TWENTY-SIX

GRIFF SLEPT DOWNSTAIRS WITH THE DRY GOODS, IN A COT between some of his father’s salvaged equipment from the ’64 tsunami and 200 pounds of rolled oats because they smelled better than most things when they leached through plastic tubs. He woke early to stiff footfalls. Descending steps. Maybe his mother. He was starving. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, the day before.

Griff looked up to find Leo staring down at him.

His brother. Griff had not yet entwined the events of last night with the person standing there. The horrific memory didn’t seem to fit the familiar body, calm eyes, and measured posture, so it just suffused the air between them—an awful nightmare miasma.

“Hey, brother,” Leo said, standing in a shaft of light. Dressed, wearing their dad’s camo jacket. He pointed at the basement’s only window. “Check it out. Spotlight sun. That maple is The Most Important Tree in the World.” An old game they played. Giving names to the things that shone brightest.

Leo was trying to win him over. Hoping the memory of last night would just go whooshing out in the cross-breeze. It would be easier that way.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Leo said. He said it like a commandment. Like Get moving.

Griff lay and held his breath.

“I didn’t—” Leo hushed his voice. “I didn’t mean for it to be so loud. It just felt like a joke. I got a little drunk, okay? Jonesy brought whisky. It was stupid.”

Griff, in his mind, examined Leo’s Standard Relationship Repair Strategies.

Step 1: Optimistic Distraction.

Step 2: Aloof Apology.

Step 3: Embarrassing Admission.

Next, what would it be? An invitation? An us-and-them conspiracy?

“We’re all going to the lighthouse tomorrow morning. The whole band. Charity, Thomas. All of us. We want you to come.”

“Charity’s coming?” Griff asked.

“She said she would.”

“After last night?” Griff asked.

“She might come,” Leo said. His voice had changed.

Leo’s feet clicked up the wooden steps.

Click, click, click, click—

Footsteps stopped. Then returned, growing louder.

Click, click, click.

Griff squeezed his eyes shut. Griff could hear Leo breathing. He looked up. This time he did not know what to expect.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Leo said.

This was not on the schematic. Griff sat up. His brother’s face, barely visible.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Leo said. “I’m tired of always losing.”

Griff put his face into the pillow. He was shaking. Eyes squeezed shut. His brother’s last words came soft and hollow, like a breath across the neck of an empty bottle:

“You two were glowing up there.”