Chapter 3 Continuation

This isn't our first secret from her brother. I'm the one who let her have her first sip of beer. She was eighteen. Never told Brody that. "He'll flip his shit if he finds out you might be leaving," I say. "He was so excited when you told him you were moving here." "I know," she says. "He still worries about you like you're fifteen," I say. "He needs to get it under control. He put his life on hold for me, all three of you did." "He never thought about it like that. You were never a burden. He wanted you with him back then," I say. "I'm sure he'd rather not have been raising a teenage girl. I'm sure you and Skye would have preferred to be young and having fun," she says. Her parents' funeral flashes in my mind, Skye and I flanked on either side of her, and Brody with his arms around her from behind, resting his head on top of hers. Thank God, Ainsley wasn't home that night, or we could've lost her, too. Brody was home for Christmas break, and the two of them were out at a late movie together. Any other night and . . . I can't even think about what might have happened. Those first few days after his parents died—I've never seen Brody so torn up. I patted his shoulder and asked when we were taking A. Rose home to Charleston. That was it. We all knew that we'd do it together, no questions asked. He wanted her with him. He needed her with him. Skye and I just gave him the support. Don't get me wrong, we were all scared shitless. We were so unprepared, walking into our tiny two-bedroom apartment. Brody slept on the couch for months until we got a bigger place.

"Brody insisted we meet every Sunday night to talk about your week, your schedule. He didn't want you to be alone too much. And when you started dating, my God, he'd drone on and on about supervising you and scaring your dates. You are his family. My point is, Brody never thought of raising you as putting anything on hold." "It's so weird to be thinking about all this again. It seems so long ago, but at the same time, it doesn't. You know?" she asks, looking up at me from under her lashes. I give her a nod. "We had some good times. All my friends were jealous. You guys were so cool. Well, you and Skye were. Brody was a typical overprotective big brother." "He used to drive Skye nuts. He wouldn't ever let her stay over unless you were sleeping at a girlfriend's house. He said it was inappropriate."

"He should have told you that," she teases. "I caught you making out with girls quite a bit." I was really hoping she'd forgotten about that. "Brody used to get so mad at you, but you were always there," she says, looking up at me. I'm still here for her. Always will be. My step falls right back in line with hers. When I was younger, my mom used to point out when she'd see couples walking, the man ten feet in front of his woman. It's a pet peeve of hers. She made me swear never to walk in front of a woman I was with. "There's a great ice cream shop around the corner. You up for it?" I ask, and she smiles. Walking past a colorful row of houses, each is bigger than the next. The sounds of horse drawn carriages fill the air. There are very few cobblestone streets left in the city, but that might be the only charm Charleston's lost in its history. Modern day offices, stores, and even ice cream shops are housed in old buildings that you just know have a story to tell, a secret buried deep inside its crevices. From the outside, everything looks charming. It's only when you take the time to look a little closer you see the cracks, the tiny threads barely holding everything together—much like the earthquake bolts on the old buildings here. Yes, South Carolina has had earthquakes. Strange, but true. They are a telltale sign of the disasters of the past, and a warning of what could come. I hook Sadie's leash under the table leg and walk inside the ice cream shop to order. I don't have to ask Ainsley her favorite. I already know. I know everything everything about her, except how she kisses, how it would feel to have my arms wrapped around her, or simply hold her hand. Ordering, I glance out the window, seeing Ainsley leaning over, patting, and talking to Sadie. Sadie's a dog, so she can't talk, but it looks like they are having a "real" conversation—tail wagging, head tilting, eye contact. People should take some communication skills from dogs. Sometimes all you have to do is listen to the person. Often, we are so busy thinking of what to say next, we forget to really listen to the person, to pick up on the little clues in their mannerisms, their voice. I get the cones and walk back out to her. To anyone else, this would look like a date, but it isn't. It never can be. Never. Sadie and Ainsley look up at me, both smiling. "I can't remember the last time someone bought me a cookies and cream ice cream cone—my favorite!" Ainsley says. I wonder if she remembers the first time I bought her ice cream. It was only a few weeks or so after she moved in. The memory is still fresh in my mind. I was asleep in my bedroom when I heard the softest knock on my door.

The only reason it woke me was because Sadie barked. I opened my bedroom door, and Ainsley was standing there teary, asking if I knew where Brody was. I knew he was taking a big exam and Skye was working.

"I need my mom," Ainsley said, sobbing. Not sure what to do with a crying fifteen-year-old girl, I offered to call my mom for her. My parents had really stepped up, helping us out with Ainsley, having us over for dinners.