Free Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand by E. M. Tippetts

It's the first time.
    “Please tell me you aren't going to be involved with him.”
    “Mind your own business.”
    “I want to, but for what it's worth, he gave a real bad impression.”
    “You sure you're not racist?”
    “Yeah. Seriously, the guy could be fluorescent blue for all I care. It's that he mocked me for being protective of you. He should've shown some respect.”
    I roll my eyes.
    “It's a guy thing.”
    “What, a territorial thing?”
    “No. Like I said, it's a respect thing.”
    “Fine.”
    “And the not wanting to call you his girlfriend...”
    I turn my gaze to Wilkstone Drive and the little gift shop across the way that sells postcards and knickknacks.
    “How do you feel about that?” he says.
    “Like I don't know. This is all new to me.”
    “Okay, so are you dating him right now?”
    “I don't know.”
    He holds up his hands. “All right. Well, if you ever want to talk to me about this, please do.”
    I can't imagine I ever would. I've already said more than is any of his business.
    “Can I have your phone number?” he says.
    “I guess.”
    “I don't have one yet. I'll text you when I get one.” He hands me a piece of paper and a pen to jot mine down, so I do.
    “And... can I hug you?”
    I'm not much of a cuddler. Mom's a very hands off kind of person, but I remind myself that John will leave in a few more minutes and he has waited fifteen years to see me again, so I guess it's only polite. “Okay.” I step forward, put my arms around him, and pat him awkwardly on the back.
    He pulls me in, rests his cheek against my forehead, and holds me for a long moment. “I've missed you so much, you have no idea.”
    The hug isn't as uncomfortable as I feared. In fact, it feels pretty nice. “I'm probably a lot different now.”
    “Sure, but you're still you. You're still my little sister.”
    I sense he's about to get condescending again and pull away. He lets me go without protest.
    “I'm sorry I didn't email you earlier,” he says. “I didn't want to just bombard you with a million questions, but I want to know everything about how you've been, what's happened as you've grown up, everything.”
    “I'm not that interesting.”
    “To me you are. And howabout you? There anything you want to know about me?”
    “Um, I'm still trying to come to grips with you existing.”
    “That would make sense, yeah. You want me to send you pictures of our brothers and stuff like that?”
    “Okay.”
    “And anything else, just ask.”
    I nod.
    He presses his palms together and touches them edge on to his lips for a moment, just like he did a few days ago when he stood on my doorstep. “It really is amazing to see you again. I love you so much.”
    No guy has ever used the l-word with me. It sounds strange and more than a little stifling.
    But he doesn't seem to need me to say it back. The MAV drives past and pulls into Jacksons.
    “That's my ride,” he says.
    “Carson's taking you to Sacramento?”
    “To the bus stop.” He smiles. “Bus to Sacramento, spend the night there, fly out tomorrow.”
    “Well, have a good trip.”
    “Thanks. Bye.” He says it like it's hard to say, like he's worried he'll never see me again.
    Annoying as he's been, I walk with him to Jacksons, where Carson looks up at us from the gas pump and nods. “Hey, Madison.”
    My brother looks back and forth between us.
    “Hi Carson. Bye John.”
    “Bye. Hey, listen. It's a miracle that I found you.”
    That's nice, I think.
    “But then again, our God is a God of miracles.”
    Yeah, that's what I was afraid of, that he'd get all preachy. I give him one last hug, which he seems to truly appreciate, and then head for home before he can say anything else.
     
    T hat evening Mom comes in with a preoccupied air. She washes her hands in the kitchen sink, which she never does because the clay can wreak havoc on the plumbing.
    “So,” I begin, “I'm sorry that I sent John to find you. He was asking all these questions