The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] (12 page)

"It almost sounds like you're jealous."

"Not jealous, just envious. I like to think that if my brother had lived, we'd have the same kind of relationship that Blackie, Judd, and Rebel have."

Brother?
“I didn't know you had a brother."

"He died a long time ago."

"What,” she asked hesitantly, “what happened?"

Georgia watched closely as Wade seemed to be debating on whether or not to elaborate. After a good thirty seconds of silence, he dropped his cigarette butt into the longneck bottle, shook his head, and stood. “Sorry,” he said, returning the bottle to the dresser. “That's a story for another day. I'm all talked out."

Disappointed, Georgia nodded, wincing inwardly after realizing she'd probably overstepped her bounds and offended him by asking such a personal question. Unsure of how to correct her mistake, she changed the subject. “So what now?"

Wade dropped his cigarettes into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt, but didn't bother buttoning the flap. “What do you mean, ‘what now'?"

"I ... thought you were supposed to help me."

He chuckled, but Georgia got the feeling his heart wasn't in it. “I am going to help you, Georgia, and I'm happy to do it. But I'm not your fairy godfather. I don't have a magic wand that I can wave and make everything all right. It's going to take time and a lot of talking."

Georgia was confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. Feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her sails, she relaxed against the headboard and tried to come up with something to say. Anything. But her mind was blank. Should she ignore it? Apologize? “But—"

"I told you,” he reminded her as he made his way toward the door, “I'm all talked out."

What was his problem?

"Get some rest,” he ordered, “I'll be back soon."

Humph! If he thought for one second that she was going to take orders from him after ... wait a minute! The two of them had just spent ... what ... nearly four hours talking, and she hadn't felt sick once. She hadn't even thought about feeling sick. She'd been so distracted by their conversation that her own problems hadn't once crossed her mind.

Had that been Wade's motive all along?

Is that what he meant when he said her recovery was going to take a lot of talking?

Surely not. There had to be more to it than that.

Suddenly very tired, Georgia did nothing to stifle her yawn, and slid down under the covers, resting her head on the pillow. Surprisingly, her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep weren't of her brothers and all she'd learned about them today. They were of Wade Pickett and the strange, yet familiar connection she felt they shared.

[Back to Table of Contents]

"You've been staring up those damn steps for days, Blackie. What gives?"

Blackie sidestepped the rag Judd playfully threw at him, allowing the wad of dirty material to land on the floor at his feet. “What the hell do you think they're doin’ up there?” he asked, referring to Georgia and Wade, who he hadn't seen or heard from in days.

Judd shrugged, which annoyed Blackie even more. “How the hell should I know, bro, I'm not up there with them."

That's right, no one was. Wade Pickett was upstairs, alone, in a bedroom, with their sister. “Well maybe one of us should be."

"Stay away from those stairs, Blackie,” Rebel warned, obviously picking up on the thoughts running through Blackie's mind, “and stay away from the apartment. I talk to Wade everyday when I take food up there. He's fine, Georgia's fine, everything's fine. Leave them alone."

Blackie backed away from the car he was working on, slammed the hood shut, and turned to face his youngest brother.

Angry because he felt like he was missing something, he lashed out at Rebel. “Well how come you're the only one who gets to go up there? What's wrong, Judd and I ain't good enough to bring food upstairs and check on our sister?"

Rebel smiled, which irritated Blackie even more. “You want to know why you can't go upstairs?” Rebel chuckled, unknowingly inching himself that much closer to being slugged. “Are you listening to yourself, Blackie? You can't even say Wade's name without getting angry. Georgia needs help, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you chase away the only person who seems to be able to give it to her."

"Well, what about him?” Blackie waved his hand wildly, motioning toward Judd. “He don't hate Wade. Why ain't you lettin’ him up?"

"Because he's too damn soft-hearted, that's why."

With a deafening ‘thud', Judd threw down the box of tools he was carrying and turned on Rebel with a scowl so menacing, it rivaled any one Blackie had ever come up with. “Care to explain that?"

Now thoroughly amused, Blackie turned his full attention to his brothers.

Looking frustrated but ready to fight, Rebel rolled his eyes and took a defensive stance. “Don't start with me, Judd. I'm not in the mood to go rolling around this concrete floor throwing punches at you today."

Blackie watched closely, doing his best to keep from laughing. When Judd and Rebel were little, their constant fighting used to piss him off. There were many times he actually picked them up, threw them outside, and locked the door, refusing to let them back in until they were finished yelling at and beating on each other.

But he didn't mind the bickering so much today. Their escalating argument was taking his mind off his own worries.

"You've seen how Georgia looks at you,” Rebel started to explain, “we all have."

"Oh yeah, and how is that?"

Rebel actually laughed. “Hmm ... kind of like you're the one who's responsible for the inventions of teenage boys, fashionable clothes, and puppy dogs. God knows why, but Georgia thinks the world of you, Judd. You're the one she responds to the best, the one she looks to when she feels she needs an ally."

Judd relaxed a little, crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “So what's your damn point?"

"My point is that you know how Georgia feels because you feel the same way about her. We all love her, Judd, but the two of you seem to have some special kind of connection. You seem to understand her in a way that Blackie and I don't. If she tried hard enough, that girl could talk you into anything. She wants Wade gone, and there's no doubt in my mind that five minutes alone with you, Georgia would have you convinced to toss the guy out the window."

Judd opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

To Blackie, Judd's silence spoke volumes. He had definitely noticed the strong bond that had formed between Judd and Georgia. Apparently, Rebel had, too.

"I wouldn't let her talk me into getting rid of Wade, Reb,” Judd finally said, his voice now quiet and void of anger.

Looking a little lost, Judd reached down and grabbed an empty bucket from beside one of the tool cabinets. He turned it over and sat down right there in the middle of the floor, then bent down and rested his head in the palms of his hands. “I want what's best for her, just like you and Blackie do."

Rebel walked over to stand behind Judd, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Then my suggestion would be for you to stay clear of the apartment until Wade thinks she's made a little more progress; until he thinks it's safe for big brothers who have a soft spot for their little sister can visit without being talked into doing something they know they shouldn't."

Judd turned his head and looked up. “Am I that bad?"

Hearing the doubt that Judd suddenly seemed to have in himself made Blackie feel sorry for him. Stuck in the middle of him and Rebel, Judd had been trying to find his,'place'—something to define who he was—his entire life. Blackie knew that living in his and Rebel's shadows, trying to live down their infamous reputations, hadn't been easy on Judd.

Now, with the appearance of Georgia, Judd seemed to have found what he was meant to do. It pained Blackie that Judd thought he was doing something wrong by being close to their sister.

"You bein’ the one Georgia likes best ain't a bad thing, Judd. You two obviously understand each other. I don't know what the hell made her choose you,” he joked, “but whatever it was, I'm glad she's attached to at least one of us."

"Yeah,” Rebel added. “You know, I thought Gypsy was crazy when she accused you of having a heart way back when she first met you, but damned if she wasn't right."

"So what about you?” Judd asked Rebel. “Why do you get to be the one who goes upstairs and checks on them?"

Blackie glanced at Rebel and knew instantly the meaning of the look his brother was wearing. It wasn't often that Rebel was puzzled or unsure of himself, but he had been a time or two. Still, it always took Blackie by surprise when he was at a loss about something.

What, Blackie wondered, was troubling Rebel about Georgia?

"I go because she doesn't really seem to care one way or the other whether I'm there or not,” Rebel admitted in a low, seemingly hurt tone. “All the time I spent with her when she first arrived, she hardly ever talked to me. She looks at me like she doesn't trust me, and when I go up there, she has Wade answer the door, and doesn't say anything to me unless I approach her first. What the hell do you suppose that's all about?"

"Maybe she's afraid of you,” Blackie suggested.

Rebel grimaced, but he might as well have just come right out and accused Blackie of being crazy. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would she be afraid of
me
? Have you ever looked in the mirror?” he asked Blackie. “You're the one she should be afraid of. You're scary."

"Yeah,” Blackie admitted proudly, “I'm scary. But only scary
lookin'
. Well,” he paused, “that and scary soundin', too ... when I get angry."

Rebel was mad, now. Blackie could tell he was losing his patience because he'd stepped over and reached into his tool cabinet for a pack of cigarettes. The only time Rebel smoked anymore was when he was stressed or upset. “Okay, Blackie, I'll bite. What could possibly be so scary about me that Georgia doesn't want to have anything to do with me?"

"You're smart,” Blackie said matter-of-factly. “You're a leader, you got it together, and people look up to you. You ain't never been in any real trouble with the law, but have had to bail all our asses outta trouble at one time or another. Everyone that knows you, Rebel, respects you."

"So you think—"

"It ain't that Georgia don't like you; I'm sure she does. I just think you intimidate her. She keeps referrin’ to herself as a junkie and a whore. You, on the other hand, are admired by every goddamn person who's ever met you. Georgia probably feels awkward around you. Maybe she don't say nothin’ because she don't know what to say. Maybe she feels like she ain't good enough to be your sister."

Remaining quiet—as if he was contemplating what Blackie had said—Rebel took a long drag on his cigarette. “I never thought of that. I just assumed she didn't like me.” Then he turned to Blackie, as if just realizing he was the one who'd come up with the logical explanation. “Since when did you get to be so smart?"

"It ain't smarts that helped me figure that out, little brother, it was personal experience. I may be older and bigger than you, but don't none of that matter. Not only do you got shoes so big that ain't no one ever gonna fill ‘em, but
we're
all livin’ in your shadow, too."

"I—"

Blackie shook his head. “It ain't a bad thing to be the way you are, Reb, so don't go thinkin’ you're doin’ somethin’ wrong. Once Georgia's better and don't think bad of herself no more, she'll realize you ain't so scary."

Judd stood and returned the bucket to the side of the tool cabinet. “You know, we could probably help her if we knew a little more about her."

"And how the hell are we supposed to do that?” Rebel asked, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground. “She won't even tell us where she used to live."

"Maybe she'll tell Wade."

Rebel shook his head. “Negative, Judd. Wade told me she won't tell him anything, either."

"Not even her mom's name?"

"Nope."

"There's gotta be a reason she don't want us to know nothin',” Blackie told them. “Hell, maybe she's embarrassed."

"What else could she be embarrassed about that we don't already know?"

"Think about it, Reb. Did you see the look on her face when she told us that her mom was in love with the old man? If our mother had actually been in love with him, wouldn't it have embarrassed you to know that she was proud of makin’ such a bad choice?"

Rebel nodded. “Yeah, it would've. But why won't she tell us where she grew up, or what her mom's name is?"

"Maybe she's also embarrassed about what the old man made her do and don't want her mom to know. Maybe she don't trust her mom no more because she didn't fight to keep Georgia away from him. There's probably a million reasons why she won't tell us nothin'. Eventually, though, she's gonna have to. If Wade can't make her talk, we're gonna have to do it ourselves."

Judd asked how they were going to do that; which was something Blackie had been wondering himself. Never in a million years did he think he'd ever have to force a teenage girl to talk. He'd always thought that skill was something that just came naturally to them; something that was so inbred in females that they couldn't stop themselves from doing it even if their mouths were surgically sewn shut.

"We can't force her to tell us anything, Blackie."

Judd seemed worried, but Blackie didn't feel the least bit guilty for suggesting they may have to force Georgia to tell them what they needed to know. “Yes we can, Judd. If she's gonna be a part of this family, she's gonna have to be honest with us."

"Okay, fine,” Judd agreed reluctantly, “say she does wind up talking. How are we going to know whether or not she's telling the truth?"

"We're just gonna have to check out her story."

"So what do we do until then?” Judd asked.

Blackie caught the stern look from Rebel and knew that whatever he was about to say, was for Blackie's benefit. “We let Wade do his job and counsel Georgia, help her heal as much as he can. Her physical symptoms are finally over. She's not sick anymore, and has been sleeping through the night the past few days. Emotionally, she's pretty messed up."