The problem with your dad naming your brother after him, that you can never be too sure which one someone might be referring to.
"Yes sir, I am," I say.
"He was a damn good football player, damn good."
That narrowed it down considerably. He was talking about my brother.
I nod again.
"Did he play in college?"
I shake my head.
"That's a damn shame, a damn shame. Could have been one of the greats."
I nod my head sadly. "The thing is that our parents died last fall and Darry works full time to take care of me and my siblings." I try to add as much despair into my voice as I can. Maybe having dead parents will at least get me a job.
He puts down the paper and stares at me. "You're trying to guilt me, aren't you?"
"Yes sir," I say, figuring honesty is the best policy.
"I need someone to work the concession stand, Thursday, and Friday's two to seven and Saturday and Sundays from noon to nine. Would that work for you?"
"Sure, that would be fine." I say, not wanting to seem overly eager.
"And you have never served before?"
I grin wryly. "I have three brothers what do you think?"
I don't exactly plan on going to the cemetery, but when I get on the bus and pass my stop, I'm not really surprised either. I haven't been to the cemetery since the day mom and dad were buried. The ground was cold and hard then, but now the ground is soft and slightly sinks under my feet with each step.
I find their graves almost immediately. We have one tombstone for both of them. I lower myself down onto my knees in front of it, my fingers reaching out and tracing their names.
"Hi," I whisper out, sitting back on my hutches. "Sorry I haven't come sooner." I tuck my hair behind my ears, feeling a bit silly. "I got a job today," I go on. "But maybe you guys already know that." And before long I'm telling them everything that has happened since their funeral and when I'm finished my face is damp with tears. I wipe at them.
"I miss you so much." I dig my fingers into the grass. "I'm sorry if some of the things I've done these past few months have disappointed you."
I hear someone calling my name and I freeze. I turn slowly and see Ethan jogging towards me. He's wearing a pair of boots, shorts but is bare from the waist up. A bandana holds back his brown hair and dirt streaks his chest and face.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. I run a hand through my hair trying to smooth it, and run a finger under each of my eyes hoping to wipe away any mascara.
"I work here, ground maintenance." He explains, then seems to study me. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I lie, wishing he would go away and leave me alone.
His eyes flicker behind me and it seems to register that he shouldn't have come over. "I'm sorry," he murmurs softly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It's fine." I wrap my arms around myself. I could see the pity in his eyes. It was one thing to be the orphan girl but now I was going to be the orphan girl that talked to her dead parents.
Although I'm standing in a wide-open space, I feel trapped. Cornered. With no escape. No one was supposed to see me like this, least of all Ethan.
"Listen," he says softly. "If you ever want to talk-"