into my arms.

I say, “Hey, buddy,” and give him a hug.

I think Dad is reaching out toward Dylan, but then he palms my head instead. And I can’t tell which of us he’s talking to when he says, “You make me so proud.”

I don’t want Dylan to see me cry again, so I hold my breath when he starts running around the beach in circles with his arms flailing around, looking exactly like this kid we’ve had in our heads for the past three years.



“Can I ask you a question?” Diana says, mid-kiss, not sexy, just conversational.