Page 79 of Five Brothers
Of course she has. They probably have a condo.
We walk into the kitchen, the light from the fridge brightening Army’s face as he pulls ice cream out of the freezer. The kids sit at the island, and I start pulling toppings out of the cupboard, knowing where everything is.
“Do you live here?” the boy asks. “I thought you all lived in trailers or something.”
“Mars …” Krisjen chastises.
But I nod. “We do. We’re just breaking and entering.” Then I lean down to Paisleigh, pressing my finger to my lips. “Shh …”
She goes wide-eyed.
“They don’t live in a trailer,” Krisjen tells her brother, pulling out mugs and spoons.
I pull off the lid off the ice cream and start scooping. “We live in a humongous …”
“Amazing …” Army adds.
“Incredible …” Krisjen points out.
“Dilapidated …” I tell Mars.
“And rotting …” Army jokes but not really.
“Mansion.” I drop a scoop of ice cream into a mug.
Army passes behind me, grabbing his kid, who is climbing across the counter. “There are holes in the walls,” he says.
“A leaky roof,” I go on.
“But it rains in the kitchen”—Krisjen grins—“which is kind of cool.”
“There’s no central air-conditioning,” I tell the kids, “and the water tastes like mud.”
“And there are bones in the backyard,” Army says, “because every animal in a ten-mile radius comes to our house to die.”
Mars laughs as he eats a spoonful of ice cream.
“The lights go off in thunderstorms,” Krisjen tells them, “and it always sounds like a creaky shutter and smells like early-morning fog and old wood.”
Army looks at her over his shoulder, Dex trying to climb out of his grip.
“The ceramic tile floors are this beautiful red-orange color, and the stairs are all uneven like a Dr. Seuss house.” She smiles to herself as she makes Paisleigh’s sundae. “Because they’ve endured years of all the Jaeger boys, and all the people before them, running and stomping up and down them and moving furniture on them …”
The glow on her cheeks brightens with every word, and I meet Army’s eyes, both of us going silent.
“And kids learning to climb them,” she continues, “and there’sa thin hole about three inches long on one step halfway up that I’m always worried will give me a splinter, but I hope it never gets fixed.”
I know that step.
She really loves our house, doesn’t she?
“Why don’t you want them to fix it?” Paisleigh asks.
But Krisjen doesn’t answer her sister. Because beauty is in the small things and character is in the flaws, and learning that fact can’t be taught or told.
I’ve never loved my house, but Krisjen sees it as magical.
Army’s eyes fall as Dex swats at him, and I finish doling out the ice cream.