Pretty Instinct (2 page)

“Nope.” He throws down his cig and grounds it out with his boot. “
My
wh—uh date, took me to hers last night. I never came back by the bus after the show.”

I love how he calls them “dates,” ever protective of what he perceives to be my fragile ears. My aunt Kerri had died only eight months after my mom. Figuring my uncle had said more than his fair share of goodbyes, when I
finally
got legal rights to Conner, and more than enough of Sutton, I bought this bus and asked my uncle to come along. He’d jumped at the invite, going on three years ago, and he’s been keeping us right of the center line, one mile of highway at a time, ever since.

“Nice.” I roll my eyes. “Get them all to clean up, please. I don’t want Bubs walking in to a pigsty. And use
bleach
on the toilet. No telling what treats, only
treated
with penicillin, Jarrett’s guest left behind.”

“You want me to go with you to get Conner? Rhett can run clean up.”

“No,” I laugh. “We gotta get moving soon. Bailing you out of jail would take too long.” Uncle Bruce
loathes
my father, bumping up his cool points to astronomical levels. I walk towards my car, last time I’ll be driving her for a while, and call back over my shoulder. “Seriously, get their asses up. Be scary or they won’t listen.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

***

“Bethy!” he yells the second I clear the door. Our mom called me Bethy, so Conner does too,
now
. But up until the day she died, it was always Liz or Lil’ Sis, which now often comes out “Sister.”

“Umpf,” I grunt, barely managing to stay on my feet as he plows into me, full-body tackle style. It’s always how he greets me, whether apart two days or two minutes, and it started to actually hurt when he got over two hundred pounds. He met that mark long ago, so you’d think I’d be used to it, but
no
. It often hurts like hell. I don’t know that my petite, female stature will ever welcome an overzealous frontal attack by a twenty-seven-year-old, far from lightweight, grown man.

I’ll eat my own tongue before ever complaining, though.

“You miss me, Bubs?” I ask, voice lined with the wheeze of still recollecting my breath.

“Uh huh.” He grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Goodbye, Dad!” he yells to no one.

“Whoa, hang on.” I strain to stop him, pulling back on his hand and considerable inertia, searching around for our father. “Conner, we gotta get your stuff first. Where’s Dad?” I visibly shiver, choking on the word
Dad
, repeating it merely to keep the conversation aligned for Bubs.

“I don’t care.” He tugs again on my arm. “Back to the bus!” Gotta love my kickass brother, always straight to the point and untactfully honest. Another thing “just that way” for so long now—I don’t exactly remember if he had a filter
before
. He was cocky, an athlete, musician, popular…but I kinda remember some couth in there somewhere.

“Thank you, son.” The icy baritone echoes off the vaulted ceilings, raking along my spine. It kills me when I react, my own body betraying me with instinctual, physical aversion, reminding me of the power he still, in fact, holds. “Elizabeth,” he regards me curtly when fully descended from the overly grand staircase and at my side. “You’re well, I assume?”

“Well, I assume you’re still a prick. Am I right?”

Conner titters from behind me and I turn to give him a clever, victorious grin.
That’s right bud, score one for our team.

“Dear Elizabeth, as always, such an eloquent young lady.”

“Dear Father Time,” I point to his face, “tucking and sucking in vain, as always, I see. Where’s Alma?” Our housekeeper/nanny since I could walk, she’s one of the select few I trust in this world, and the
only
reason I let Con visit
him
in this house without me. She
better
be here; he’s not allowed to be alone with Conner,
ever
, and he knows it. There may be some liberties I fought like hell and still couldn’t get taken from him, but on this rule, I’d won. And if I hadn’t, Conner and I’d be deep in the tropics somewhere, sunbathing, snorkeling, and hidden.

His shoulders, cloaked in a suit far too dignified for him, shake with his sneering chuckle. “She’s around here somewhere. Ask your brother if you don’t believe me. Or feel free to go search for her yourself.” Rubbing his chin, stoic mask resumed, he waits for me to call his bluff. When I remain in place, he fires off his next jab. “How’s
the band
?”

“Why do you ask empty questions? You don’t care what the answer is, so why ask?” I slap a hand over my heart dramatically and puff out my bottom lip. “I hope it’s not for my benefit, Daddy Dearest. Please don’t ever worry your feeble mind into thinking I need filler conversation with you. In fact,” I step toward him and snarl, “I’m bloated and gassy from what little we’ve already spoken.” I rub my belly, wishing I could burp on command like Jarrett. “So get me his bag and we’ll be leaving. Unless there’s anything we actually
need
to talk about? Say, about Conner?” Speaking of Bubs, I glance over my shoulder, finding him talking gregariously to the large fish tank, tapping noisily on the glass. If not for Alma being the one who’d have to clean it up, I’d be rooting for him to break it.

“Nothing other than what I’ve been telling you. He belongs—”

“With me.” I shove a shaking finger in his face. “And that’s where he’ll stay. I
only
let you see him because
he
asks. Never forget, old man, we hold the cards,
not
you.” Even as I speak it, I know it’s not true. As long as Conner wants to see him, asks for him, despite every instinct in my body, I have to let him. The visitation mandate my slimy father somehow got wormed into the agreement sees to it. I hate Con going anywhere near him and worry from the time I drop him off ‘til the time I safely pick him up, but again…until Conner remembers something, finds his voice, my hands are tied.

“Why do you insist on dragging someone in his condition across the country on your meaningless bout of rebellion? The money can’t be taken back, it’s yours, whether he’s with you or not. Let him have a
home
, a watchful eye.”

I step even closer into him, rage and resentment seething in my veins, ringing in my ears. “He
was home
, not on my
watch
, when he got in this
condition
. And our mother saw to it we have that money, you pretentious fucking bastard. Don’t you dare talk as though you have one ounce of generosity or concern for him in your body!”

He pulls the pansy ass handkerchief from his pocket and wipes my spit from his leathery, over-processed face. “Always a pleasure, Elizabeth. Do try not to get him killed.”

“Wouldn’t want to steal your M.O.”

Nothing. No jolt of shock at the accusation, no flabbergasted denial, not even so much as a “what’s that supposed to mean?” He simply doesn’t care enough to feign plausible deniability anymore, sure he’s untouchable. One in the ground, the other not talking—I’d probably be feeling pretty good about my odds too. Unless I was going up against me. Which he is. As long as I have breath in my body…
he is
.

His footsteps echo off the pristine marble floor as he turns and walks briskly away.
There’s
the version of him I know best—his back to us. He won’t stop and turn around, smile longingly at the daughter he’s lost, beg her to forgive him and explain away her suspicions. I quit wishing for it long ago; an icy indifference has taken its place. Nor does he so much as hug his son goodbye, killing my sense of obligation to tell him we’ll be gone a while this time, heading across the country as soon as we leave here.

Allowing one fleeting sigh, my eyes take a rapid sweep around my childhood home before I gather myself and reassume my armor. “Come on, Bubs, we’re going. Grab your bag.”

“Can we take the fishes with us?”

“You don’t want those fish, Con. They’re tainted. I’ll get you some fish of your very own. Okay?”

“And Pez?” he coaxes me with a goofy, adorable smile. Completely unnecessary because I’ll give him anything he wants, but my favorite sight all the same.

“Of course. Always Pez.”

When I promised Conner I’d get him some fish of his own, I wasn’t lying…but I also wasn’t thinking
right
this second
. He however, was, pointing to every single building we’ve passed in the last ten minutes asking, “Is that the fish store? Is this where we’re getting my fish, Bethy? Don’t you need to turn right there, Sister?”

Pulling over in a random parking lot, I can’t help but snicker. To hell with what the doctors say, my brother’s all kinds of cunning, brilliantly wrapping me around his little finger every chance he gets.

“Where are we? This isn’t the store.” He slumps in his seat, shoulders hunched and a pout tugging down his mouth. “You were only kidding me about the fish, huh?”

See what he did there? Doesn’t know what he’s saying
my ass
.

I scoff and blow a big raspberry at him. “You know better, you clever little monkey. I’m getting directions real quick, Bubs. I don’t know where the fish store is.”

We’d never been allowed pets growing up; too messy, loud, undignified—pick an excuse. Therefore, I have no clue where to buy one. The Foster brothers, though…they always had some sort of creature in a cage, bowl, or box when we were young.

Dialing Jarrett, I practice the “I’m sorry oh and can you help me” speech in my head as the call connects.

He answers on the first ring, sounding panicked. “You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. I kinda need your help, though.”

“Shoot,” he pops off, no questions asked, no apology demanded first. He’s kinda great that way.

“First,” deep breath filled with shame, “I need you to forgive me for being an over-the-top bitch this morning. You know I love you and I don’t mean to be so harsh, but I can’t have—”

“You’re forgiven, already were. What else ya got?”

I let free the nervous sigh I’d been holding and roll my head back and around, the ease in my shoulders glorious. Deep down, I knew he’d forgive me, but sometimes I worry that he, or Rhett, or both, will finally figure out I’m a handful, more trouble than I’m worth, and leave me. “I’m parked in front of Keene’s Appliance Store right now and need to know where the nearest fish store is. And could you please clear a spot for our new pets? Conner,” I turn to him, “where do you want your fish to go?”

“In my room.” He nods his head up and down eagerly. “Yes, in my room, for sure.”

“A spot in Con’s room, please.” And for five seconds it seems that easy, until inner Liz rears her complex head.

“Wait, what if they spill? I guess I can get a lid. Oh, you better pick a spot by a plug, for the bubble thingy. Not by a window, too hot or cold,” I huff, “I don’t know.” I
don’t
know anything about this whole spontaneous project, let alone trying to pull it off on a tour bus.

Conner’s in the big bedroom in the back, all the rest of us in the bunks or the pull-out couch in front…and I’m suddenly regretting giving him a choice for the tank’s home. Lord only knows what he’ll do with the fish all secret-like back there; I’ll have to keep the food, and net, and whatever else they come with in a safe place. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing somewhat labored, panic level rising, and try to find solace in the fact he didn’t ask for a dog.
Unjinx, unjinx
.
I did not just think that.

“Yo, Mama Bear!” Jarrett’s amusement rings in my ear. “Curb the crazy, it’s fish, not a fucking alligator. It’ll be fine. Go get the man some damn guppies and I’ll have everything ready. There’s a place called The Tank on the corner of Riker and 23
^rd
, in the shopping center. Head there.”

“Okay, you’re right. Only fish. We can do fish.” I breathe out all the unnecessary worry, firming my grip on the wheel. “See ya in a sec.”

***

“That one,” Conner yells, sliding his pointer finger across the tank, chasing one fish, then another, and so on. “And that one!” His feet shuffle a mile a minute, excitement uncontainable. “Sister,” he turns to me, “they got a red one for Jarrett and a blue for me!”

“I see,” I say, giggling at his enthusiasm. “We’ll take the red and blue one,” I tell the young guy helping us.

“Anddddd,” Conner’s voice is a full scream, “the yellow one and orange one and blue one for Rhett!”

“Two blue ones,” I amend to the helper, raising a warning brow as he sighs and rolls his eyes.
Don’t even go there, dude. Help my brother, service with a smile, or else. Ruin this for him and you asked for what you get.

“Bethy,” he says softly, the sadness in his voice snaring my attention, “they don’t got a bright pink one for you. You gotta pick a different color.”

I lean in and examine all my choices, darting around the tank so fast my eyes can barely keep up. “How about a couple of those tiny little bright green ones?”

“
Yes
,” he drawls out in fascination, “great choice. What ones for Cami and Uncle Bruce?”

Thoughtful angel, never forgetting anyone
.

“They can share with me,” I assure him, patting his arm. “I think that’s enough, Bubs. We don’t have room for too big of a tank and you don’t want them to be crowded.”

He considers that, tapping his index finger on his chin, then finally happily agrees. Carrying one of the clear bags with his blue and red fish toward the front, he positively bounces the whole way.
Yep, we can do fish.
Together, we gander around as the guy tries to chase down the rest of our order with the tiny net, Conner scooping up all kinds of castles, ships and treasure chests to go in the tank.

“Remember, not too much, Bub. They need room to swim.”

“Two things?” He holds up that many fingers, begging me with his sweet smile. When I agree too easily with a bob of my head, he goes in for the kill. “Three things?”