“Make a new friend?” Brooke asked when we returned. Her tone was playful, but her eyes searching. “Or did you want to complain about their schedule some more?”

“Are we going to get banned from ANOTHER town,” Brase said, his eyes hardening as they strayed toward his brother. Brent just chuckled.

“Hey,” I exclaimed, “that wasn’t me!”

“It was the same guy,” Cal interjected, pointing at his wrist. “from last time. I felt bad about how things went so I wanted to apologize.”

“And you were mediator?” Brooke asked me, still dubious.

Deceit by omission was one thing; I was suddenly forced to decide whether I wanted to directly lie to Brooke. Cal and I could have explained our true purpose in seeking Samuel out, could have detailed our two encounters with the phantom ex-employee. Maybe the group deserved to know. But, then, maybe we were already making far too much of something that was, by and large, not really any of our business to begin with.

Cal laughed. “Don’t do it,” he warned me. I stared at him, confused. He laughed again. “You said it was for LATER,” he stressed that time frame. “Don’t ruin it.”

I glanced at Brooke, back to Cal. He continued to stare at me; so did she. In that moment, I realized what he was doing. He was providing the opportunity to defer, to save the admission for later – or forgo it entirely. Sighing, “Okkk,” I said, “but I’m so bad with secrets.”

Cal nodded, putting his hand on my shoulder, “The trick to keeping a secret,” he told me, “is forgetting all about it yourself.”

He withdrew his hand and clasped it against its mate eagerly. “Ok,” he asked the group, “Anybody else hungry?”

~~~

“Where? You remember I’m not actually from here, right?”

Tonight was Laurel’s turn to bump into people she knew – which then led to stumbling into OTHER people she knew. It became a seemingly never-ending cascade that took her further and further away from us. The group moved onto other things in the interim but now Brent was trying to reunite with her.

After a minute’s worth of back and forth with little progress, though, a game of Marco Polo seemed more efficient.

“Is she even at the fair anymore?” Brooke asked. Brent waved his hand at her, turned away, and pressed the phone tighter against his ear.

After a moment, almost rapturously, “YES, yes! Good. There, yes! See you in 2 minutes; please DON’T MOVE.”

He ended the call, faced us and sighed. To Brooke, he said, “I’m not even sure she’s on this PLANET anymore. She wants me to meet the Duncans.”

“Who?”

“Twins from college. He’s the one with the…” Brent gestured toward his rib cage, fluttering one hand a few inches in front of it.

“Oooo,” Brooke said. “This is like the fourth time you’re meeting them for the first time.”

Brent frowned. “Fourth time’s a charm.” Then, to the rest of us, “As you will, but let’s say we meet back here in 20 minutes?”

“30,” Brooke corrected, fitting her brother with her own version of his signature grin.

“30 it is,” Brent confirmed. Turning away, “And if I’m not back in time, by all means, send out the hounds.”

“The Duncans,” Brooke said sympathetically.

Brent sighed, “The Duncans.” He plodded off with as much spring in his step as a flattened slinky.

I didn’t understand at all, yet understood completely.

~~~

“The thing,” Dean insisted, glancing back over his shoulder. “You know, the thing I’ve been talking about all day – month – the THING.”

Cal continued to frown at him, but allowed Dean to lead him away. “Well, see you all soon, I guess,” he called back. “After we do this mysterious – OH! The THING.” He chuckled. Dean chuckled. Both turned back, but I just shook my head and smiled.

“Speaking of THINGs to do,” Brase interjected. “I’m… well, I’m going to find a thing to do that isn’t here.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“No,” I assured him, “That isn’t necessary at all. We can…” I paused, momentarily stumped.

The remaining siblings laughed. “Thank you, Brase,” Brooke told her brother.

He nodded, still grinning, and left.

“That could have been somewhat less awkward,” I said, watching him go.

“Who cares?” Brooke told me. “It’s the end-product that matters. Honor their sacrifice.”

I nodded, “It’s the least I can do, really.”

~~~

Brooke and I went off to do Brooke and I things. She gave me some additional guff about my fictitious sibling, but also admitted, “Yes, I did really like the porcupine when I saw it last time. I can’t believe you noticed; I can’t believe you REMEMBERED.”

My mental Brooke folder is going to remain a trade secret so, “I pay attention.” That earned me some of HER attention. Thank you, oh wise and just Manilla Sage.

“Though,” she said a short time later, “you COULD have spent all that money on our first date instead…”

I started, “FIRST date? The fair doesn’t count as a first date?”

“I would really prefer that my BROTHERS not be there on our first date. So, no.”

“Fair point,” I admitted, laughing, “but I was more specifically thinking about the fun house.”

“Oh,” she said. Her lips pouted thoughtfully. “That was… our training wheels date. I would really prefer that there not be pirate monsters on our first date as well.”

“You do provide quite reasonable exemptions,” I said. “The fair, itself, wasn’t a problem, right?”

“No…” she said slowly, immediately suspicious.

“Well, then, we have at least 20 minutes left.” I gestured around us. “I know a great place and I think you’ll just love it.”

“Short date…” she considered.

“True,” I said, “so we can trim off the boring in-between stuff and get right to the fun.”

I winced the moment I heard myself say the words. Quickly, I attempted to amend, “Wait, that came out wrong. I--”

She laughed, gently placed her hand across my blathering lips. “Sure it did,” she said, removing her hand and slipping it around my arm. “So get right to the fun stuff,” she said. “Show me a good time.”

I felt my face flush, baking the underside of my my big, sloppy grin. “With pleasure,” I said. “The pirate monster and brother-free section of the park is THIS way.”

~~~

We returned to the rally point 20… ish minutes later. Realistically, we were LATE by at least twenty, though it was difficult to feel too guilty over our tardiness. Brent had already texted, asking where we were. I apologized… and still didn’t show up for another ten minutes. Selfish of me, rude to my friends, but I was pretty sure they would understand.

I rescued one of Phillip’s smaller cousins, and proudly hoisted him as we approached the group.

“No, no,” I said with false modesty, “go right ahead and ask me how many tries it took.”

No one did.

Despite my obnoxious boast, apart from Laurel, who glanced back only long enough for a quick, sad smile, no one seemed to notice our return. Cal was finger-dancing across his phone, Brent and Laurel were standing on either side of the midway, there backs to us, and Dean was talking to an employee. I assumed he wanted a snack, because the carnie carried a vertical rack of enormous, dinosaur-shaped pretzels. The salt-flecked brontosaurus looked particularly appetizing.

“I feel like… we’ve missed something important,” I said quietly.

Brooke grabbed my hand, and half-led, half-drug me toward Brent. “Not a thing; a who,” she said.

Finally I understood; and now I understand why it was Brent she first approached about Brase’s absence.

Her greeting to him was abrupt and to the point, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Brent said without turning.

Brooke released my hand and crossed her arms. “Brase,” she demanded of her brother’s back.

His shoulders sagged and then he slowly turned. As he faced us, he spread his hands. “I have no idea where he is,” he said.

Brooke waited, expecting more. When it didn’t come, she scowled, shifted her weight and pressed, “Come on, Brent. We’re,” a head bob toward me, “REALLY late; there’s no way Brase would be gone this long, too.”

“I know,” Brent said, gaze flicking to me and then back to his sister, “And I KNOW.” He was behaving strangely, agitated. He wasn’t being confrontational exactly; maybe… “Which is why I’m so damned worried.” Yes, worried.

The admission softened Brooke’s demeanor but she didn’t relent. “You’ve texted him.” A statement. “What did he say? Is he close?”

“He hasn’t responded.” Brent gestured toward Laurel, then Cal. “Not to any of us.”

Brooke frowned, pulled out her phone and typed a quick interrogative to Brase. Her eyes flashed to me so I did similarly.

“He’s not going to answer,” Cal said. He stood beside us, his own phone still in his hand. “Three calls and,” he glanced at the phone. “Seven texts. Nothing.”

“Ok, hold on,” I said, holding up my hands, “aren’t we overreacting a bit? He’s, what, 20 minutes late? As Brooke said, we JUST got here. I understand that he hasn’t responded but maybe he’s busy...”I noted a familiar tent further down the lane, “getting his fortune read again. Anything.”

The moment I began my argument, Brent started shaking his head. He didn’t stop until I finished speaking. “I know,” he said, “and you’re right. But you’re also wrong.” He looked at Brooke, “both of you.”

Brooke regarded him with suspicion, “What are you telling us?”

Brent sighed, “I first texted him 45 minutes ago, only a few minutes after I left. Before I met up with Laurel and her friends, I wanted to apologize for something I said earlier.”

“You literally left all of us – him – to then go and text him?” Brooke asked.

“Yes,” Brent admitted, “because I wanted to do it in private. I was going to see if he’d meet me somewhere so I could talk to him alone without making a spectacle of it.” He held his phone to us. “He DID respond, at first.” It was true. The conversation displayed, between he and his brother, was brief, but culminated in Brase agreeing to meet him.

“He didn’t show,” Brent when on, “and then Laurel was wondering where I was. So I texted him again, saying I’d just be a few minutes. I haven’t heard from him since.” Again, the digital correspondence in front of us confirmed his allegation.

The last message from Brase read, “Ok, I’ll see you there.” After that, Brent was having an increasingly confused conversation with dead air.

“And he hasn’t responded to anyone else?” Brooke asked, looking to Cal, then Laurel. He shook his head; she, facing us, but still a dozen feet away, did as well. Further beyond, Dean had progressed to a group of customers in line for one of the rides.

“Unless something has changed,” Brent said, “Dean hasn’t either. Roughly forty minutes and no word from Brase.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Brooke said. “What you said to him --,” Brent flinched. “Yes, I know what you said. But that…” slower, more measured, “… isn’t something that’s going to make him ignore all of us like this.”

“I agree,” Brent said, turning away to examine the distant midway once more, “Thus my panic.”

“So why are we still standing here?” Brooke asked. “Hey, Dean. DEAN.” Dean interrupted his conversation to look our way. “Stay HERE.” Brooke emphasized the command with a downward jab of her finger. “We’ll be back.”

Dean nodded and turned back to the line.

Brooke grabbed my hand again. “Come on,” she told the others, “if he doesn’t want to come to us, we’ll go to him. No matter how angry he is, we’re not just leaving him.”

Everyone agreed except Brent, who was already hurrying down the midway.