My Brother's Best Friend (The Lakeland Boys Book 3)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Pulling out my bottom drawer, I searched until I found my stationary and smiled to myself. The pink paper looked way too young. But no way was I writing this on notebook pages.

  Besides, it was the words that were important. We couldn’t be alone. Not really. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell him what I thought.

  Arranging the paper, I began to write a letter. A love letter. The kind of letter that could not be seen by anyone except Tank.

  At first, my fingers refused to work. It was like pulling a wagon uphill. Impossible to get it started. But finally, my shoulders relaxed, and I let myself go.

  It took me half the night, and a dozen failed attempts to get it just right. I purposely didn’t dot my I’s with little hearts. I didn’t use text abbreviations. No OMG’s or LOL’s. I decided to try and make it look as mature as possible. Like a woman’s letter, not a little girl’s.

  Who knew that being honest and open was so painful? But I did it. Laid my soul out there.

  I told him everything. The way I would always remember each and every time he had rescued me. From the first grade playground to the Justin Weber incident. The way he made my insides flutter just by walking into the room. How I couldn’t stop myself from smiling when I thought about him.

  The mundane things were covered. Things like the fact that I preferred History over Math. Or that I really didn’t like my mom’s meatloaf. Something I knew for a fact we would disagree on.

  I told him of my hope of going to college and becoming a teacher. But the thought of leaving my family terrified me. I know, not really romantic or exciting. But the truth. I talked about how much I wanted a marriage like my parents had. Fun, loving, and the two of them against the world.

  Of course, I talked about how his kisses sent me into a different universe. About how handsome I thought he was and how I liked the new scar on his forehead because it made him look a little dangerous.

  I almost told him what he did to my body, but I was smart and stopped myself from becoming too graphic. I didn’t want to scare him away. Besides, some things needed to be said in private. Not on paper.

  Almost everything was put into that letter. Every part of me. Pages and pages of the true Marla.

  When I was done, I looked at the blank part on the last page. How do I sign it? I wondered, then smiled to myself. Don’t be ridiculous. He couldn’t read this letter and not know the truth.

  So, I simply wrote. “Love Marla.”

  There, my soul felt lighter. It was as if a heavy burden had been pulled away, freeing me to be me. No matter what happened from here. At least the truth would be out there. He would know me. The true Marla.

  Smiling to myself, I climbed into bed and fell asleep immediately. One of those deep, contented sleeps.

  This letter would be the first step to bring us closer together, I thought. I just knew it.

  The gray light of a drizzly morning pulled me up out of my sleep. Saturday, a day of catching up on all the things not finished during the week. A day of chores and homework.

  I thought about the letter sitting on my desk. A surge washed through me. A need to give it to Tank. I needed to do this, I told myself. Hoping to convince myself that I was doing the smart thing. My heart told me otherwise. This might be a huge mistake.

  Sighing, I hurriedly got dressed, putting my hair up in a quick ponytail. Never again was I walking downstairs with frizzy morning hair.

  My pulse raced as I thought about Tank reading the letter. A part of me wanted to watch his face as he read it. To see every thought and emotion as he saw them. The other part of me wanted to be about ten miles away when he read it. Preferably in a deep dark cave.

  I’d just gotten downstairs when the side door to the garage opened, and Tank stepped in. My heart jumped. Just like it did whenever I saw him.

  He was wiping his dirty hands on a rag. One of Little Johnny’s cloth diapers. Dad said they made the best garage rags. His large hands mesmerized me for a moment. Catching at me and not letting me look away.

  “I was changing the oil in your mom’s car,” Tank said when he saw me look at his hands.

  My mind jumped around to a dozen different thoughts as I tried to pull myself together. It was now or never, I thought, as I quickly looked around to make sure no one was in the area.

  Taking a deep breath, I held out the pink envelope and said, “I wrote this last night.”

  His brow knitted in a deep furrow. I could tell he was wondering why in the heck I would write him a letter. We lived in the same house. But he shrugged his shoulders and turned away from me.

  “Put it in my back pocket,” he said. “I don’t want to get it dirty.”

  My cheeks flashed to raging heat as I swallowed hard. Gathering up every ounce of courage I had. I slipped my hand and the letter into the back pocket of his jeans.

  It took every bit of control not to linger there for the rest of my life.

  “Thanks,” he said as he turned back to face me. “I’ll read it later. Your dad wants me to restack the wood pile.

  I nodded my head, which was basically all I could do at this point.

  “Um ... Okay,” I was able to mumble. “Um ... I’ve got to go help my mom.”

  My stomach felt tighter than Fort Knox as I scurried to get away.

  ‘Calm down Marla,’ I told myself as I rushed to the kitchen. I knew that I was going to be a bumbling idiot all day until I knew he had read the letter and what he thought. It was going to take every bit of concentration not to go running to check on him every ten minutes.

  Time itself was going to come to a screaming standstill until I knew what he thought. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tank

  Marla’s letter felt like it was burning a hole in my back pocket. What was that all about? I wondered. Why a letter? Why now? My fingers ached to pull it out and read it.

  I had just finished straightening the woodpile. I couldn’t wait any longer. Reaching back, I pulled the letter just as Mr. Turner stepped around the corner of the house.

  “Get your tools,” he said as my heart slammed to a stop. “We’ve got to hang some sheetrock over at the Jamison’s.”

  Swallowing hard, I quietly slipped the letter into my pocket. Forcing myself to act like nothing was going on. Mr. Turner, didn’t pick up on it. He’d already turned to go back inside. A dozen tasks being planned out.

  Sighing, I got my stuff from the garage and joined him and Jason at the truck.

  The three of us worked like a well-oiled machine. Each of us knew what needed to be done without talking. No wasted motion, no mistaken cuts. A quick, smooth job.

  “Nice, guys,” Mr. Turner said as I applied the last of the mud to cover Jason’s tape job. He stepped back and examined the room, “Nice.”

  My stomach seized up with guilt. Would he be so nice, I wondered, if he knew what was going on between Marla and myself. What would he say if he knew her letter was sitting in my pocket?

  When we got home, Marla shot me a look of pure panic. I knew she was wondering if I’d read the letter. All I could do was subtly shake my head and give her a brief look of regret.

  She relaxed a little. I could tell it was still eating her up inside. So, I excused myself and headed downstairs to the basement.

  After I finished cleaning up. I pulled her letter from my pocket and sighed heavily. She’d written ‘Tank’ on the outside of the envelope in her fine feminine handwriting. Soft, curly, and just perfect.

  I brought the envelope up to my nose and drank in the soft flowery perfume smell that made my insides squeeze up tight with pure need.

  Somehow, I knew this letter was important to her. I mean, who writes letters nowadays? Besides, I’d seen that look on her face. She’d been nervous. And it took a lot to get Marla Turner nervous.

  My fingers trembled a little as I began to read. I’d only gone a few lines when I had to sit down and start again.

  She laid
it all out. Everything about what she felt about me. About us. Every one of her important memories. What she liked and didn’t like. What she wanted in the future and didn’t want.

  Everything. Answering every question I might have.

  When I was done, I immediately went back and read it again. Just to make sure I hadn’t missed one line.

  After finishing the second read through, I carefully hid the letter at the bottom of my bag. She had jokingly suggested I burn it when I was done reading unless someone find it. But I couldn’t have ever done that. It was just too important to me.

  I could hear her voice in my head. Every little joke, every heartfelt admission. All of it brought a smile to my face. She was always doing that, I realized. Making me smile. One of my first memories in life was of Marla giggling while she hunted Easter eggs. She must have been about two or three, I was almost five. But I would always remember the happiness she expressed so easily. The pure joy with the world.

  It had made me realize that happiness did exist. You just had to find it.

  The next thought that popped into my mind was the day she saved me. The day she stopped me from falling into a well of despair. We were moving out of the neighborhood. I had been so embarrassed. So frightened. So sure my life was ruined.

  Marla had simply walked up and held my hand. Nothing more. But somehow I knew that things would be okay. That Marla would still believe in me. That no matter what, there were people I could trust.

  A sad feeling washed over me as I realized that these were things we should have said in person. Things between two people without paper in the way.

  My next thought was to hope desperately that she didn’t expect a letter in return. There was no way I could so elegantly put into words the things she needed to hear. Not now. Not on paper.

  Sighing, I thought of her family and the guilt burning up inside of me.

  This couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to her family.

  Sitting there on that couch, I stewed in pain as I contemplated what had to be done. It couldn’t be avoided. There was no other way.

  .o0o.

  Marla

  The inside of my mouth was getting raw from biting it all the time while I waited for Tank to come up to dinner.

  Mom sent Michael down to remind him, I held my breath until my brother walked back into the room a minute later.

  “He’s not hungry,” he said with a shrug as he sat down to the table.

  “What?” My mom asked with a deep frown. “Is he sick?”

  “Is he dead?” Jason asked as he scooped up half the mashed potatoes onto his plate. “That’s the only way Tank’s missing a meal.”

  “Jason,” I gasped, “don’t say that.”

  Michael laughed. “No, he just said he wasn’t hungry and to tell you sorry.”

  My mother glanced at my father who raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know,” my dad said. “Something has been bothering the boy though.”

  My mom continued to frown. I knew how much she loved Tank. Anything that bothered him bothered her and needed to be fixed immediately.

  Was it my letter? I wondered. Did I completely ruin things? Push things too far, too fast. All I’d done was tell him how I felt.

  Oh great Marla, that was pure genius. Lay all that emotion onto Tank. Here he was being stalked by a silly little girl. I’d probably scared him away from eating. It was so bad he couldn’t even join us at the dinner table.

  It took every bit of self-control not to jump up and run downstairs to apologize. To take that letter back and beg that he pretend I had never written it.

  “I wonder if something happened at ...” Mom began then glanced over at Michael. The boy had big ears and a bigger mouth when it came to gossip. She had learned long ago not to say anything in front of him she didn’t want repeated to half the neighborhood.

  “I don’t know,” Dad said. “Let’s eat and give the boy some room. If he needs to talk, he knows where we are.”

  My insides tumbled over and over as I tried to figure out how long before I could excuse myself and go find out what was going on with Tank.

  When I finally made my way downstairs, I was disappointed to find the basement empty. My heart jumped, but then I saw his backpack in the corner and knew that he hadn’t left for good. At least my letter hadn’t scared him away.

  Instead of going out and finding him, I figured my best bet would be to wait and catch him on the way back. Hopefully before anyone else could get to him.

  Jason found me an hour later in the garage, working on my bike. I had the big garage door open so I could see all approaches to the house for when he came back.

  “What you doing?” Jason asked as he went to get something off my dad’s work bench.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m working on my bike,” I said as I tightened a spoke.

  Jason frowned. “You haven’t ridden your bike in two years, and it’s mid-winter. You won’t see dry pavement or the sun until May. Why now?”

  “Because I want to,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

  He grimaced and held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, whatever, excuse me for taking an interest in your life.”

  I sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” I said. This wasn’t his fault. Well, not technically. But it sure felt like I should be blaming him for something.

  “What’s going on Marla?” he asked with a very concerned look on his face. A look that Jason did not get very often. Especially not when it came to me. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Weirder than you normally do, anyway.”

  I laughed. That was Jason, he couldn’t even be supportive without putting me in my place.

  “Don’t worry about it big brother. It’s nothing.”

  He stopped for a moment and said with a very serious face. “You know Marla, if you need help with something, I’m here. Just tell me, and I’ll fix it for you.”

  I smiled up at him. I knew that he thought he meant it. But I also knew that if I told him I was in love with his best friend he would freak and never understand.

  Nope, I was not going to do it.

  He gave me one last look. One last opportunity to unburden myself. But when I stayed quiet, he shrugged his shoulders and stepped into the house. He’d done his big brother duty. He was free and clear to worry about other, more important things.

  I cringed at the mean words tumbling around inside of my head. If felt like I wanted to scream or bite someone’s head off. Something, anything to relieve the tension and pressure building up inside of me.

  I stayed that way until I saw Tank coming up the road. A distant, faraway scowl on his face.

  My world stopped as I watched him walk through the light drizzle. His collar up, his shoulders bent against the cold wind.

  He froze when he saw me there in the garage, bent over my upside down bicycle. That distant look was immediately replaced by one of pain and hesitation. As if he were dreading the next step he had to take.

  My stomach fell to the floor, and my heart began to pound out of my chest.

  “Marla, we need to talk,” he said, and I knew. My letter had been the silly ramblings of a little girl, and it had scared him off.

  Swallowing hard, I straightened up and nodded. I could do this. I told myself. My world was about to end, but I wouldn’t run away, crying and screaming. No. I could stand there and take it.

  He smiled sadly and slowly shook his head.

  “Marla,” he began, like he had planned out exactly what he wanted to say.

  My heart fell, and I had trouble breathing. His sad eyes looked at me with pure pain.

  “I can’t do this,” he said. “It’s like I’m stabbing them in the back.”

  What did he mean? Was this his way of saying goodbye.

  “Tank,” I began as I desperately fought to think of some way to make it right. Some way to keep him.

  We stared into each other’s eyes. Longing for what we
couldn’t have. Stared, lost in each other’s world.

  There were no words that could solve this. Nothing I could say would make his guilt go away. So instead, I did the only thing I could. I stepped towards him and brought my lips up to his.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath as he took me into his arms and kissed me. The two of us coming together. My world erupted with pure pleasure. All I could think about was Tank. A feeling of specialness and pride washed through me.

  This was Tank, and he cared.

  Slowly the heat between us began to build. It was as if neither of us could get enough. My arms snaked around his neck, pulling him down to me.

  His hands roamed over my back. Slowly dropping to my butt, pulling me close.

  “Marla,” a stern voice yelled from behind me. Making me jump back. Breaking that bond between myself and Tank.

  The earth shattered, my insides froze as I fought to regain my mental balance and bring myself back to reality.

  I turned and saw the one thing I never wanted to see at that moment.

  My father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marla

  My father was angrier than I had ever seen him in my entire life. His face was red, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. This was not the gentleman I knew. The man who could hold a baby and rock him to sleep. The man who would braid my hair when I was a little girl.

  No, this was an angry bull elk ready to charge and defend what was his.

  “Get inside,” he barked at me.

  I didn’t move, afraid to leave him alone with Tank. What would he do? What would he say?

  I glanced up at Tank and saw the shame in his eyes.

  Ruined, everything was ruined because I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. He had tried to warn me. Had tried to avoid this. The one thing he didn’t want and I had ruined it for him.

  “Now!” My father said again. His voice low and cold. I could tell it was taking every bit of his willpower to stop himself from grabbing me and pulling me into the house.