Ben

“I’m sorry. Say that again?” I reach over the nightstand and fumble around until I hit the metal surface of my lamp. Soft golden light bursts into the darkness.

“Mm…” The woman lying next to me rolls over on her side. Her brown eyes fasten on my face. “What’s going on?”

I gesture for her to go back to sleep and swing my legs over the bed. The filmy white sheets fall off and dangle against the mattress. I stride to the other end of the room, my cellphone secure against my ear. The floor is cold. I wrap one hand around my naked chest to warm up.

“Isn’t this Mr. Duncan? Harry’s brother?”

I stiffen. “How do you know my brother?”

“My name is Lydia Stuart.” She takes a long breath. “I’m very sorry to say this.”

My fingers dig into the metal sides of the cellphone. My pulse speeds up, pumping unease into my stomach. “Did something happen?”

“There’s been an accident.” She pauses. Gives me the chance to let that sink in. “Mr. Duncan, how soon can you book a flight to Belize?”

My fingers loosen. The phone clatters to the ground. I slam to my knees and scoop it back up. My hands are trembling. It’s a struggle to keep them steady. One glance at the screen says the call has ended.

I wait for Lydia Stuart to call back.

She doesn’t.

I stumble back to bed and toss my cellphone on the dresser. My gaze scans the expanse of the apartment—the outline of the kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances, the television overlooking the plush sofas. My mind struggles to accept Lydia Stuart’s words.

“Benjamin.” A hand lands on my back. Soft fingers. A patient touch. She’s Ashley or Tiffany or Britney. Her name didn’t matter when we locked eyes at the club tonight. Didn’t matter when I took her back home.

She was a nice rack and a great time. My checklist is shallow and she ticked every box. But hooking up with someone isn’t an agreement to act as their therapist, and I’m embarrassed that I can’t hide how freaked out I am.

“Benjamin?” she says my name again in that soft, gentle tone that tempts me to share.

I swallow. “My brother…”

She sits up, blonde hair sweeping over her naked chest. Her brown eyes fill with genuine concern. “What?”

“He was in an accident.”

She scoots out of bed and starts to dress. “What hospital is he at?”

“Don’t know.”

She stops and hesitantly offers. “Do you need me to drive you?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She sounds slightly disappointed.

“He’s not here.”

“Not here in the state?”

“The country.”

She tilts her chin, puzzled. “Where is he then?”

My mind whirs. I can barely get the word out. “Belize.”

“Belize? As in the little country in Central America? That Belize?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d he end up there?”

I rake a hand through my hair. There’s the million-dollar question.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” The answer is abrupt. Impolite. Hurt parades across her pretty face. She’s being a decent human being, and I feel bad for not at least getting her name.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I grab her purse and hand it to her, avoiding her eyes. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Her eyes narrow.

There’s only one right answer. “For everything.”

She bites on her thin pink lips and studies me, head tilted. She’s back in the tight red dress that caught my eye earlier this evening. A moment passes. Two.

Just when I wonder if she’ll ever leave, my guest offers a small smile. “Good night, Benjamin. I hope your brother’s okay.”

I let out a breath of relief. She’s not assuming we’ll meet again, which has been an unfortunate side effect of my most recent one-night stands. I respect that and, if Harry wasn’t weighing so heavily on my mind, I would have gotten her number.

Instead, I watch her walk out and then scramble for my laptop to book a ticket to Belize. The earliest flight leaves at seven. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s three a.m. now. Those few hours will feel like days.

What if I’m too late?

No, I can’t think like that. There’s nothing I can do except wait. My fingers still above the keyboard after the confirmation message slides into my inbox.

Should I tell Dad?

I chew on a fingernail. Dad’s face will probably stress Harry rather than help him, but it’s not like I can keep our father out of the loop. Even if they’ve got bad blood, we’re still family.

I dial Dad’s number. Listen to it ring. It’s so damn cold, but I’m numb with fear. Lydia Stuart fed me with crumbs of information. The picture I’m painting in my own head is worse than what she offered.

Is Harry dead? Dying?

What kind of accident was it?

Suddenly, there’s a click and then a feminine voice says, “Hello?”

My shoulders straighten. “Lauren?”

“Ben?” Her voice is husky with sleep. “Is that you? Why are you calling so late?”

I open my mouth, but no sound escapes. Lauren’s pretty face pops into mind—auburn hair, big green eyes, plump red lips. She was so close to marrying Harry. She broke his heart instead.

This was a bad idea. There’s no way my brother will want Lauren or Dad there while he recovers.

“Nothing.”

“Wait.” Lauren sounds brighter now, as if she’s just realizing what time it is and who I am. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“It’s been so long since I heard from you, Ben. Your father—”

“Is he up?”

“No, he’s sleeping. He had a hard day at the hospital.

I wince. “Don’t wake him.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s nothing.”

Lauren pauses a beat. The silence stretching between us is off-putting. Finally she whispers, “Ten years is a long time to avoid someone.”

I have a feeling she’s not talking about me. “Come on, Lauren.”

“Harry… is he okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“I should call him. Make up for what I did—”

“It’s better you didn’t.”

“Have you spoken to him lately, Ben?”

“Why?”

“I… had a weird dream the other day.” She sighs.

“What kind of dream?” I lean forward.

“It doesn’t matter. Just… let me know when you hear from Harry, okay? Tell him we’re worried about him and it’s time we move on.”

“I’ll think about it.” I hang up.

The buzz of the refrigerator is the only sound that dares to dispel the quiet. Troubled, I pull on a hoodie and pack a small duffel bag to take on my trip. My fingers fly past my parkas to the T-shirts hidden at the back of the wardrobe.

Harry and I spoke a few times, and he always applauded Belize’s balmy temperatures. I have no idea how a guy who loved the snow ended up in a tropical country, but Harry seemed satisfied and I was happy for him.

At least he was moving on.

When I’m done, I scribble a note for Tricia, the maid that cleans the apartment every week, letting her know I’ve gone on a trip. She’ll keep it quiet if Dad asks. Tricia’s loyal like that.

It’s only four a.m. but I head to the airport anyway. If I spend one more hour in my cold apartment, I’ll go crazy.

While I wait in the airport, memories pop into my head. Me and Harry building sandcastles on the beach with Mom. Me and Harry sipping hot cocoa on Christmas Eve while Mom tried to distract us from Dad’s absence. As she always did.

The day she died a part of us broke, but I got the sense that a part of Dad was set free.

Even as a young child, I knew something was wrong with my parents’ relationship. Dad was rarely home, busy as he was with the hospital our family owned and ran.

When he was physically with us, he was distracted. On his phone. On his laptop. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad without a device glued to his palm.

Mom did her best to hide her pain but, looking back as an adult, I recognize the sorrow in her eyes. Dad drained her soul. Her happiness. She was completely undone by him. Death was her ticket out of that marriage.

I shake my head, dismayed by how depressed my thoughts are getting.

Tonight started out promising. Carl and the guys dragged me to their new spot for drinks. I met Red Dress. Asked her to dance. Took her to my place. Showed her a good time with plans to have a repeat before she left my bed.

Now here I am, wallowing in nostalgia and anxiety in the middle of a busy airport with a ticket to a small Caribbean country tucked into my pocket. My hands are shaking like a bum on crack and every nerve in my body is on edge.

The hours drag by, but I board soon enough. After the plane takes off, I doze for a bit. What feels like a second later, a stewardess announces we’re about to descend in Belize City.

I rub the grit from my eyes, stunned by the rays of sunlight slicing through the plane. It was dark when I left home.

My fingers wrestle with the window shade. I glance outside, my jaw falling when I notice the cerulean blue expanse of the water and the sprawling green marsh below.

Beautiful…

Since it’s an early flight, there aren’t many passengers. I breeze through immigration and head outside. The humidity slaps me in the face. My zipper protests loudly as I pull it down and slip out of my hoodie.

A man with dark brown skin dressed in a blue shirt and shorts waves me over and asks if I need a taxi.

At least that’s what I’m assuming he says. ‘Taxi’ is the only word I understand amidst his flurry of Kriol.

I shake my head and walk over to the side, pulling my cellphone out to redial Lydia Stuart’s number and get directions to Harry’s hospital.

As the phone rings in my ear, I run my gaze over the stretch in front of the airport. The sky is a perfect blue, not a cloud in sight. The parking lot is filled with vehicles, their metal hoods glinting in the sunlight. Coconut trees sprawl in clusters, their leaves shaking like excited hula dancers.

At last, Lydia picks up. I drag my gaze away and focus on my scuffed tennis shoes. “Lydia, this is Benjamin Duncan. I’m here.”

“You… are?”

“Can you give me the address of the hospital? And let my brother know I’ll be there soon.”

“Mr. Duncan…”

“The address, Lydia.”

“It’s 105 Princess Margaret Drive. It’s the Medical Center. All the taxi men will know it.”

“Thank you.” I wave down the man who first addressed me and follow him to his car.

“Need help with yuh bag?” he asks, pointing to my duffel.

“I’m good.”

He slips into the driver’s seat. I settle down in the back and glance outside the window as we take off.

The Belizean terrain is a stark difference from what I’m used to. Beyond the stretches of forests that grow unhindered on the roadside and the strip of the Belize River that flows beside the highway, there’s something in the air.

It’s calming. To the point that I begin to wonder if I’ve stepped into a different universe altogether.

No one seems to be in a hurry. The sun shines brightly on houses and buildings that are painted in every shade available to man. The river glitters beyond the boundaries of a thick, concrete wall. Nature is protecting this country. Or maybe they’re protecting each other.

I almost smile.

Almost.

Then my phone rings and my thoughts crash to a halt. Lydia Stuart. Something tells me not to answer, but I do.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan,” Lydia says.

I shoot to the edge of my seat. “What happened?”

There’s a long beat of silence.

“Lydia!” My voice is hoarse. Unfamiliar. “Is he…?”

“Your brother just passed away.”