The Rule of Threes, Marcy Campbell [short novels to read .TXT] 📗

She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she got up, leaving the lemon to wobble and roll off the couch cushion. She walked up the stairs to her room, and I watched her, taking in every little detail I could—the swish of her skirt against the backs of her legs, the way her hand curled around the bannister, the light coming in through the pane of glass next to the front door and bouncing off her silver hair.

I turned back to Tony, who had crossed his arms over his face. I could tell he was crying. I got up and put the lemon back in its bowl and busied myself with the mantle, putting things where they were supposed to be. A place for everything, and everything in its place. That was another of Grandma’s famous sayings. If only it was that easy.

When Grandma left tomorrow, Tony would move back into his own room, if that’s what we were going to call it. Tony’s room? It sounded a lot better than “the spare room.” He’d at least have a bit of space to himself, which was so important. And Grandma would have her own room at the assisted living place, and I would miss her, but I’d visit all the time. I could help her decorate it. Our house had felt so small since Tony and then Grandma arrived, but at least I’d always had my own room, with a door I could close. I knew I was lucky.

I patted Tony’s back. He wasn’t sobbing or anything; he was a silent crier, but I saw a wet drop leaking out of one eye from underneath his crossed arms. I kept my hand on his shoulder and, before I could think it through, I was somehow saying, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The “talk” didn’t come until I was getting ready for bed. My dad poked his head into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth.

“So,” he said. “About this suspension.”

Starting right off, huh? Not even going to give me any warning. I brushed up and down, and around and around, again and again. I’d never brushed my teeth so thoroughly. I could hear Mom downstairs loading the dishwasher.

But pretty soon my mouth got super frothy, so I spit, then swished some water around, spit again. Dad was still standing there, patiently waiting, or else he just hadn’t planned out what he was going to say.

“Isn’t it Mom’s job to yell at me?” I asked.

“She thought I could handle this one,” he said and smiled sheepishly. “And nobody’s yelling.”

I rinsed out my toothbrush, stuck it in my cup, and put them back in the cabinet. “Look, I’m really sorry,” I said in a rush. “I was a poor sport, I get that, and I shouldn’t have done it, and I know it was wrong, and it’s just that I worked so hard, and I was really, really upset.”

He held up his hands. “I know, I know,” he said. “I’m not mad at you, Mags, believe it or not. I mean, you certainly did not make the best choices, but we’ve all been under a lot of pressure around here.” He leaned against the doorway. “I look at it this way—if anything was going to be wrecked, I’m glad it was just some paper decorations.”

I felt my body relax, the muscles in my shoulders unknotting. He was letting me off easy. This was incredible. Mom would not have been so kind. She at least would have taken my phone away or something. But I still wasn’t sure I was completely off the hook.

“I promise I’ll never do anything like that again,” I said solemnly.

Dad nodded, then said, “Just try your best.” He opened his arms and pulled me in for a hug. His cheek was scratchy, like he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. “That’s all we can ask for.”

He pulled back and looked at me, holding my shoulders. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “You know that Tony is supposed to be going to a counselor, but he walked out of his first session . . . and I was thinking, maybe it would help if we all went, as a family. We’d be supporting Tony, but also, I think it could do us all some good.”

“Ummm,” I said, and Dad cut in.

“You know, a lot of people go to counseling. Your mom and I went years ago, when we were having some troubles.”

I wondered if a counselor had convinced them to stay together. If that was the case, I owed her or him a thank-you. How bad could it be? It was just talking to someone, right?

“Sure, Dad, I’d go.”

I heard someone on the stairs. Tony.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I was just going to brush my teeth.”

He was in his pajamas, probably had the sofa bed all pulled out, ready for his last lonely night in the living room. I wondered how long he’d been listening to Dad and me.

“It’s fine, Tony,” Dad said. “We’re done in here.”

I went to my room, and Dad followed. “Are you going to be okay at home tomorrow?” he asked. “With me at work and Mom getting Grandma settled at the facility?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve got a social studies report to finish.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Mom or I will call and check on you. Good night.”

He’d gotten to the door when I said, “Dad, could you . . . could you . . . tuck me in?”

“Sure,” he said. He sounded surprised, but happy, too.

He climbed up my ladder and leaned over the bed to pull the comforter up to my chin, and I felt that wonderful warmth and heaviness spreading all over me, pulling my eyelids closed. We’d try as best as we could. That was the only promise worth making.

When I heard someone whisper, “Maggie, Maggie,” I thought at first it was a dream. But there was Tony. He was standing next to my loft, calling up to me, and though he