Still, I waited for my cousin’s response.
“It’s on,” he said, which I took as permission and headed upstairs.
Matt’s room was neater than I thought it would be, with just a few pretzels crunched into the rug and a small pile of clothes thrown onto a chair. Two pictures sat on a shelf above his desk. In one several lacrosse players wearing helmets and holding sticks grinned back at the camera. I thought Matt was the player on the end. The second photo was of a little boy and a big dog. I knew by the eyes that the child was Matt, but the sweetness of his expression surprised me. His arms were wrapped so lovingly around the dog, a golden retriever that looked old and patient, I got a lump in my throat.
I finally sat down, called up my e-mail account, and began to type. I had decided writing would be better than calling because I could choose what to say and what to leave out.
There was no point in upsetting my mother by telling her about Grandmother’s eccentric behavior. And I didn’t want to be overheard when I asked about Aunt Avril and the dollhouse.
I was finishing the letter when I heard voices in the hall.
Matt entered the room with his friend, Alex.
“Almost done?” he asked.
“Just signing off,” I told him.
Alex dropped down in the chair next to the desk. “Hi, Megan. I was hoping you’d be here.”
I smiled. “Hi! Matt didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
Alex stretched his long legs out in front of him. “You must have figured out by now that if you want to know anything, you have to pry it out of Matt.”
My cousin, standing behind Alex’s chair, grimaced slightly.
“We study together every Sunday,” Alex added. “Want to hang out with us?”
“No,” Matt said.
Alex glanced over his shoulder and laughed. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“Even so-” Matt began.
I interrupted: “You must have figured out by now, I’m not one of Matt’s favorite people.”
“Yeah?” Alex replied, his dark blue eyes sparkling.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Let me know if he tells you first.”
Matt stood silently with his hands on his hips.
“Don’t worry about it,” Alex said. “Sometimes he’s just strange.”
I laughed. Matt shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“Are you a lacrosse player, too?” I asked Alex, pointing to the photograph. “Are you one of those guys in a helmet?”
“I play lacrosse, but that’s not our team.” Alex turned to look at my cousin, waiting for him to explain the photo. “Did you forget how to talk, Matt?”
“That’s my team at Gilman,” Matt said, “the school I went to in Baltimore.”
When he fell silent, Alex continued, “Matt and I got to be friends at lacrosse camp, the one Chase College runs every summer. A bunch of guys on our team go to it, so when Matt finally moved here last year, he fit right in. He’s the strongest guy on our team and plays awesome defense. He set a school record for assists last season.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed.
One side of Matt’s mouth drew up.
There was no use arguing my sincerity. “Was that your dog, Matt?” I asked, pointing to the other photo.
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Homer.”
“Homer?” I repeated. “You named him after the Greek writer? The guy who wrote the Iliad?”
Alex threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, and he had a cat named Shakespeare.”
I saw the pink creeping up Matt’s neck.
“Not exactly,” he said. “When I found him, he was hungry and hurt and looked like he needed a home. So I called him Homer.”
I felt that strange little lump in my throat again. I carefully took the photo from the shelf and studied it. In grade school I had one special cat who heard all of my secrets and sorrows. This dog had probably listened to a few as well, especially since Matt was the only child of parents who were always fighting.
“There’s a lot of chatter in here, and it doesn’t sound like schoolwork.”
The three of us looked toward the door, where Grandmother stood.
“Then you must not have been listening real hard,” Alex told her. “We were just talking about the famous Greek writer, Homer.”
“I believe that, and you’ll tell me another one,” Grandmother replied.
“I heard someone mention Shakespeare,” he added.
“Save your lines for your girlfriends, Alex.”
To my amazement, she was smiling.
He grinned at her. “My father said to tell you he’s still hoping you’ll change your mind and let him interview you for his Eastern Shore history.”
“Your father will be hoping till Doomsday, at which point no one will be interested.”
Alex laughed. “He wants one of the professors in his department to have a look at the old mill.”