The People We Choose Katelyn Detweiler (graded readers TXT) 📖

here again, too, in faded jeans with holes in the knees, measuring the pane of the cracked window, climbing a ladder to tinker with the broken overhead light.

None of us say anything, but no words are necessary.

We work until the sun goes down and the room is too dim to see what we’re doing. Elliot orders a pizza, and the five of us eat outside on the porch, sitting on the drooping wooden planks.

Good weird, I think, looking around me: these people, this house, our woods.

Good weird.

I come back bright and early the next day to start painting.

Joanie is in the living room when I get there, draping the sofa in a clear plastic tarp. The rest of the furniture is already covered.

“Your moms called last night,” she says matter-of-factly, and I nod, dazed but reluctant to ask more and disturb whatever fragile new peace this is.

But I don’t have to wonder for long, because soon Mama and Mimmy are on the porch, a wheelbarrow full of gardening tools between them. Joanie goes out to greet them, and I watch from the window as she points to the hedges and mounds of weeds and dirt that had maybe been a flower bed once upon a time.

Max and Marlow paint alongside me. Elliot makes lists of what needs to be done—lists that I think he’ll actually make use of this time.

Because he apologizes to Joanie and Max and Marlow as I paint silently in the background, slow, careful strokes. “I should have done this in June. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. Negligent. This house. The memories. But we had some happy times, too, while I was growing up. And I want it to feel happy again. That’s why I could never bring myself to sell it after Dad died. This place—it’s a part of me. For better and for worse. Hopefully more better from here on out. The three of you deserve so much better. You always have. And I’m sorry it took almost losing you to get me on the right track.”

They all cry then, Elliot especially. I stay in my corner, turn my head away as I brush away my own tears.

This isn’t my home. I know that.

They are the Jacksons. The Martzes. I’m not. That won’t ever change.

But in this moment, here and now?

We feel like one big messy family.

Blood. Not blood.

Family.

Chapter Twenty

“LET’S go out,” Marlow says to me and Max on Sunday evening, like it’s that simple. The three of us—one Jackson, one Martz, one Silversmith—venturing anywhere beyond these woods. “I never leave this damn house. Ever.”

Max starts to shush her for cursing, but she waves him off. “Seriously, I feel like I’m tripping from all these paint fumes. Take me somewhere. Anywhere. I’m begging you guys.”

It’s been three days—three very long days—of working on the house. The living room at least is finished. Our job is done. Professionals, thank god, will work on the rest, now that we’ve made our point to Elliot and Joanie.

“Where would we go?” I ask. I start to undo the old button-up shirt I’ve used for a painting smock, and every last muscle in my neck and back screams at me to stop moving. “I’d have to shower and change before getting in a car. Unless you want some paint stains to mark up that sweet green dream machine of yours.”

Max smiles at that. I hoped he would. “That’s not a terrible idea. Just another story to add to all the dents and scrapes.”

It’s decided then.

Five minutes later we’re all in his car. Marlow hopped in the back first, leaving the passenger seat for me.

Max puts the windows down as we drive, letting the smell of paint diffuse out with the cool breeze. “Am I driving somewhere in particular?” He looks over at me. I shake my head, look back at Marlow. It’s her turn to call the shots.

“Do you have anything but pizza around here?” she asks, making a gagging face. “I never thought I’d say it, but I’ll puke my guts out if I eat pizza again tonight. Mom has that Mario’s place saved as a favorite on her contacts list. She needs more options.”

“One Chinese restaurant. And grocery stores. Fast food, too, but I draw the line there. That’ll make me puke my guts out.”

“Okay. Chinese then. To go.”

“To go where?”

“I want that neighborhood tour you gave Max when we first got here. Show me that pretty view on the hill he kept going on and on about.”

I steel myself and wait for the sadness to hit—thinking about that first day exploring with Max, the beginning of everything.

But it doesn’t come.

I don’t feel sad.

Instead I feel grateful to be going back there. With both of them this time, Max and Marlow. It should have been that way the first time, too—we should have included her.

“Sure. I can do that. If it’s okay with you, Max?”

I glance over at him as he drives. He thumps his fingers on the wheel, nods slowly. “I don’t see why not.”

Max parks the car on Main Street a few minutes later, and the three of us make our way into the Golden Bowl. It’s a tiny place, a few small, sticky-looking tables that no one ever really uses. But it’s crowded at the counter with other customers ordering takeout. I recognize a few of the faces. From the studio, school, everywhere in Green Woods, really, because that’s how it is in a small town.

“Hey! Calliope!”

I turn to see two girls from my grade waving at me from over by the soda machine. Rory and Bea. We’ve always been friendly enough, though it’s been limited to superficial classroom small talk. The two of them are as inseparable as me and Ginger and Noah. As exclusive, I guess you could say. They almost look like twins right now, with their long dark hair and blunt bangs and short denim cutoffs. I wave back, and they start walking over our way.