Chapter 9 - Gary Wanted To Come Home
Three days later, Gary requested supervised contact with Ethan.
Not through me.
Through the temporary family plan.
I hated the idea immediately.
Then Ethan said he wanted to see him.
That hurt worse.
“You do?”
He nodded.
“I want to ask him something.”
“What?”
“I don't know yet.”
I wanted to say no.
Holloway had warned me not to confuse protection with deciding every feeling for Ethan.
I hated when other people used my own childhood against my impulses.
The visit took place in a family center.
I wasn't in the room.
A supervisor was.
Ethan came out thirty-five minutes later holding a drawing Gary had given him.
House.
Tree.
Four people.
Gary.
Mom.
Ethan.
Me.
No Lucas.
I stared at it.
“What did you ask him?”
Ethan sat beside me.
“If he's sorry.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He said yes.”
I waited.
Ethan continued.
“He said he shouldn't have used the belt.”
I nodded.
“And?”
“He said I made him too angry.”
There it was.
I closed my eyes.
Ethan looked at me.
“That's not sorry, right?”
I thought carefully.
“It's part of one.”
“What part?”
“Saying he shouldn't have done it.”
“And the bad part?”
“Making you responsible for why he did.”
Ethan nodded.
He folded the drawing.
“Can I keep it?”
“Of course.”
He looked relieved.
Again.
Children shouldn't need permission to love evidence that adults contain more than one thing.
That evening Mom called.
I almost didn't answer.
Then I did.
“Brooke.”
“What?”
“Can we talk?”
“We are.”
“I mean in person.”
“Why?”
She exhaled.
“Gary's not staying with me.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He's at a hotel.”
“You asked him to leave?”
“Yes.”
I didn't congratulate her.
She heard the silence.
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to see Ethan.”
“He wants to see you?”
“I don't know.”
“Ask him through Rachel.”
“You're his sister.”
“Exactly.”
Mom went quiet.
I continued:
“I am not carrying messages between adults and an eight-year-old.”
“You're making everything formal.”
“No.”
I stared at my apartment wall.
“Everybody else made everything informal for years because informality let nobody be responsible.”
She didn't answer.
Then:
“Lucas told me you remember.”
“Some.”
“He hates me.”
“Talk to him.”
“He won't answer.”
“That's his choice.”
“Brooke.”
“What?”
“I was afraid.”
There it was.
Her explanation.
Maybe true.
Not enough.
“I believe you.”
Silence.
“I was afraid of Gary.”
“I believe you.”
“I was afraid of losing the house.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of being alone.”
“Yes.”
Her voice cracked.
“Then why do you sound like none of it matters?”
“Because it matters to why you did it.”
I swallowed.
“Not to whether Ethan got hurt.”
She cried.
I let her.
Then she said:
“You left too.”
The sentence landed.
Not as accusation exactly.
Maybe desperation.
“I did.”
“You knew what Gary was like.”
“Yes.”
“You left Ethan here.”
“Yes.”
She went quiet.
I continued before she could use my admission as escape.
“I have to live with that.”
My throat tightened.
“So do you.”
No hierarchy.
No rescue.
Just separate responsibilities.
Mom whispered:
“I don't know if he can forgive me.”
“Who?”
“Ethan.”
I thought about my little brother keeping Gary's drawing.
“He doesn't owe you an answer yet.”
After the call, Lucas texted:
Need to tell you something about Gary's hotel.
I immediately called.
“What?”
Lucas sounded uneasy.
“He's not there anymore.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“How do you know?”
“He called me.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did he say?”
“Asked me to meet him.”
“Don't.”
“I know.”
“Where?”
“Old basketball court behind St. Vincent's.”
“Why?”
“He says he wants to tell me what really happened with my mother.”
I stopped.
Gary was reaching backward.
Not toward Ethan.
Toward the oldest story.
Lucas said:
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“Brooke.”
“You think you're immune because you're twenty-six?”
“No.”
“Then don't go alone.”
Silence.
I heard him exhale.
“Will you come?”
Every instinct said absolutely not.
May you like
Then I thought about how many years our family had survived because everyone met Gary separately.
“Yes.”
