Page 93 of Never Forget

“Well, after we saw those horrific scars on Lucius, and those security gentlemen with you were acting so strangely, I thought we deserved to know the truth. There was clearly something you weren’t telling us.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

My grandfather’s voice comes from the doorway to the bedroom. He’s leaning against the doorframe, a tube looped around his ears and under his nose, an oxygen tank by his side. “So you were just going to let us think you’d chosen to gallivant off and leave us here with a bunch of hooligans?”

I laugh, even though it’s not funny. That is exactly what I was going to do. I didn’t think there was anything I could have said that would have made them think differently.

“This is weird,” I say out loud, standing and gesturing for my grandfather to take my seat.

“What is, dear?”

“All of it. I mean, you’re doing a crossword with Jesse,” I point out, not saying the obvious, that they’ve always hated Jesse. “This just isn’t how I expected things to work out. I kind of thought I’d come home to everyone in their own corners.” And that I’d have to hear griping and complaining from every single one of you.

“What’d you think we were going to do, hide inside our room all day? I just got out of the hospital. I don’t want to feel like I’m still confined to my bed.”

“Actually, we mostly tried to stay in our rooms upstairs, so you wouldn’t feel intruded on. Then Luc decided we all needed a home-cooked meal.”

“And I decided that Luc needed his bandages changed,” Simon interjects. “Which he probably needs again.” He looks around, silently asking where Luc ran off to.

“He’s probably hiding from you. He looks big and bad, but he’s a big baby,” Jesse says.

Grandmother swats him. “You be nice to that boy. He got that terrible wound saving your life.”

“I’m very nice to him,” Jesse snarks, barely keeping the suggestive tone in check. Grandmother swats him again.

“That Lucius is a good egg. Quiet fellow. Very polite.” Grandfather remarks. “Can you believe he plays football for a living?” I can’t decide if he’s astonished that someone who plays a sport for a living can be respectable, or if he’s making a ‘kids these days’ type of statement.

“Everybody loves Luc,” Jesse says, grinning widely and giving Simon a conspiratorial wink. “He’s on the back porch.”

“And Ari is going to teach me how to crochet,” my grandmother informs me. “How about that?” She says smugly, like she knows she’s proving me wrong about my perception of her. “William is going to learn with us, aren’t you, William?”

“Yes, ma’am. My therapist crochets, and they say it’s a great calming pastime.”

My grandfather makes a noncommittal sound under his breath but manages not to say anything about his opinions on therapists. He doesn’t believe it’s a real profession, much like sports and music, except that you have to go to school and have certifications and all the things he normally would consider legitimate.

“I learned how to crochet in therapy,” Jesse says. “When I was in rehab, they were always giving us things to do to keep our hands and minds busy. I took to it pretty fast, but like most of the hobbies I’ve picked up, I forgot everything the moment I stopped doing it.” He cringes, like he might have said too much and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I’m sure you’d pick it up just as fast the second time, if you’d like to join us.”

Will leans over to me and whispers, “Why does everyone else get full-named but Ari?”

“Because no one but you, and possibly very few members of admin, know what my full name is. And it’s going to stay that way,” Ari says quietly, the warning tone in his voice clear.

“What’s that?” My grandmother asks.

“I was just saying that I didn’t know Ari knew how to crochet,” I said.

“My therapist taught me.”

“Really?”

“No,” he laughs. “I taught myself from YouTube tutorials.”

“That is so impressive,” my grandmother says. And I think she’s actually being genuine. “You know, you are all such smart boys, and you have so many skills. If you decide to step away from music…”

There it is.

“Grandmother,” I say imploringly, but kindly. I don’t want to start anything.