Page 24 of Dove
"Attic."
"You don't say," I reply, reaching for another joke, and hoping it'll pull him out of this funk.
His mouth quirks at the corner, the way I was hoping, but he doesn't give me the full smile I was aiming for. Instead, he shakes his head.
"My mother used to make me go up there when she was tired of me," he says quietly. "Any time I'd been bad or had been playing too loud. Any time she had company over. Up to the attic." He turns his eyes up there again. "I used to have toys up there. Wonder if they're still whole."
For a second, my mind is wiped completely blank at his words.
Then they start to filter in. Any time he'd been bad or too loud. Any time she had company. And I was sure that was more often than not, given the fact that she eventually decided she'd be better off without him entirely.
His mother sent him into the attic so she didn't have to deal with him.
She made him go up there by himself and spend hours, probably in the dark, all alone.
Christ.
He's wondering whether his toys are still up there, but my mind is already jumping beyond that to the other rooms andwhatever memories they might hold. I'm wondering what ghosts live in the basement, and what'll be waiting for us in the kitchen. How many corners did she send him to, how many rooms hold the echo of her voice telling him he wasn't enough for her to love him?
He's wondering about toys in the attic.
I'm planning how I'll destroy her if I can ever find her–and how I'll tell him about it.
And I'm starting to understand why he can't accept praise for anything he ever does. Fuck, he's been facing a hill he couldn't climb since he wasborn.
But he's not facing it alone anymore. He hasn't been since we were seven.
I yank his hand, pulling his attention back to me, and give him a forced grin. "So this is obviously the biggest room. I'm guessing you claimed it. Got here first and everything."
He frowns for a moment, like he's forgotten what he said downstairs, and then gives me the gentlest, softest smile I've ever seen from him. "Sure did. But not for me. This is your room."
This surprises me so much that I actually jump. "But it's the biggest room."
He reaches out and touches me softly on the nose. "Exactly. More room for those birds you insist on bringing home to save. Not like we can have them sitting around the house. Bear will complain constantly."
I open my mouth, wanting to answer, but I don't have any words. He got up here and ran to the big room to claim it, but not for himself.
He's giving it to me so I have space for the birds I bring home, their wings or legs damaged by storms or predators. I've been collecting them since I was little, finding them in the forest and meadows and tucking them into my pockets to bring themhome to safety and care. To name them and feed them seeds and make sure they had enough water and a shelter while they healed. I learned early to splint their injuries and treat them, and always have several with me, keeping them only until they're well enough to survive on their own again.
Cameron has always made fun of me for it, saying my heart is too soft and that I'd sell my own soul to save animals if I could.
Now he's giving me a room to house them in, no doubt taking one of the smaller rooms where he'll be cramped and crowded, in amongst his hundreds of books and art supplies. Giving me the space. The bathroom. The privacy.
It's so Cameron that my heart grows three sizes too big and tries to bust out of my chest.
Which I obviously can't have.
I set the cage down on the floor, grin up at him, and force myself back into my normal role. "Well this is fun and all, but I saw a garage in the back and we need a new shop. Let's go claim it."
I turn and run from the room before he can answer, my mind already on a brand new plan and how I'm going to execute it. We had a full shop at Aunt Sue's where Cameron did all of his work, and if we're moving here we're going to need another. I don't want to be here, and I hate the thought of living under the same roof as Bear.
The man who's brought us nothing but grief.
But he didn't give us much choice in the matter.
And in exchange, I'm planning to make his life a living hell–starting by taking over his garage for Cameron and his welding shop. After all, Cameron was an artist long before Bear got back.
And Bear's not going to take that away from him.
