he’d been reluctant to confront his sister. Marcellus lived in a truth distortion field of her own sometimes. She was like Steve Jobs that way. Steve Jobs without the talent or creativity. That was his sister in a nutshell.
``So what are you going to do about it?’’
``I told you, I left him.’’
Brant peered back at his sister as he played with his wine glass.
``You’re not going to leave him, Marcellus.’’
``No, and why not?’’
``You like it too much.’’
``What do you mean? Like what?’’
Marcellus wiped her hands as she finished the last piece of pizza. She balled the napkin she’d been holding and tossed it into the empty pizza box.
``I’ll throw that out later. So what do I like too much, Jonas?’’
``The money. The house. The cars. The vacations.’’
Marcellus lived in Newton. She and her husband owned a five-bedroom Colonial on more than seven acres of land. The place was spectacular. Coastal Living had featured the house in one of their fall issues featuring distinctive homes of New England. She’d strutted for weeks after that one.
``I’m not quite as shallow as you think I am, Jonas. I have some integrity left.’’
``I’m sure you do.’’
Marcellus appraised her brother, unsure how to take the sarcastic response.
``We can’t all be Mr. Perfect, little brother.’’
``What’s that supposed to mean?’’
Marcellus shrugged. ``Whatever you want it to mean.’’
She drained the last of her wine, placed the glass in the kitchen sink and rinsed. Carefully, she dried the glass with a tea towel and returned it to the rack below the kitchen cabinets. Halogen lights set into the ceiling shone a spotlight onto the glasses. The effect was subtle, but mesmerizing.
``So what are you doing here?’’ Brant asked.
``I need a place to stay. I can’t go home and I don’t have anywhere else to go.’’
``Really, Marcellus? You’re really going to do this?’’
Marcellus looked intently at her brother, a pleading look in her eyes.
``Just for a few days. I could look after Benji while you’re saving the world. I’d like spending more time with him.’’
``What about yours? Don’t they need you?’’
Marcellus had two boys of her own. They were older than Ben. Ten and 14. The oldest was a terror. He’d been kicked out of the private academy he’d been attending. He’d trolled one of his fellow students through a social media app Brant had never heard of. After telling the other kid to go kill himself, he’d been reported to the local cops. They’d settled the matter quietly, with Marcellus’s son dropping out to enroll in the local public school.
``They’ll be fine,’’ she finally said in reply. ``It’ll do them some good to do things for themselves.’’
``Just for a few days. And I’m not getting involved.’’
``What? With me and David?’’
Brant nodded.
``Oh, God. No. I wouldn’t want you to.’’
``I’ll get you some clean sheets. You can use the extra bedroom.’’
Good to his word, Brant made up the bed with a spare set of white cotton sheets they kept in reserve for guests. Not that they had many. Brant searched his memory to recall the last time anyone had stayed in the house. Besides Mrs. Rodrigues, the list was short.
``What’s bothering you, Jonas?’’ Marcellus asked after Brant had laid out some towels.
``Nothing.’’
``I know you, brother. You seemed edgy with Ben tonight. I noticed that last time we were all together, too.’’
``That was Thanksgiving, Marcellus. That was a long time ago.’’
``Wound still bothering you?’’
Brant rubbed his shoulder.
``I’m okay,’’ he said. ``Bothers me sometimes, but I can deal with it.’’
``When are you going to see a doctor? I mean about that bullet in your head?’’
``When I get a chance.’’
``Yeah?’’ Marcellus shot
``So what are you going to do about it?’’
``I told you, I left him.’’
Brant peered back at his sister as he played with his wine glass.
``You’re not going to leave him, Marcellus.’’
``No, and why not?’’
``You like it too much.’’
``What do you mean? Like what?’’
Marcellus wiped her hands as she finished the last piece of pizza. She balled the napkin she’d been holding and tossed it into the empty pizza box.
``I’ll throw that out later. So what do I like too much, Jonas?’’
``The money. The house. The cars. The vacations.’’
Marcellus lived in Newton. She and her husband owned a five-bedroom Colonial on more than seven acres of land. The place was spectacular. Coastal Living had featured the house in one of their fall issues featuring distinctive homes of New England. She’d strutted for weeks after that one.
``I’m not quite as shallow as you think I am, Jonas. I have some integrity left.’’
``I’m sure you do.’’
Marcellus appraised her brother, unsure how to take the sarcastic response.
``We can’t all be Mr. Perfect, little brother.’’
``What’s that supposed to mean?’’
Marcellus shrugged. ``Whatever you want it to mean.’’
She drained the last of her wine, placed the glass in the kitchen sink and rinsed. Carefully, she dried the glass with a tea towel and returned it to the rack below the kitchen cabinets. Halogen lights set into the ceiling shone a spotlight onto the glasses. The effect was subtle, but mesmerizing.
``So what are you doing here?’’ Brant asked.
``I need a place to stay. I can’t go home and I don’t have anywhere else to go.’’
``Really, Marcellus? You’re really going to do this?’’
Marcellus looked intently at her brother, a pleading look in her eyes.
``Just for a few days. I could look after Benji while you’re saving the world. I’d like spending more time with him.’’
``What about yours? Don’t they need you?’’
Marcellus had two boys of her own. They were older than Ben. Ten and 14. The oldest was a terror. He’d been kicked out of the private academy he’d been attending. He’d trolled one of his fellow students through a social media app Brant had never heard of. After telling the other kid to go kill himself, he’d been reported to the local cops. They’d settled the matter quietly, with Marcellus’s son dropping out to enroll in the local public school.
``They’ll be fine,’’ she finally said in reply. ``It’ll do them some good to do things for themselves.’’
``Just for a few days. And I’m not getting involved.’’
``What? With me and David?’’
Brant nodded.
``Oh, God. No. I wouldn’t want you to.’’
``I’ll get you some clean sheets. You can use the extra bedroom.’’
Good to his word, Brant made up the bed with a spare set of white cotton sheets they kept in reserve for guests. Not that they had many. Brant searched his memory to recall the last time anyone had stayed in the house. Besides Mrs. Rodrigues, the list was short.
``What’s bothering you, Jonas?’’ Marcellus asked after Brant had laid out some towels.
``Nothing.’’
``I know you, brother. You seemed edgy with Ben tonight. I noticed that last time we were all together, too.’’
``That was Thanksgiving, Marcellus. That was a long time ago.’’
``Wound still bothering you?’’
Brant rubbed his shoulder.
``I’m okay,’’ he said. ``Bothers me sometimes, but I can deal with it.’’
``When are you going to see a doctor? I mean about that bullet in your head?’’
``When I get a chance.’’
``Yeah?’’ Marcellus shot
Similar Books
