“But he’s violent!” Blake says. “Look at what he did to me.”
I sit up in my chair. “You started it! You start it every time. You throw a punch or shove me and you expect me to walk away? Forget it. I wasn’t raised to be a pussy.” I turn to Mama. “Maybe you guys need to teach sonny boy here to stop starting shit!”
“Don’t use that language in this house,” Dad says, and he’s looking upset, like he just realized he lost control of this. “It’s unacceptable.”
“What’s unacceptable,” I say, “is that you are letting Blake get away with stuff because ‘things are tough for him.’ Oh, poor Blake. Try trading places with me, Blakey. Try taking your antagonizing act to the streets. You’ll see where that gets you.” I laugh bitterly. “In the morgue.”
“Mama, he just threatened to kill me. He’s not safe. And he’s not Ethan.” Blake has a smug look on his face.
“Blake,” Dad says. “That’s enough. Both of you.”
I think I’d feel more hurt by the accusation if Blake had any credibility left, but it’s clear he doesn’t. What hurts, though, is that Mama and Dad aren’t making him stop.
Gracie sits quietly on the couch, wide-eyed. I feel bad for her. I do. She’s stuck in this mess. I half-smile at her and she half-smiles back. Then it’s like Mama realizes Gracie’s here and this family meeting isn’t what she thought it would be. “Paul,” she says, and gives Dad a look. Dad picks Gracie up and takes her to her room, and I’m glad they finally got some sense.
“Blake,” Mama says, “Gracie said she saw you shove Ethan before he started punching you. You neglected to tell us that little bit.”
“I did not!” Blake says. It’s ambiguous as to what he’s denying—the shove, or the neglecting to tell—but either way, he looks guilty.
I feel a warm rush of love toward Gracie, stepping up to defend me. I owe her big.
“And Ethan,” Mama continues, “as a matter of fact, I do expect you to walk away from a shove. You’re older, and you need to be the bigger person here.”
“But, Mama! He starts it every time! That’s not fair—” I start to protest further, but she holds her hand up.
“No,” she says. “Shh. Just listen. It’s this simple. I don’t care how that horrible woman raised you or what you’ve had to resort to, but when you live here, you’re going to follow my rules. Clear?”
My jaw drops as her words cut into me. Did she just insult Ellen and me? I think she really did.
Dad comes back and sits next to Mama.
And Mama stares at me, waiting. “I said, is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I finally say in a cold voice. “But will you please make Blake stop scaring Gracie—”
“Quiet,” Mama says. She turns to Blake. “Now, Blake, this nonsense about Ethan not being Ethan has to stop. Really. I know you’re hurting, but you need to control your words, especially in front of Gracie. I know it’s really hard for you, and that things are different than you expected. But this isn’t going to solve anything. It only makes things harder and it’s really hurtful, not just to Ethan, but to all of us. So stop. Okay?”
Blake folds his arms over his chest. “I think you should get a DNA test.”
I feel my face heat up. “Jeez!” I shout at him. I can’t help it. “Can you not shut up?”
Dad sits up like he’s ready to grab me if I go after Blake, but I stay in my chair like a good son. Dad gives me a long look, then turns to Blake. “Blake, that’s enough,” he says with finality. “Done.”
Blake shrugs and looks sullen.
It’ll take all my strength to keep from killing him with my bare hands.
CHAPTER 38
It’s dark and way after ten when I hear finger nails tapping on glass. I almost fall over myself getting from my room to the slider door. I let her in and slide the door closed again, smooth and quiet.
“You made it! You are awesome,” I whisper. She brings crisp air in with her and it wakes me up.
She grins. “How did it go? Awful?”
“Pretty bad.”
Cami unzips her coat and slips it off. We sit on the floor by the slider in the dark, away from any heat vents, since noise obviously travels both ways. And in case she has to make a fast getaway. “But it’s over. I just hate that Blake is making Gracie scared of me.”
“Do you think Gracie is really scared of you? Or is she scared of the fighting?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. And I don’t. “I wonder if she thinks I could ever possibly hurt her because I hurt Blake?”
“Would you?”
“Of course not. Never.” I search Cami’s face. “Do you think I would?”
“No,” she says. “Not even if you wanted to.”
But that’s not enough for me. I ask, “Do you think I would ever hurt you?”
Her black eyes are sweet. “No way. Never.”
I sit back, relieved. “What did you do tonight?” I ask. I like how this is, sitting here in the dark, whispering. It gives me goose bumps to have her this close, this intimate.
She waves her hand like there was nothing of note, and then she says, “My mom and I do this thing once a month where we make a hundred and fifty sack lunches for the shelter. They hand them out to the shelter patrons so they can have a meal on the road when they go find work and stuff. So, yeah,” she says, almost like she’s embarrassed to tell me. “Tonight we did that.” She laughs. “My fingers still smell like peanut butter.”