Slow Dancing on Price's Pier Read Online Free PDF Page B

just . . . uncomfortable. It’s her first night in a strange place.”
    â€œShe wants it to feel normal, but it just isn’t.”
    â€œAnd I can’t help,” Jonathan said.
    Garret shrugged and decided to take a different approach. “Don’t worry so much. She’s a kid. She’ll fall asleep. She just has to get tired enough.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “She’s stubborn. You of all people can appreciate that.”
    Garret reached for his bottled water, took a long pull.
    He’d thought of Irina over the years, thought of her often. For every one time he saw her, he’d dropped three birthday cards for her in the mail. He hadn’t meant to neglect his niece, but Irina was Thea’s daughter—and Garret had sworn to himself that where Thea went he would not go. Holidays had been notoriously uncomfortable—and lonely. Knowing that his family was at his parents’ house on Christmas, opening presents and eating candied walnuts, nearly killed him every year.
    Now, Thea and Jonathan’s daughter was whimpering and talking to herself unintelligibly in Garret’s bedroom. Her parents’ separation was hitting her hard. Garret had last seen her two years ago, and she was getting to look like Thea more and more every day. She had Jonathan’s face—his narrow, high cheekbones, his pointed chin—but she had Thea’s hazel, almond eyes. Garret had been looking forward to Irina’s visit; he missed her. She was, after all, his brother’s daughter. He wanted to be a part of her life.
    In the other room, Irina’s crying regained momentum, part sob and part protest. But Garret knew that no matter how hard she cried or pretended to cry, she wouldn’t be able to bring her parents back together. Wearily, Jonathan got to his feet. “I’m really sorry about this.”
    Garret shrugged. “Eh. What’re you gonna do?”
    Jonathan put his hand on his hips, his chest sinking visibly as he sighed. “Maybe I should take her home.”
    â€œReally? Now?”
    â€œMaybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I just should have kept her for the day.”
    Garret sank deeper into his leather couch and focused on the TV. “Let’s give it five more minutes,” he said. “Then Uncle Garret and Irina will have a little talk.”
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    The first year Garret spent in Newport, Thea had not been a girl to him. Girls were smiley and lively. They wore little skirts that showed off the long backsides of their legs, and they smelled like candy or flowers. Girls liked to shout at him when he was walking down the hallway or they strutted next to him when the school day ended and the mass of his classmates pushed their way outside. Girls pulled him behind the bleachers at lunchtime to kiss him and put his hands on their breasts. When he didn’t pay attention to them, girls cried.
    And so by these standards, Thea was not a girl. She wore unremarkable jeans, too-white sneakers, and her glasses were purple plastic. The only thing about Thea that intrigued Garret was her hair—her beautiful, dark hair that fell so effortlessly into inky, rolling waves. When they wrestled or fought, as they often did when Garret wanted to play video games and Thea wanted to go outside, Garret would sometimes get a fistful of that beautiful hair and tug—not to hurt but just to feel the strength of it and the sound of her voice as she squealed.
    At some point during the summer before his freshman year, Garret had found himself beginning to use Thea as the butt of his jokes—especially when he wanted to embarrass his older brother. He’d discovered Jonathan had a fear of anything remotely sexual, and Garret wasn’t afraid to use his big brother’s discomfort with the same practicality that he might use a lever or a wedge.
    â€œYou want to make out with Thea, don’t