“Maybe this is one thing that doesn’t have to be,” I said. “Let’s just decide that.”
He looked skeptical, but he nodded. “Okay, then. Whatever you want is okay.”
I smiled. “Good.”
He smiled. “Good. I’ll call her now.”
Then he moved closer, kissing my neck, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Well, not right now.”
People Who Screw Up Bobby stood by the kitchen table. He was drinking the green drink he had most mornings, the green color that made it hard for me to look at, let alone ingest.
Bobby was in his suit already, the newspaper open in front of him—the only indications of the fight the cut by his lip, his bruised hand.
Even though he heard me walk in, he didn’t look up. He sat down, turning the page of the newspaper.
“Beautiful day for a harvest party,” he said.
I took a seat beside him. “It is.”
He turned to the back of the first section, reading the sports rundown. “Dad was just here,” he said. “He wants to wait on Block 14. Have the family pick them together after the harvest party, like usual.”
He motioned toward his green drink. “You want some?” he said.
It was an offer on the other side of what he wasn’t giving away: any information on how he was feeling. It was the last thing I wanted, but I took a sip of the thick mess of it so he would feel like I was on his side.
He smiled. “Pretty good, right?”
I motioned toward his suit. “Where are you going?”
He took the drink back, gulped down the green. “I’ve got to go into the city for a work thing,” he said. “I have a lunch, but I’ll be back in time for the harvest party. Don’t worry.”
Bobby started gathering his things.
“I’m already running late,” he said, standing up. “I should go.”
“Can I at least drive you there?”
“Didn’t I just say I was late? If you drive, who knows when we’ll get there.”
I started to argue, then I remembered the last time I had attempted to drive one of my brothers somewhere.
He reached for his briefcase. “Just say it already.”
“Say what?”
“Say whatever you think you need to say to convince me that Finn didn’t mean any of this. That neither of them did.”
I looked up at him, feeling the weight of his stare. He didn’t want me to try to make things okay between them. He didn’t want things to be okay between them.
“Where is she?”
He reached for his thermos, poured the rest of his juice inside. “She’s taking the twins to see a friend of ours in Healdsburg.”
“She’s missing the harvest party?”
“No, they’re coming back tonight, but I can’t handle her being in the house today more than she has to be. I thought it was a good idea for us to have a little space.”
“What does Margaret think?” I said.
“What does it matter what she thinks?”
“You need to talk to her, Bobby. Shutting her out isn’t going to do what you think it’s going to do. Margaret would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Do you think that makes this better or worse?” He shook his head. “I knew that things weren’t great between us. I’m not an idiot. But knowing things aren’t great and finding out your wife is in love with your brother? Those are two different things.”
“That isn’t what this is about, Bobby,” I said.
“You sure about that?”
He paused, biting his thumbnail. Bruised hand meeting bruised mouth.
“Do you know she’s been talking about having another kid? Why would she talk about having another kid if she was feeling as badly as this? Maybe she thought that would fill it, what she was missing with me . . .”
“I think that you and Margaret need to sit down and deal with this.”
He drilled me with a look. “I think you should have told me. That’s what I think.”
“Bobby, I didn’t know.”
“I’m not talking about Margaret. I’m talking about Ben. He has a kid?”
I nodded, unsure how to read my brother’s expression. “Does that make you hate him?”
He shook his head, surprising me. “No, not at all. It makes me sad for him.”
He started walking toward the door. Then he turned back.
“People screw up, you know. You shouldn’t hold it against them. You shouldn’t expect everyone to know everything you’re thinking about or not getting from them. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you. They screw up.”