by Jay McLean
Gone for a run.
Won’t leave our property.
Don’t drink all the milk, Logan.
- Lucas.
And with that, I slipped on my sneakers by the front door, tied them extra tight, and I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran until my legs burned worse than my lungs and by the time I was back at the house, my t-shirt was covered in sweat and the rest of my family were all sitting around the kitchen table.
“Did you speak to Lois’s dad?” I huffed out, taking my seat opposite Lucy.
“Good morning to you, too.” Mom ruffled my sweaty hair and poured me the few drops of milk leftover in the carton.
I glared at Logan, who gave me a shit-eating grin. He was such a douche.
I pushed the glass of milk away and opted for water instead. “So, is she coming?” I asked Mom.
“Why so eager?” she teased.
“I want to race her again.”
“Right. Well, it’s early and Brian doesn’t start work until tomorrow, but I’ll call later today.”
“Call now.”
“Luke.”
“Please?”
She looked at her watch. “I’ll wait another hour, okay?”
“Fine.”
“Luke and Laney, sitting in a tree…” Logan sang.
“Shut up!”
“Enough,” Dad warned.
“May I please be excused?” Leo asked, already standing with his bowl and glass in his hand.
Dad nodded, and a moment later, Leo set the bowl in the sink and took his glass with him to wherever he was going. The twins—age four—spoke to each other in a language that was part English, part something they’d made up. Logan ate as if there was a competition to see who could eat the loudest and messiest. See? Douche.
Lucy was… sigh. Lucy was a mess, milk stains down her top from being too busy reading to concentrate on eating. She dropped her spoon an inch from the bowl and reached out in search of her juice, knocking over a pile of napkins and salt and pepper shakers on the way. I rolled my eyes and picked up her glass and physically placed it in her hand.
Mom set a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of me, squeezing my shoulder as she did—a silent acknowledgment that she’d seen what I’d done and even though Lucy was too zoned out, Mom noticed and she appreciated it.
The thing about Lucy, though a little kooky, is that she’s my only sister. Our only sister. And it was an unspoken oath between us Preston boys that we all look out for her. Even if it meant handing her a glass or moving a toy out of the way while she walked around the house, nose in a book, so that she wouldn’t trip over it. Some of our friends called her a princess, and maybe they were right, and if that made my mother a queen, so be it. I’d seen the way Dad had treated the two women in the family—different to the boys—and growing up I knew it had to mean something, I just wasn’t sure what. Yet.
I ate my breakfast slowly, so slowly it was almost a chore, and I kept my eye on the clock. Seconds ticked by, turned into minutes and by the time my body had finally stopped sweating, only fifteen minutes had passed. I sighed loudly, annoyed.
Mom must have noticed because she said, “If you’re that desperate, you could call her yourself.”
Logan chimed, “Who? You’re giiirlfriend?”
“Shut. Up!”
“Lucas,” Dad warned. Then added, “Shut up, Logan.”
I stood up. “I’m going for a run.”
“Again?” Mom sighed. “Luke, your stomach hasn’t settled yet.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Wait five minutes.”
I sat back down.
Each ticking of the second hand on the clock felt like torture. I didn’t know why I wanted to run so bad. Why I felt it necessary to beat Lois in a race, but my eleven-year-old brain said that I absolutely had to. So as soon as five minutes passed, I shot to my feet and a few seconds later, I was out the door. I didn’t run far. Our parents had set up boundaries on our land that we all had to stick to so that if anything happened, they wouldn’t have to search far for us. But still, I ran to one border, then to the next, and the next, and the next, again and again, until the burning set in and man, I must’ve really wanted to impress her. I mean beat her.
Dad’s car was gone when I got back to the house and Mom was sitting on the porch, cordless phone to her ear. “Sure, Brian, it’s no problem at all.”
I stopped in my tracks, my eyebrows raised as I tried to catch my breath. “What did he say?” I mouthed.
Mom raised a hand between us.
I stomped my foot. “What did he say?” I asked again.
“Okay, I’ll see both you and Lois Lane tomorrow morning.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my smile.
As soon as she hung up, she looked over at me and grinned from ear-to-ear, her eyes bright against the sun and her long dark hair flying with the wind. Up until I met Laney, I swear my mother was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. Well, her and Mila Kunis. “So she’s coming over tomorrow for a date,” she teased. Again. “Oh my… Lucas Preston, what are you going to wear? Maybe that ugly sweater your aunt Leslee bought you for Christmas? Or maybe that hideous plaid suit she got you for your birthday. Maybe I’ll just dig out that picture of you as a baby when you decided to go digging around your poopy diaper and eat—”
“Ma, stop!” I yelled, but I was laughing.
Because of all the qualities I love about my mother, being a smartass is one I miss most.
Chapter Three
LUCAS
Even though Laney told me what was going on, she still seemed distant, still lost, and I knew she wasn’t giving me everything. I tried to get more out of her, but she kept changing the subject and after a while, I had no choice but to let it go. So we spent the rest of the morning talking about anything and everything other than her feelings. I was pretty good at reading most girls, but Laney… she was something else. The truth is I didn’t make too much of an effort with other girls, but I wanted to with her. She was more than a fling, more than a random attempt to pass the time. She meant a lot to me… in fact, she meant the world.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asks, her head still in the crook of my arm.
“Well, it’s Sunday, so family breakfast—which I’m dragging your ass to—and then…” I turn to my side so I can face her. “I was thinking of driving down to Charlotte. I hear there’s this amazing craft store that—”
She sits up, her smile instant, and I know I’ve said the right thing. “Shut up!”
“I could use the company on the long drive.”
Her eyes roll, but she’s still smiling. God, her smile does something to me. “It’s only an hour away.”
“So… you’re coming?”
“Why would you spend your last day of summer sitting bored in a craft store while I—”
“Because you’re sad and—”
“Lucas…”
I take her hand and place a kiss on the center of her palm. A simple kiss. A restrained kiss. A kiss she has no idea drives me insane. “I don’t like seeing you sad, Lane.”
Most people hate Sundays. It’s the day before the norm of the routine begins again. Work, school, whatever.
I’m not most people.
Up until a few months ago, Dad had hired a full-time nanny who lived in the garage apartment that’s now mine. Dad let her go a few weeks after Leo got his license. The twins had a lot of weekend sports, and Lucy was at college, so between Leo, Dad and me, we were able to divide and conquer. Anyway, Virginia (the nanny) started Sunday family breakfasts—a way to reconnect us all so we knew what was going on with each other. Now we all cook breakfast together, even Logan. When Lucy is home from UNC, she attempts to do it all. My sister is a horrible cook, but we all grin and bear it because she’s Lucy and we’re her brothers and we love her. And, if not for her, we probably would’ve been separated years ago.
So, I like my family.
I like the o
ne day a week that brings us all to the same room at the same time to do the same thing.
I like Sundays.
“Laney!” Lachlan practically bounces as he runs toward her, arms out waiting.
“What’s up, Lachy?” Laney says, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around. “Jeez, you’ve gotten big!”
“I’m six!” he tells her.
“Really?” she says in mock surprise. “Another year and you’ll have a beard like your daddy!” He giggles and runs away to continue setting the table.
“You’re staying for breakfast I assume?” Dad asks her, kissing her on the cheek.
“If that’s okay.”
“Of course!” Over his shoulder, he says, “Lachlan, set up another place for Laney.”
The greetings continue, one brother after another—high fives and hugs—everyone except Logan who’s stuck doing the dishes. He’s fifteen, and I guess in his mind he has to hate the world. Dad’s completely set on the idea of Logan being the first Preston to end up in juvie or rehab. Not that Dad would ever tell him that. Laney doesn’t seem fazed by his attitude, though, and slowly makes her way over to him. She nudges his hip with hers and says something too quiet for me to hear. Logan glances at her then drops a spoon back in the sink. He wipes his hand on a cloth before giving her a hug. It’s quick, but it’s real, and for Logan, it’s a pretty big deal.
“What can I do?” I ask the room.
Laney’s the first and loudest to speak, “You sit down. You’ve had, like, three hours sleep and a long day ahead. Relax.” With a smile, she moves to Dad working over the stove and reaches up to grasp his shoulders and lead him to his chair at the head of the table. “You, too, Tom. You’ve worked hard this week.”
“And me, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows raised.
Laney laughs. “You finish those dishes.”
He groans but does as she says.
A moment later, Laney’s moving around the kitchen as if she lives here, opening and closing cabinets, working on the stove, pouring Lachlan’s infamous Coco Pops and Froot Loop mix into a bowl with milk, flipping pancakes and plating bacon. “Eat!” she orders, so they eat. I don’t. Instead, I watch her. And I find myself smiling, though I don’t really know why. She places a plate of Dad’s regular Sunday breakfast in front of him and says, “Dad tells me the Baldwin development is ahead of schedule.”
“Thank you,” he tells her. “And yes, your dad managed to get two weeks ahead.”
“Something about council permits, right?”
“Right,” Dad confirms, but he’s looking at me. He waits until Laney’s at the other end of the table, sitting down with her own plate and talking to Leo about what he’s currently reading, before leaning across Lachlan and toward me. His smile reaches his eyes. “It’s like having your mother back.”
PAST | LUCAS
My mom used to tell me that I loved numbers, that ever since I could count, I used the skill on everything. I mean, everything. How many peas were on my plate, the steps from the front door to the fence. Obviously, as I got older and my strides got longer, the steps lessened, but still, I counted. Then I learned how to tell time. I counted that, too. How many seconds it would take for Mom’s morning coffee to brew, how many times droplets of water leaked from the kitchen tap right after being shut off. The number of clicks per minute, per second, Mom’s knitting needles clicked together. Two per second, just in case you’re wondering. So, it’s no surprise when I raced Laney, I counted. The first race, I counted my steps. The second, I counted the time.
I won both races, just so we’re clear.
She was also wearing flip-flops, which I’m sure didn’t help. But if it was the reason I won, I wasn’t going to mention it.
The first few days spent with Laney went by quickly. Mom called them play-dates. She also called us inseparable. Every morning I’d wake up early and run, come home, have breakfast, and wait. Laney’s dad would drop her off, offer my mom money (to which she declined), then Laney and I would spend the day racing each other, the distance getting farther each time. On the fourth day, she wore sneakers. She still didn’t win, but she was closer. No more than five strides behind me each time. The next day, while sitting out on the dock by the lake, our feet in the water, bodies sweating as we tried to catch our breaths, she asked why all we did was run. I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. Telling her that I was trying to impress her would’ve made me a loser, and if she had to ask why then it probably wasn’t working.
She looked out beyond the lake and toward the horizon, kicking her feet beneath the water. “Next week, if I bring my swimsuit, can we go in?”
“Next week?” My eyes snapped to hers. “You not coming tomorrow?”
“It’s the weekend. My dad’s home.”
“Oh.” I was confused by the sudden ache in my chest. “So I won’t see you all weekend?”
“My dad and I are going to the hardware store to pick out paint for my new room. He said I could have the whole finished basement to myself. It has its own bathroom. How cool is that?”
“It’s cool,” I said. I almost offered to help just to be around her more. But that would make me lame. And desperate. So I kept my mouth shut.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
I sat on the couch next to her. “I don’t think Laney likes running,” I told her.
“Well, yeah, I don’t think many kids your age want to spend their summers chasing after a boy… even if he’s as handsome as you.”
I stayed silent, my mind lost in thought until she stopped knitting and turned to me. “Maybe you guys should do something she likes. What is she into?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I never asked.”
“Well, maybe you should, and that way you can split your time with the activities.”
I picked up a random magazine off the coffee table and pretended to flip through it. “She’s painting her room with her dad this weekend. You think I should call them and offer to help?”
“You can’t. Garray’s coming over for the weekend. You’re camping out back. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh yeah.” After everything that had happened throughout the week, I’d almost forgotten about Garray—my best friend since first grade. His parents couldn’t decide between Gary and Gray, so they called him Garray. It was a dumb name, so much so that Logan called him Dumb Name to his face. Then everyone started calling him Dumb Name behind his back. Even Dad. Mom said it was mean, but I knew she thought it was funny. “I forgot about Dumb Name.”
Mom smiled, but it was sad. “Besides, I think maybe you should give the two of them the weekend. They’ve been through a lot, and this move was a big change for them. They need to spend some quality time together.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean they’ve been through a lot? Is Laney okay?”
“Oh, she’s fine, Lucas.”
After a beat, I asked, “Do you know what happened? Why is it just her and Brian? Did something happen to her mom? I mean, did she die or something?”
“No, sweetheart.” Mom shook her head. “Some parents just don’t end up together forever.”
“But you and Dad will, right?”
Mom picked up her knitting needles, a wistfulness in her tone when she said, “Your dad and I are forever, Luke. Eternal. Like the rise and fall of the sun. I promise.”
“Good. I’m glad her mom’s not dead. I don’t know what I’d do if something ever happened to you.” I kissed her cheek and stood. “Besides, you’re the best mom I’ve ever had.”
“I bet you say that to all your moms.”
It was a Sunday night. I remember it clearly. Garray’s parents had picked him up right after dinner, and Lucy and I were cleaning the larger dishes in the sink (her washing, me drying) when the home phone rang. Dad mumbled something about telemarketers while Logan walked past, pushed all the already dry dishes back into the sink water and shouted, “Lucy Goosey! Lucas Pukas
! Logan Rules!”
“Logan!” Lucy and I yelled at the same time.
Dad picked him up, threw him over his shoulder and left the kitchen.
Mom entered, cordless phone in hand, palm covering the receiver. “It’s for you,” she said to me, then lowered her voice. “It’s Laney.”
I snatched the phone from her and started running to my room, ignoring Lucy’s shouts about finishing up the dishes. Twelve steps on the staircase and fourteen (eleven-year-old) steps to my room later, I was shutting the door behind me and trying to catch my breath. Not because I was exhausted, but because I was nervous. Slowly, I raised the phone to my ear. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey, it’s Laney.”
I bit back a smile. “You calling yourself Laney, too?”
She giggled. “I figure you all do now, so I wasn’t sure if you’d know it was me if I said it was Lois.”
“I’d know.” Even if she didn’t introduce herself, I’d know. I’d recognize her voice anywhere.
“So how was your weekend?” she asked at the same time I said, “What color did you paint your room?”
“Green,” she said.
“Pretty good,” I answered.
Then we both laughed.
“I don’t really know why I called,” she murmured. “I guess I’m just used to seeing you every day and I miss you.”
“You do?”
“Is that lame?”
My heart skipped a beat. “No. It was weird not having you here.”
“Yeah… so…”
“So…”
She asked, “What did you do over the weekend?”
“My best friend, Garray, was here.”
“Gray?”
I smiled as I sat on the edge of my bed. “No.”
“Gary?”
“No.” I then went on to explain how he got his name. She cracked up at the part about my family calling him Dumb Name, even though she agreed it was a little mean.