Sunburn by John Lescroart Page B

out. I suppose a lot of it was the stuff that none of the older kids wanted to do, but it was great for us because we were involved.
    “God, I remember it so clearly now, thinking back on it. I don’t think I’ve thought of those times at all in twenty years.
    “There were probably drawbacks I’m forgetting, but I was only a small kid who was thrilled that I was noticed at all. You know, I don’t think Sean was ever even aware that he might have been using people. It was just that everything was so much fun and of course his way was the best. He was always so surprised if somebody got mad at him or didn’t like him. He was always being called conceited by one kid or another, but I guess anyone with that strong a personality makes enemies. And he’d always react by backpedaling to get liked by whoever it was again. But pretty soon he’d get back to his old self. He didn’t feel comfortable when he wasn’t flamboyant. It was his natural style.
    “But still, he was sensitive. Oh, I mean obviously he tended to be carefree—to act carefree, anyway. That’s the way we all were brought up. Why bother to make a big deal out of your problems? Problems pass. At least that’s what we were taught. He used to tell me that if you act happy, you’ll be happy, and it worked. I know, I know, bad psychology, denying your real self and all that, but it wasn’t so much that he denied it as refused to show it indiscriminately. He just thought it was bad form for him, personally. That wasn’t how the strong person acted, and that was always the main thing he identified with—strength. He didn’t want anyone pitying him. Anything he got involved in he could get himself out of.
    “They once played a game where they stuffed some jeans and a shirt with newspaper and waited behind a hedge for a car to drive by. Then they threw the dummy out in front of the car and Sean ran out, yelling ‘My brother. You killed my brother.’ Stupid game. But they were just kids. Well, turns out one of the cars is driven by a man whose son had just been run over. I never before saw Sean take anything so badly. At home he brooded for a month. Of course then he got back to being his old self. But that was the first time I’d seen him obviously different from his public self. I guess I really became interested in him then, and he noticed. We became confidants, more or less. At least he’d come and talk to me. I didn’t understand most of what he’d talk about—I was only six or seven then—but he’d come in to say good night and sit and talk until I’d go to sleep. I think that was why he liked talking to me. I really cared but I’d always wind up going to sleep. He called that my honesty.
    “Once he came in and started talking about what he was going to do when he grew up, and about going to war soon and the next thing I knew I woke up and he’d gone to bed. It was horrible for me. I felt so guilty, as though I’d really let him down.”
    She fell silent and closed her eyes, remembering. The night had been freezing cold. She hadn’t been able to get back to sleep so she’d gotten up and sat on the side of her bed. She’d been in a frenzy to tell Sean that it was all right, that she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and that she really did care. Without knowing why, she’d taken off her pajamas and run down the hall to his room. She watched him sleep for a few minutes, then shook him and asked if she could get in bed with him and hug him. She said she was cold. He pulled back the blankets and let her in, and she rolled on top of him, stretching her arms around his chest. She remembered how good it had felt, with his heart beating so loudly against her ear. She apologized for having fallen asleep, and then, after just a moment, dozed again. Then he awakened her and told her she had to go back to her bed. He had an erection that she could feel with her legs, and she hugged him tighter.
    “I don’t want to go,” she kept saying. “Why