Two Can Keep a Secret(86)

I don’t know. Maybe it is, or maybe we’re finally figuring out that we haven’t been normal for years and it’s time to redefine the word.

Declan heads for a cooler in the backyard, and Mia nudges my arm. “No time like the present,” she says.

I glare at my brother’s back. “Why is it even my responsibility? He’s older. He should extend the olive branch first.”

Mia adjusts her cat’s-eye sunglasses. “You thought he was guilty of murder.”

“Yeah, well, Ellery suspected me at one point. I got over it.”

“Ellery had known you for less than a month then. She wasn’t your brother.”

“He didn’t even visit me in the hospital!”

She enunciates every word carefully. “You. Thought. He. Was. Guilty. Of. Murder.”

“I almost got murdered.”

“You could do this all day, or you could be the bigger person.” Mia waits a beat, then punches me in the arm. “At least he showed up.”

“All right, fine,” I grumble, and take off after Declan.

I wasn’t sure he’d be here. We’ve only spoken a couple of times since I was released from the hospital, mostly to sort stuff out related to Mom. That’s a mess; all of Peter’s assets are frozen, so she’s got nothing to her name except a bank account that won’t cover more than a couple months’ worth of expenses. We’ll be moving to Solsbury soon, and while I can’t get out of the Nilssons’ house fast enough, I don’t know what happens after that. Mom hasn’t worked in over a year, and my dad’s harder to reach than ever.

We got a semilucrative offer to tell our side of the story to a tabloid, but we’re not desperate enough to take it. Yet.

Declan’s at the far corner of the yard, pulling a frosted brown bottle from a blue cooler. He twists the cap off and takes a long sip, then catches sight of me and lowers the bottle. I’m a few feet away when I notice how white his knuckles are. “What’s up, little brother?”

“Can I have one?” I ask.

He snorts. “You don’t drink.”

“I might need to start.”

Declan reopens the cooler and plunges his hand into its depths, extracting a bottle identical to the one he’s holding. He hands it to me, expressionless, and I manage to get the top off without wincing when the sharp edges cut into my palm. I take a tentative sip, waiting for bitterness to explode in my mouth, but it’s not half bad. Smooth and almost honey flavored. I’m nervous and thirsty, and a quarter of the bottle is gone before Declan grabs my arm.

“Slow down.”

I meet his eyes, and force out the words I’ve been practicing for two weeks. “I’m sorry.”

Seconds pass that feel like minutes. I’m ready for just about any response; for him to yell at me, to walk away without saying anything, even to sock me in the jaw. The bruises from Kyle’s attack are almost gone, just in time for some new ones.

But Declan doesn’t do any of those things. He sips his beer, then clinks his bottle against mine. “Me too,” he says.

The bottle almost slips out of my hand. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“So you’re not …” I trail off. You’re not mad still seems impossible.

Declan looks back at the porch we left, squinting in the bright sun. It’s one of those incredible late-October days we get sometimes in Vermont, upper seventies with a cloudless blue sky, the trees around us exploding with color. Daisy is holding the baby now, talking earnestly with Ryan’s sister. Mia and Ezra are sitting side by side on the wooden railing, knees dangling and their heads bent close together. The sliding door to the house opens and a girl steps outside, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders.

I’ve been waiting for her to show up, but I guess I can wait to talk a little longer.

“I’ve been a shit brother to you, Mal,” Declan says finally. “For years. I just— I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t give a crap about you when we were kids. Too caught up in my own stuff. And you weren’t … I don’t know. Enough like me for me to pay attention.” A muscle in his cheek jumps, his eyes still on the porch. “Then everything went to hell and I took off. I didn’t think about you then, either. Not for years. So I’m not sure why I expected you to be on my side when somebody found my class ring at a murder site.”

My throat’s uncomfortably dry, but I don’t want any more beer. “I should’ve realized you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Declan shrugs. “Why? We barely know each other. And I’m the adult, or so they tell me. So that’s on me.” He opens the cooler again and pulls out a ginger ale, holding it out to me. I hesitate, and he takes the beer from my hand, setting it down on a nearby table. “Come on, Mal. That’s not you.”

I take the ginger ale. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Mom.”

“I don’t either. That shit’s not great. We’ll figure it out, though. You guys can get a place near Daisy and me. Solsbury’s all right.” He grins and takes a sip of beer. “The regulars at Bukowski’s Tavern aren’t half bad when you get to know them.”

The tightness in my chest loosens. “Good to know.”