I wince, remembering how detached and cold Abram had been.
“Do you have a favorite?” he asks, coming in without invitation. His movements slow, tentative.
I blink, not saying anything. I have better things to do than make conversation with a coward. My attention falls back to the book in my lap, and I hear his long sigh.
“There was a time when reading fascinated me too. Books always carried the answer.”
I roll my eyes at the nonsense.
“Maybe you inherited that from me,” he adds, sounding closer this time.
The corner of his mouth crinkles when I raise my head, lifting my shoulders. Snorting at his expense.
“Doubtful.”
“It’s a possibility,” he says, more hopeful than he should.
Dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, he pulls at his tie, loosening it. An awkwardness hangs in the air. It’s his house, I am a temporary guest, so it feels strange telling him to leave.
I am not the one looking for conversation. I say nothing.
“Lorna told me she helped you settle in.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. Remembering herwarmwelcome that never made it past the front steps. I could laugh. Lorna has always been good at deceiving people.
Tucking his hands into his black dress slacks, he rocks on his heels. Musing at nothing and everything in the room like this was his first time seeing it. Not surprising if that’s the case. He’s good at throwing his money around, neglecting morals.
Breaking the silence, he says, “Has your brother popped in to say hello yet?”
My face falls, eyes squeezing shut. Is he really trying to do this?
“Halfbrother,” I correct. “And yes.” His welcome was as heartfelt as his mother’s.
Abram’s mouth sinks at my correction, despair layering his face. “He and his friends think they have a good shot at winning the basketball districts this season. May even go all the way to state.”
Okkkay, and I should care why?
“Neat,” I deadpan.
Hurt flashes in his eyes, dark rings sitting underneath the rim. I feel no remorse for the man.
It feels like a battlefield dividing us. My barricades built high, ready for any hit. While his seem to crumble, the foundation weakening with every passing day.
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Same answer.
“We should change that. We’re a family,” he mumbles, musing his thoughts aloud. “Caspers should all dine together.”
I ignore the fact that he thinks we’re a family and snort at the other doltish things spouting from his mouth. “I’m not a Casper.”
That comment sparking the first real emotion from him. His posture no longer drawn as his mouth pulls to one side.
“You are a Casper,” he states, voice deepening in anger.