Every Little Kiss (20 page)

Both of them numbskulls. Jesus, but they deserved each other. He turned up the radio another notch, the squeal of an electric guitar and the thud of drums drowning out the furious thoughts raging in his head. He focused on the slate gray of the road, the icy blue of the sky, and the fridge full of beers his brother would have when he got there. Stu might not have much, but he always had alcohol.

Thank fucking God.

Abe was three beers in when Stu finally tucked himself into the chair across from Abe. “Either spill it or I'm cutting off the booze,” his brother said.

Abe stared at the amber glass of his beer bottle. Dancing bears on Grateful Dead posters leered at him from nearby walls. The faint sounds of a Phish song floated through the air. “I blew it,” he said finally. “I jumped the gun with someone I was seeing. Kind of seeing. And everything just—exploded.”

Stu leaned back, folded his arms. “Who is she? And when did you decide monogamy was your style?”

Abe watched the condensation on the bottle. “Her name is Casey and I didn't decide to be monogamous. I liked her is all. No, not liked.
Like
, present tense.”

“So what happened?” Stu asked. He was leaning in now, interested. This was new territory for them both.

Abe explained the list, and his stumble that morning. “I don't know why I pushed,” he said, taking another swig of beer.

“Because you've got your rules, too,” Stu said. As if it were entirely obvious.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“When you see something in your head, like the way you think it should be, you can't not interfere.”

“Example?”

“Every single time you got benched for arguing with the ref when they made a call on the ice you didn't agree with.”

Abe flicked the bottle cap at his brother. “No way. Every hockey kid does that. I was young.”

“Fine. How about crawling up my ass every time you see me because you think I should have a different job?”

“Because you're smart. You
should
have a different job.”

“Never mind that I'm happy.”

“So you say. Got any other examples? These are lame.”

“Didn't you just tell me you kept your firefighters on a call at Robot Lit to do what amounted to a fire inspection, even though that's not your job?”

Abe opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. He stared at the faux grain of Stu's cheap table. One example he could argue with. But three? And Stu looked like he could keep going.

“I just like things the way I like them,” he said after a moment. “Is that so wrong?”

“Only when those things fly in the face of what someone
else
wants. Like your gal here. She was pretty clear about what she was after from the get-go. You agreed to the terms—then changed your mind. Not cool.”

“But I
like
—”

“Doesn't matter. You switched up on her. And now you're irritated that things didn't go well. Surprise, surprise.”

Abe clenched his jaw. He hated that his younger brother had a point—but maybe the kid was right. The issue might not be that he wanted more from Casey, it might be that he was putting his needs before hers.

“But don't I get a say in any of this?” he asked, hating the bitter tone in his own voice.

“I think you had your say,” Stu replied.

Abe drew a breath, then released it. He was frustrated with Casey without thinking about how he'd turned the tables on her. He was just barreling ahead with his own desires. But didn't his wants count for
anything
?

“So what do I do?” Abe asked. “How do I fix this?”

“Seems to me you go back to her list,” Stu said with a small shrug. “That's what she wants.”

The idea left a bad taste in Abe's mouth. “But Casey and I could be so much more than just a hot fuck.”

“Dude, you're not getting it. What does
she
want?”

“A hot fuck.”

“So give it to her. Make her happy. Stop thinking about yourself and you might get somewhere.”

Abe shifted. “I don't know if I can be satisfied with scraps when I want the entire meal.”

“It's either that or go hungry, brother.”

Abe rubbed a hand over his jaw. He wasn't sure about this situation at all.

Could he make do with crumbs when he wanted
all
of Casey? He swore softly. This was why he'd stayed away from relationships for so long. They were needlessly complicated. If Casey would just do what he wanted, this would all be settled.

Of course, Stu's point was that Abe should do what
she
wanted.

“So I just do what's on the list and nothing more?”

“Bingo,” Stu said, grinning.

It seemed awful. And right. Awfully right.

“When the hell did you get so wise?” he asked Stu.

Stu grinned. “Delivering pizzas, bro. Natch.”

T
he damn house was like a shrine to Abe. This was the thought rolling around in Casey's brain by Tuesday morning as she got ready for work. Ever since Saturday, she'd been trying to avoid seeing Abe in every single object that surrounded her, but there he was: in the branches of the Christmas tree he'd put up, in the reflection of the lights he'd strung, in the cushions of the couch where he'd touched her, and in the sheets of her bed, where he'd had her believing she was lit with gold flame, inside and out.

She'd forced herself to tear off the bedding and throw it into the washer because Abe's cinnamon-and-smoke smell had been omnipresent when she'd tried to sleep. With every breath, he was there. It was a presence with more weight than a shadow and yet not fully realized—just enough to tease her and have her imagining his hands on her all over again, his lips working deliciously across her flesh.

“Crap,” she muttered, setting her coffee down on the counter and wondering how she was going to fake her way through the workday again. Even her stupid mug had her thinking about him, picturing the way he'd handed it to her with a wink after she told him she took it black, like her heart.

Maybe it wasn't such a joke after all. Her heart was feeling downright rotten, rancid with the knowledge that Abe had summoned the courage to tell her he wanted more from her and she'd shot him down. No, not just shot—she'd lobbed grenades and missiles at his idea, then set off a nuclear-level explosion just to make sure to blow the notion to bits.

And now, here it was Tuesday and she was heading straight into a meeting with him to talk about Carter. She'd have to see him at the school today and pretend that her very bones weren't aching for him, a soreness so deep there were moments she wondered if she could stand up.

What have I done?
She asked herself this question for the hundredth time. And, like always, the same statement followed it:

I couldn't have done it any differently.

Because there was no future for Abe and her. None. She wanted to be free, and he wanted commitment. She wanted pleasure, he wanted kids.

The idea of them together was impossible. Or, if not impossible, then certainly implausible. No matter what part of her was yearning for Abe—and God knew it wasn't a small part—they could only end up hurting each other. Casey understood what kind of a danger she posed when she felt too much, when she couldn't control her emotions. It was a slippery, dangerous slope. And not only that, they wanted completely different things from their futures.

She swallowed, staring at the green walls of her kitchen. Even if she would—even if she
could
—risk letting her emotions run unbridled for Abe, they'd never outpace the inevitable fracturing that would crack them apart when Abe wanted children and she didn't.

It was the flag in the ground. It was the unmovable barrier. It was enough to separate them forever.

She sighed. She supposed she should be grateful for what she'd been given, and not regret what was never meant to be. At least she'd had a little excitement in the sack for once.

She tried to tell herself it was enough, though her body was weary with the thought. Fighting off the craving for Abe Cameron was exhausting. Worse, it was no longer just carnal. She wasn't just having to battle back her flesh; she was tamping down way-deep, didn't-even-know-she-had-them emotions. She was trying to sever a link between her and Abe that was no longer a spider's thread, but a steel cable.

“Stupid list,” she muttered. She was beginning to wish she and the Knots and Bolts crew had never created it in the first place.

She took another sip of coffee.

Black, like her moldy, worthless heart.

Later that morning, Casey sat in the school counselor's office looking everywhere but at Abe Cameron. She took in the motivational print showing a boundless ocean at sunset and the words S
EE POSSIBILITIES, NOT LIMITATIONS
. She studied the maroon carpet, flattened by the feet of so many students over so many years. And she listened to the sound of Ingrid, next to her, gnawing on the wood of a pencil, while on her other side Rolf pushed up his glasses and took a deep breath.

Carter's counselor, Amy Strand, glanced at her watch. It was thin and silver, and Casey appreciated that it was the wind-up kind. Old school. She wondered if Amy twisted its little dial every morning. “Just a few more minutes,” Amy said, trying to smile past the fact that Carter's foster parents were late. Next to her, Carter was slumped in his chair. His feet kicked at the legs of a small table until Carter's social worker, Kellie Sampson, quietly asked him to stop.

Finally, the door opened and Carter's foster parents entered. “Sorry we're late,” the man said—Scotty, if Casey remembered correctly. “I was wrangling a workers' dispute. And those aren't things you can just walk out of.” He was wearing a gray suit nearly the same tone as the one on his wife, Bridget. They both carried briefcases.

“Scotty's with a firm that represents the Canadian Auto Workers,” Bridget said. “I'm a lawyer, too, but my cases usually involve mineral rights instead of workers' rights.”

They smiled with white, even teeth. They weren't large people, but something about them seemed to take up every last ounce of space in the room. Their presence sucked at Casey's air, pulling it away from her body. She felt immediately smaller, more pressed into her own self. She glanced at Carter and saw that he'd stopped kicking the table. In fact, he looked like he'd stopped moving entirely.

Amy made formal introductions all around. “I'm so glad we have the opportunity to talk with Carter as a group,” she said. She turned to the boy. “Carter, everyone in this room cares about you. It's important to say that at the outset. The people gathered here want what's best for you.”

The social worker, Kellie, nodded her head in agreement. Her dark curls bounced. “You should feel free to tell us about anything that's bothering you. Everything you say in this room is safe.”

Except it didn't feel safe. Not to Casey, anyway. Maybe not to Carter, either, who just nodded and kept his eyes on the floor.

“Carter, you were very brave the other day,” Ingrid said, “sharing your journal with us. We know how hard you work to get your thoughts down at Robot Lit.”

The crow
, Casey pleaded with him silently,
just tell us about the crow
.

But Carter remained mute.

“Nothing you say will get you in trouble,” Abe said. “We don't think you're a bad person, Carter. But we do think there's something in your life that's making you want to burn stuff. We were hoping today you might tell us about it.”

Casey glanced around at the faces in the room. God, they were all leaned in, poised and waiting for Carter to tell them what was the matter. A big group suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. Too many giants focused on one troubled ant. But there was nothing she could do about it now.

“Can you tell us about the crow?” Casey asked after a moment. “The one you wrote about?”

Carter raised his eyes to hers and there was a pleading there that tore at her heart. She wanted so much to help him, but she had no idea how. Not unless he opened up to her.

“I don't believe it's an actual crow,” she said. “I think it's a symbol. But unless you give us a hint, Carter, it's just a word on a piece of paper.”

Carter didn't move. Or speak. He just locked on to Casey with his eyes, which she knew were sending a message she couldn't read.

“Or it could be an actual crow, I suppose,” Scotty said. His short brown hair was threaded through with gray. He ran a hand through it distractedly. “I guess that's the lawyer in me, arguing all sides.”

“It's not a literal crow,” Casey said. Sharper than she meant to. She tried for a conciliatory smile.
All friends here
, she hoped it said. Even if it was bullshit. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about these people got under her skin.

Next to her, Rolf sat up straighter. “Hey, what if you wrote it down, Carter?” The boy turned his head. “Like, just get a pen and write down the key to the code. Pretend you're at Robot Lit and it's any old day.”

Carter shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, “okay.”

Just like that. God bless Rolf.

Casey exhaled a breath she felt like she'd been holding since last Friday.

“Here you go,” Amy said, handing Carter a pad of paper and a pen with White Pine Middle School printed on the side. “I'll take your note when you're done.”

Carter shook his head. “No.
She
gets to read it. Only her.” He pointed the pen at Casey.

Casey's stomach felt like it dropped through the worn carpet, all the way into the building's basement. Carter was trusting her. Except he didn't realize she was the wrong person for the job. There were professionals in this room, for crying out loud, and she was just an accountant who didn't even want kids. She started to protest, but closed her mouth before anything escaped. Her heart swelled with something like courage. If Carter wanted to share his secret with her, then she wasn't going to fight it. Whatever it took to find the crow and shoot it out of the sky, that was what she'd do.

“Of course,” she said. “Anything you want.”

Carter crooked his arm around the pad and lowered his head. He was a comma of a fortress. Casey wondered if he could even see what he was writing. Finally, there was a tearing sound. He sat up straight and handed Casey not a full sheet of paper, but a fraction of a corner. It was a tiny piece, barely a scrap.

What could he have possibly written on such a fragment?

“Thanks,” she said, curling her fingers around the white paper. The room swiveled to focus on her. She was frozen, unsure what to do.

“So?” Bridget asked, sitting up straighter. “Are you going to read it?”

Casey bristled at the impatient tone. Then she turned her back to the group and pulled apart the small, white remnant. Inside was one word.

Caw.

Casey stared at the three letters. Was this a joke? Why write down what a crow says when—

Casey stiffened suddenly. She understood the message. Or at least she thought she did.

“Well?” asked Scotty.

Casey turned back around, hoping her face was as blank as she was trying to make it.

“It was empty,” she lied. “Carter didn't write a thing.”

Casey could feel clammy sweat break on her forehead. Lying had never been her strong suit. She'd done a terrible job of it when Audrey had confronted her directly about Kieran all those months ago, and it hadn't been hard for her sister to determine that Casey was all-out fibbing.

Casey recalled the sickening twist in her stomach when Audrey had uncovered her treachery. The whole world had gone thick and sluggish with the wrongness of it. Time had slowed down, and Casey was forced to endure the endless eternity of the moment when Audrey had known that
her own sister
had bribed Kieran to leave town and never see Audrey again. It was Casey's fault, Casey's doing, and she'd wrapped her arms around the responsibility of it, pulled it in tight and owned it, knowing that if she didn't, she'd repeat the same mistakes again.

Since then she'd tried so hard to be honest, to be up-front and change, but now here she was again, lying her fool head off. She just hoped the universe would forgive her because it was for a good cause.

“If you change your mind and decide to write something, I'm always here,” she said directly to Carter. She threw the boy a look that she hoped said
Trust me
. If he was smart enough to give her a code to his puzzle, then she hoped he was smart enough to know when she was playing the game.

The boy dropped his gray eyes. His battered tennis shoes toed the table again. “Okay,” he said.

“Well, then,” Kellie said, pushing a dark curl off her forehead, “since the crow seems like it's off the table for now, we should probably talk about some restitution options for Carter. You did damage to those buildings, and it's important you take responsibility for that. Do you agree?”

Carter nodded. His whole body looked tense enough to snap.

Casey could barely sit still as Abe offered up some community service hours at the fire station, and Ingrid said there was always volunteer work to be done at Robot Lit. After a short discussion, the group agreed to fifty hours of community service—twenty-five at Robot Lit and twenty-five at the fire station—beginning the next week.

When they told him how much time he'd have to spend at both places, Carter actually looked relaxed for the first time all day.

The group stood, pulling on winter coats and shaking hands all around. They'd meet in two more weeks, they all agreed, to talk about how Carter's community service was progressing, and to see if they could address the crow again. Casey clenched her teeth, willing herself to carry her secret for just a few minutes longer.

She took her time with her coat, aware that Abe's eyes were on her, watching her. She hoped he couldn't see her trembling hands, hoped he didn't notice her sweaty neck.

She forced a smile when Scotty and Bridget shook her hand on their way out of the office. “Good to meet you,” they said. Both of them clamped her fingers so hard she wondered if they were trying to squeeze out the truth of what the note said.

“Good to meet you, too,” she lied.

“See you at home tonight, buddy,” Scotty said to Carter.

Carter nodded, but kept quiet.

Kellie was headed out the door behind Carter's foster parents, but Casey grabbed the social worker's arm. “Got a sec?” she whispered.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

It's not what I need
, she thought,
it's what Carter needs
. In a flash, she closed the door shut, sealing the group—minus Carter's foster parents—into the room.