He takes a quick piss, brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face. In the hallway, he stops outside of Jewel’s room. The door is cracked open, and he’s about to knock, but he hears his mother’s voice. Her low hum is soothing, a reminder of every night she tucked him in, of the way she nursed him through fevers and strep throat, of how she used to wake him up by rubbing his back and singing to him.
“Maybe in the afternoon,” she says. “We can stop at the grocery store on the way home from church and get some then. Do you have any homework?”
“Nope. All done,” Jewel says.
“What about the work you missed on Friday?”
“I did it in the car.”
“Right.” She laughs. “Why couldn’t Ricky have been like this? I always used to have to chase after him to get to his homework, but both you and Jessup are so serious about school. You make it easy for me, pumpkin.”
Jessup smiles, lets his knuckles dance on the door. “Hey,” he says, leaning in.
Jewel sits up in bed. “Jessup!”
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“It’s early,” she says scornfully. What do big brothers know about bedtime? What do big brothers know about being eleven? “And it’s the weekend.”
“It’s not like you ever sleep in anyway. Latest you ever sleep is eight o’clock.”
Their mom taps her finger against Jewel’s nose. “She’s going to sleep now, but she’s not a teenager. I’m more worried about you getting up on time, Jessup.”
“Me?” Jessup feigns being wounded. “I was up before the sun today.”
“Yeah, but that was to go hunting. You’re a little less eager for church.”
Unsaid: that he’s refused to go the past four years. Unsaid: that it’s not up for discussion with David John. Unsaid: that she’s not worried about his sleep.
He comes all the way into Jewel’s room, sits next to his mother. Picks up the book that Jewel has on her lap. It’s the same one from earlier. “Thought you’d finish this by now.”
Jewel grabs it back, hesitates, then proffers it to him. “Will you read it to me? Just a chapter?”
Their mom gently pushes the book down. “Not tonight, honey. You need to go to sleep. And we need to have a talk with Jessup.”
“How about a bedtime story? Just one.”
“I’ve already told you one,” she says. “Now lie down so I can tuck you in.”
Jewel complies, but before Jessup can turn off the lamp, she looks at him and asks, “Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” he says. Realizes he may have just told her another bedtime story. A fantasy. A fiction. Asks himself, what’s one more lie? “Everything’s going to be fine.”