The Things We Knew (11 page)

Finally, common ground.

Lynette smiled her thanks when Gray wasn't looking. “Good idea. If you need any more hangers, just yell.”

“I'm not going upstairs. I want to know what he's doing here.” Gray's voice rose as he shuffled toward Nick.

“Your sister invited me.” Nick cleared his throat and crossed his arms, but stayed where he was.

Lynette prayed for a sudden hurricane, earthquake . . . anything.

“Well, I'm uninviting you,” Gray growled. “Get out.”

“Make me.”

“Stop!” She turned to her brother. “You haven't been home in years, Gray Carlisle. You don't have the right to give orders around here. And you, Nicholas, are just egging him on. Don't think for one minute I've forgotten the games the two of you played. Stop
acting like children. Whatever went on between you, get over it. Or you can both get out.”

“Hallelujah!” Victoria clapped her hands and gave Lynette a wide smile. “I think I'm going to like you.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Gray barked. “It's my house. Make him leave.” Another coughing fit paralyzed him and Lynette breathed a guilty sigh of relief.

“I'll go. It's fine.” Nick wiped his hands on his jeans and looked her way.

“No, Nick, really—”

“Let him go,” Gray growled between coughs. “At least that way I might be able to eat.”

Lynette reached past Nick for a glass and filled it at the tap. She handed it to Gray but he started coughing again, lost his grip, and it fell to the floor, splintering into a million pieces.

They all stared at the mess and she wondered who would move first.

“What's all the noise?”

Lynette pulled up short at the sound of her father's voice, glanced at Gray and the broken glass all around them.

Okay, God, so not fair.

She'd prayed for a hurricane, not the Apocalypse.

G
ray stopped coughing and stared at his father.

Had he really been gone that long? Pops looked a hundred years old. He straightened, met his eyes, and battled a weird combination of anger and sorrow.

“Well, you finally decided to show up!” Pops bellowed, hands on his hips. His thick brows almost touched as his eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea what time it is, Grayson John? Your mother's been worried sick. Where've you been? You look like something the dogs dragged in.”

Gray leaned against the counter and gripped the edge so he wouldn't fall over. He tried to shift his weight, but his bare feet stuck to the kitchen floor. His throat tightened as his gaze slid to where Lynette stood.

Glass was everywhere.

Neither of them could move even if they wanted to.

Finally Nick went for a broom and began sweeping. Tori crouched beside him with the dustpan and a wad of paper towels.

“Stay over there, Dad,” Lynette half whispered. “I dropped a glass. You forgot to put your slippers on.” Her wide eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Gray isn't that late. You . . . you've just lost track of time.”

Gray clamped his mouth shut, clamped emotions, and clamped down the urge to demand answers. He took shallow breaths and
studied his sister, still looking after Pops all these years, and his guilty heart surrendered to feelings he hadn't tapped into for a while. She looked like a waif off the street, long hair all over the place, wearing clothes she'd probably owned in high school.

He forced his gaze back to his father. His stomach rolled in protest as memories, medication, and misinformation melded together, pressed hard against his gut. “Didn't realize you were waiting up for me, Pops. Sorry.”

“Sorry? That's all you have to say? Hope you filled up the car.” Pops rubbed his jaw and Gray peered a little closer, taking in the vacant look in his eyes.

This was worse than coming off a bad trip.

Gray backed up when Nick got too close with the broom, its soft bristles tickling his toes. “Yo, dude. Take it easy there.”

“Sorry.” Nick glanced up and stopped sweeping. “If you take two steps that way, I can get those pieces behind you.”

Gray sidestepped the shards. If it'd been him, he might have let Nick step on them.

Lynette rounded the counter and put her arm through their father's. “Dinner's almost ready. Since you're awake, would you like to join us?”

“Why are we eating at this ungodly hour?” Pops shook his head and smirked. “You kids and your wild parties. Well, I suppose I could have a bite. Gray, go get your brothers. It's time to eat.”

“Mr. Carlisle!” Cecily ran into the room, out of breath. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Pops, then shot Lynette a harried look. “Lawdy, girl, I can't keep track of him. Man needs a cowbell or something. There he goes again!” She hurried after Pops as he headed to the dining room.

Gray scratched his head. He tried to dislodge the rock in his throat and managed to get Lynette's attention. “Lynnie, what the—”

“Stop.” She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. “Not now.”

“I need a drink,” Gray muttered as he watched her take their father into the dining room.

“I'll get you some water.” Tori's glare shot through him.

“That's what I meant.” She never did appreciate his humor.

Tori found another glass, miraculously produced a bottle of Evian from somewhere, plopped in two ice cubes, and handed it to him. Gray downed the cool liquid too fast. Bright spots flashed in his eyes and he bent over his knees.

Nick grabbed his elbow and jerked him up before he hit the floor.

“Gray!” Lynnie was back, bending to look at him. She took the empty glass from his trembling hand before he could drop another one. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” Gray straightened and wriggled out of Nick's grasp. “What's wrong with him, Lynnie? He's not still drinking?”

“No! He hasn't had a drink in years, Gray, I promise you.” She kept her voice low, her eyes frantic, willing him to believe her.

“Then what is it? And why didn't you tell me? And if you say you don't know, I swear I'll—”

“Stop shouting at me!” She whirled and stood with her back to him.

“Who's shouting? You want shouting?”

Cooper made a noise like he was choking on something and marched past them with a large bowl of pasta. His piercing gaze jacked up Gray's blood pressure again.

His stomach was doing a number on him. He should have taken Tori's advice. Because all this? A longer stint in rehab would have been a much better idea.

“Gray, chill.” Tori scowled at him.

Lynette picked up a handful of cutlery and headed for the dining room.

Gray stared at her retreating figure. “Did she just leave? I asked her a question and she ignored me?”

Nick stalked past him again and poured thick red sauce into a white serving dish. He turned to Gray, bowl in hand. “Mind taking this out to the table while I get the bread?”

“Yes, I mind,” Gray spluttered. “I want somebody to give me some answers!”

“Give it to me.” Tori took the bowl from Nick and looked at Gray. “Go sit down and zip it. Please.”

Gray couldn't make his head stop spinning. He blinked a couple times, took some deep breaths, and filled his glass with more water.

Tori was ordering him around, his baby sister was giving him the cold shoulder, his dad was going mental, and Cooper was treating him like the help.

This is what he got for deciding to get sober.

Gray hunched over the toilet and waited. Maybe he was really done this time. He'd tried to be quiet, but that was pretty much impossible when his entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out.

The bathroom door creaked open and somebody crouched behind him. Gray couldn't move to see who, could barely lift his head.

A cold cloth was placed on his forehead. “Your mother always said a little ginger ale and an ice pack could fix anything.”

Gray blanched at the sound of his father's voice and pushed back on his heels before hitting the cold tile with his butt. “Thanks.” He took the plastic tumbler and sipped. Fizz shot up his nose and made him cough. Pops reached for the cup and placed it on the counter.

He extended a hand, his face masked with worry as he looked down at Gray. “You want to go back to bed?”

Gray grabbed hold and let his father haul him to his feet. The old man wasn't so frail after all. “Sorry I woke you, Pops.” He picked up the soda and shuffled back toward his bedroom.

“I was awake anyway.” His father followed him into the room. “I don't sleep much these days.”

Gray got back into bed and pulled up the blankets. The house was freezing. Damp, musty, and filled with the salty smell that infiltrated his dreams—hadn't left him even when he'd left the place.

“What time is it?” His throat felt clogged with cotton but he knew if he tried to clear it, he'd be running for the bathroom again.

“Must be around five. Sun should be up soon.” Pops stood by the window, peering through the gap in the plaid curtains.

Gray smothered a yawn and closed his eyes.

“The first few months are the hardest.” Pops thumped down on the edge of his bed.

Gray's eyes flew open. “What?”

“When you're trying to quit.”

His father's expression was kind, soft even. Maybe he really had gone nuts.

Maybe they both had.

Because from what he'd witnessed last night, Gray had no clue how they were even having this conversation. But he'd take it.

“That's what I hear.” Gray heaved a sigh and ignored the rattle in his chest. “Lynnie says you're on the wagon.”

Pops played with the sash of his robe. “Been a few years now. I stopped counting the exact days. Actually . . . I have a little trouble keeping track of time lately.” Slow laughter rumbled out of him.

“Oh.” No kidding. “That's great, Pops. I mean, that you quit. Way to go.” Gray rubbed his eyes and wondered if the rest of them knew about this and why he didn't. Then again, maybe if he'd bothered to call once in a while.

Pops crossed a pajama-clad leg over his knee and looked Gray
straight in the eye, the way he used to when a lecture was coming on. Gray felt sixteen again.

“My mind plays tricks on me sometimes, son, but not all the time. I have eyes and ears. Know what I'm saying?”

Shame smacked his cheeks, and Gray studied the trophies on the shelf across the room. Posters of baseball players and rock bands still stuck to the walls. Faded Red Sox and Patriots pennants wedged between the Rolling Stones, U2, and the Stop sign he and Nick had stolen in tenth grade.

Everything in his bedroom was exactly the way he'd left it that last summer, the year he'd turned twenty, told them he was quitting college and heading to California.

“I screwed up, Pops.”

His dad moved up the bed and placed his hand on Gray's arm. “I know.”

Gray pressed his teeth into his bottom lip and met his father's eyes once more.

“We all make mistakes, Gray. I've made my fair share. But I don't need to tell you that. Your mother and I were always proud of you, no matter what.”

“I don't think Mom would be too proud of me right now.” Gray dragged a hand across his face and sniffed.

“She was a very forgiving person. I wish I had been.”

Gray pushed up and took a sip of the cold drink. Glanced at the digital clock and reached for his pills. He saw his father's face and scowled. “Antibiotics. I had pneumonia.”

Pops squinted at the label and put the bottle back on the bedside table. “I'm glad you decided to come home.”

Gray hadn't been sure. That year before he left, they'd had some wicked arguments. Gray squished his head against the soft feather pillows and tried to read his father. The room got a little lighter. Birds began to chirp outside, their morning song mingling with the ocean's serenade. “For real?”

Pops nodded, his face cracking with a rare smile. “Don't tell Lynnie. She thinks I'm still mad at you for totaling the car on your sixteenth birthday.”

“So you're not?” That little joyride across Sankaty Head Golf Course in the middle of the night hadn't been such a great idea. His laugh brought on more coughing, his lungs practically evicting themselves from his body. If the sun came out today, he'd spend all day just sitting in it.

“I've decided to let it go.” Pops rose and pulled the covers tight around Gray's shoulders, like he used to every night. Before.

“Sweet.”

His father scratched his nose, tipped his head. “What's that supposed to mean?”

More laughter tickled Gray's sore throat. “It means cool. Good. Sweet.”

“Oh. Okay then. Sweet.”

Gray returned his wink and marveled at what was going on inside of him. An emotion he barely recognized worked its way upward. Pushed through all the muck and mire and the clouded judgment and lit the tiniest of sparks.

Hope.

Pops reached over and tousled his hair. “Go back to sleep. I'll tell Lynnie not to wake you.”

Gray drew in a deep breath as his father shut the door. Despite everything, Gray knew he was exactly where he was meant to be. It wouldn't be easy, but there were things here he needed to take care of.

He pushed his forefingers into the corners of his eyes and cursed at the wetness. No matter. He'd survive this. Somehow.

He wasn't sure of much at the moment, but he did know one thing.

It was good to be home.