My Brother's Best Friend

Chap. 38

I fiddled with the radio station again, looking out of the car window as Parker picked up a rock, tossing it into one of the bushes as he was talking to Lee.

They were sitting on the curb outside of Cornerstone, where they'd been for almost 45 minutes now. Lee's eyes had been bright with tears for about 40 of those minutes, whatever Parker was saying really hitting home.

And then Parker stood up, offering his hand down to Lee.

Lee grasped Parker's hand, pulling himself up as well.

Parker said something to him before pulling him in for a tight hug, holding him there for a few seconds.

I know that Parker was torn apart right now, and that this had been hard for him.

And then Parker led Lee inside the school, Lee trailing a bit behind.

I changed turned the radio off, switching it to Auxiliary and plugging my iPhone in.

Parker was going to have a fit when he came back.

It was only a few minutes before Parker emerged again, coming back out to the car.

"Hello," I greeted, with a smile.

"What the hell is this?" Parker asked.

"Natt and Alex."

"No."

"But I just bought it," I whined. "I haven't even had the chance to listen it yet."

"No."

"Asshole."

He changed it back to the radio, settling on a station before leaving Lee's school.

The first part of the car ride was silent, Parker clearly lost in his own thoughts.

But I can only ride for so long like that.

"So back to our earlier conversation," I said, angling my body so I was facing him.

"What conversation?" he asked, without looking at me.

"Why don't you want to go and see the ballet dancer guy at the St. Pete museum?"

"Rudolf Nureyev," Parker filled in. "And I told you, I just don't."

"Do I look like I'm five? That's not gonna fly with me."

He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to run his fingers through his hair.

Several minutes of silence passed, and I figured that Parker was just going to ice me out.

"You once asked me how I knew so much about art," Parker stated, catching me by surprise.

I nodded.

"My mom was an artist," he said, his jaw clenched. "And before her death she was working on a new exhibit."

I didn't expect this. I expected him to say that he'd been banned from the St. Pete museum, or that he'd had a bad experience there. But not this.

"And when she died," Parker continued, "the St. Pete Fine Arts Museum honored her by displaying her unfinished exhibit."

"Have you gone to see it?" I asked Parker, softly.

"No," he immediately answered. "And I don't want to."

I could feel some of Parker's heartbreak radiating off of him. I could feel the pain he'd been trying to lock up inside, and that he continued to try to lock up as he death-gripped the steering wheel in silence.