WES

She still got to me.

How many years had it been since I’d first seen her behind the counter of that diner? I’d walked in, she’d greeted me like an old friend, and I’d known without a doubt the most beautiful girl in the world had just smiled at me.

I’d been instantly drawn to her.

But I wasn’t great at talking to girls. I could never find the right words. And what if I said the wrong ones and got rejected? Drew, on the other hand, had a golden tongue. He never had any trouble talking to girls. He never had any trouble taking to anyone. He could convince a teacher to give him a higher grade, persuade our parents to un-ground him, or coax a cheerleader right out of her skirt and into his bed in no time flat.

It never bothered me, though. When we were kids, he’d do all the talking for us. I liked it that way, because I was so shy. He was fiercely protective of me, as if he were four years older instead of four minutes. And if we got in trouble, he was quick to take the blame. He never wanted anyone to yell at me. In return, I gave him first choice of everything. The top bunk. The bigger cookie. The front seat. Sometimes I let him win a race, even though I was slightly faster. I passed the puck to him instead of taking the shot. I was quick to celebrate his victories and reluctant to draw attention to my own.

But we were inseparable. Beyond best friends. Beyond brothers, really. People used to joke that we could read each other’s minds, but really I think it’s just that we knew each other so well. I’d have done anything for him, and he’d have done anything for me—including step aside if I’d told him I was interested in Hannah.

And I was.

I went to that diner almost every day for a month. I liked everything about her. The way she made talking to her so easy. The way she teased me about studying on a Saturday night. The way she made every customer smile. The way she sang along to Sarah Vaughn and knew all the words. The way she served me extra big slices of pie so good I could have licked the plate.

Oh God, those pies. Apple and peach and pumpkin and pecan. Served heated with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side. She made the ice cream too, can you fucking beat that? She made the pie and the ice cream.

I only found out because I asked if I could buy a pie and bring it home for my mother’s birthday. I’d never forget that night—the beginning of them.

Hannah had beamed. “Which pie?”

“Uh, the pecan one maybe?” From where I sat at the counter, I glanced over at the display case.

“The Salted Caramel Pecan? Sure, I can make one of those for you.”

“You make them?”

Her cheeks colored and she dropped her eyes to her hands as she refilled my coffee cup, her lashes fanning over her cheeks. She had the longest, prettiest eyelashes I’d ever seen. “Yes. And the ice cream too.”

“Are you serious?”

Her grin was wide and a little sheepish, but I could tell she was proud. “Yes. And the muffins and cinnamon rolls and cake pops.”

“You should have your own bakery or something.”

She set the cup down in front of me and shrugged. “I don’t have much of a head for business. I just like the baking part. The creative part.”

“Well, my mother is going to go crazy. She’s from the South and claims you can’t find a decent pecan pie north of the Mason Dixon line.”

Hannah’s smile faded fast. “She doesn’t bake her own, does she? Because if she does, you can’t bring my pie home. She’ll be insulted.”

“Really?”

She nodded solemnly, her eyes wide.

“Huh. Okay. I guess I won’t then.”

“Sorry. I’m just trying to protect you. My mother is that way about her meat sauce.” She brightened. “But I’d be happy to bake something at your request any time. How was everything tonight?”

“Great.” I think you’re beautiful.

“How’s the studying going?”

“Fine.” Go out with me.

“You’ll be done soon, huh?”

“A few more weeks.” So we don’t have much time.

“And then what?” She leaned on her elbows across the counter in front of me, and I tried not to stare at her mouth.

“Then residency. I’m heading to Texas.” And if I leave without kissing you, I’ll always wonder.

“Will you stay in Texas when you’re done?”

“Probably not. I’d like to work for Doctors Without Borders.”

“Wow.” She straightened, picking up my plate and setting it down behind the counter, and sighed. “I really admire that. If I was smart enough to become a doctor like you, I’d do something like that.”

“You’re smart enough to do anything you want.”

“You’re sweet to say that, but I’m really not book smart. I had to work really hard to get B’s in school, and I didn’t do very well in college. I didn’t even finish.”

“But you’re…” Fuck, now what do I say? My heart was thumping so hard. What I wanted to say was, You’re people smart. You make everyone who comes in here feel good just by talking to them. And you have a beautiful voice. And you make the best pies known to man. Fuck book smarts. You’re amazing.

But the words wouldn’t come.

She was waiting for me to finish my sentence, and I swallowed. My throat was so dry. She was so beautiful. Say something. Say anything.

What happened next changed everything.

“Hannah, I—”

“There you are!” The bell over the door of the place jangled, and the energy in the room spiked. I knew instantly it meant Drew had walked in. He had a presence like that. “I knew I’d find you in here. Thought you wanted to come with us tonight.”

I looked up at Hannah, and saw the surprise on her face. “There are two of you?” She started to laugh. “Oh my God.”

“Well, there’s only one me.” Drew’s voice radiated confidence as he swooped in. “But that’s probably all a little thing like you can handle.”

I watched it happen.

Watched him charm her, say all the things I wanted to and couldn’t. Watched her expression change from outrage at his cocky flirtation to blushing pleasure at being the object of his attention. Watched the chemistry between them spark and start to sizzle.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked her. “A bunch of us are going to the Wings game. Want to come?”

“I’d love to.” She’d glanced at me. “Are you going too, Wes?”

I hesitated, debating the choice. I could say yes, and when Drew and I left tonight, I could tell him I had feelings for her, and he’d back off. On the other hand, if she really liked Drew, and the look on her face told me she did, it would be wrong to stand in the way. What girl would ever choose me over him, anyway? Plus, Drew’s residency was here in Detroit. He’d be around here the next few years, and I’d be gone. What was the point? “Nah. I have to study.”

“Come on, bro. Live a little. You’ve studied enough, you know this shit.” He dismissed my notes on Clinical Pharmacology with a wave of his hand. “You deserve a break.” To Hannah he said, “He’s always been like this. Way too hard on himself. Tell him not to be a hermit crab for once.”

She giggled. “Don’t be a hermit crab for once, Wes.”

I tried to smile. “You guys go.”

“You sure?” Drew put a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” But you better be fucking good to her. More than once I’d had girls cry on my shoulder after Drew had moved on, but my loyalty had always been to him. This was the first time I was tempted to give him a warning—Hannah wasn’t just any girl.

A week later, he said, “Dude, thanks for introducing me to Hannah. I’m really into her.”

“No problem,” I said.

And that was that.

It wasn’t the first time—or the last—I gave up something up for my brother’s sake.

But it’s the time I regret most.

* * *

“I ran into Hannah at the store,” I told my mother, unpacking the bag of groceries I’d bought. On the drive home, I’d decided that it wasn’t Hannah herself who’d gotten to me; it was the visceral reminder of my brother. In Africa, I’d been able to throw myself into my work and disconnect from my grief. We’d been apart for so long, it was almost like I could pretend he was still alive, that he’d still be here when I got back. It had allowed me to cope. But seeing Hannah so visibly upset at the sight of me was a painful reminder that my brother was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it.

After the pain of missing my brother, I hated that the most. The helplessness. But a close third was the guilt I felt that he was gone and I was still here. He’d had a wife and daughter. It was hard not to lose myself to thoughts of it should have been me.

I braced myself on the counter and took a few deep breaths.

“Oh?” My mother was chopping vegetables and didn’t look up as I turned around. “Did you invite her for dinner?”

“I did, but she said she had plans.” I stuck some cheese in the fridge and a box of crackers in a cupboard.

“Plans? I wonder what kind of plans.”

“She didn’t say.” I could practically see the wheels spinning beneath my mother’s shellacked blond bob, which I was pretty sure had been in place since her sorority days at Tulane. Was there tension between her and Hannah? Drew had sometimes complained to me that our mother was hard on his wife despite everything Hannah did to please her. Both of us agreed it wouldn’t have mattered who either of us brought home—no one was ever going to be good enough for her boys. Deep in my gut I felt a stab of loneliness for my brother. How was it possible we’d never have those conversations again? I’ll stick up for Hannah, I promised him silently. That was something I could do to feel less helpless. To honor him.

“She’s been working way too much, bless her heart. The early hours she keeps are ridiculous, and I think she has a babysitter for Abby going on five days a week. You’d think she’d want some family time at night.” My mother never criticized anyone without blessing their heart. I think she felt like it smoothed the rough edges of whatever she was saying, but I could hear the disapproval in her tone.

“She’s a single parent. She’s got to work, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think they had decent money in the bank, and there was the insurance money, too.”

“Well, then,” I said, taking an apple from a bowl on the counter. “She must really like her job. What’s she doing?”

“She makes breakfast over at Valentini Farms Bed and Breakfast.”

I bit into the apple. “I didn’t know the Valentinis had a bed and breakfast.”

“The old Oliver place, right across from the farm. It’s been open a year or so. Pete and his wife Georgia run it.”

“Oh yeah?” Drew and I had grown up hanging out with the Valentini brothers, and we’d graduated with Pete. Hadn’t seen him in years, though. “I’ll have to check it out.”

“I didn’t see how they were going to turn that old mess of a house into anything,” said my mother, “but it really is lovely. Jack’s wife Margot did a lot of the decorating, I think. She looks like she has the best taste of anyone there. And I think she comes from money.” She whispered this last part, as if someone else was in the room with us and might overhear her saying something crass.

“So Jack remarried?” There was nothing my mother liked better than small town gossip, and I figured asking about everyone else in town would keep her off the subject of Hannah.

“Yes, last year. They just had a baby in April, a little boy. I sent a casserole—the chicken with the mushroom and sage. Everyone was so happy for him after losing his first wife. I wrote you about that, right? I think you were already in Africa. It was right about the time Abby was born.”

“I remember hearing about it.”

“Anyway, that man was a mess for years. No one thought he’d ever get over it. So how did Hannah look?” My mother wiped her hands on her apron and turned to face me. “She’s lost way too much weight, but I can’t get her to eat much of anything I make.”

“She looked fine.” She had looked a little pale to me, and definitely thinner, but I wouldn’t mention that. And for God’s sake, I was the spitting image of her dead husband. Who wouldn’t go a little pale?

“I just hope she’s feeding Abby better than she feeds herself.”

“I’m sure Abby is fine. I can’t wait to see her.”

“Did y’all make plans to get together?” She went to the fridge and took out a stick of butter, eggs, and milk.

“No.” I took another bite, weighing my next statement carefully. “I think it was hard for Hannah to see me. I don’t want to push her.”

“She can’t keep you from Abby. You’re her uncle.”

“She’s not, Mom. She said I could come by the house. I’m just saying I want to be sensitive to the fact that I’m probably a painful reminder of Drew for her. She looks at me and she sees him.”

“Well, she’ll have to get over that.” She sniffed as she started whipping something in a large mixing bowl. “She’s not the only one who misses him. She can’t just shut us out.”

“She’s not shutting us out. Give her a break.”

“I have,” she said petulantly. “I’ve tried to help her. It doesn’t seem like she wants my help. I offer to watch Abby at least once a week and she turns me down. Says her sitter is already booked.”

“Are you giving her enough notice?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. A day or so, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you try giving her a week?”

Another sniff. “I don’t always know when I’ll be free a week in advance. But she needs someone to look in on her and Abby. She didn’t even catch the warning signs with Drew.”

“Mom. Drew’s death was not her fault. It was no one’s fault, you know that.” My voice was sharp.

She didn’t say anything, just kept whipping and whipping and whipping. I was amazed whatever was in the bowl didn’t slop onto the counter.

Finishing the apple, I tossed the core in the trash. I was beginning to realize why Hannah might have turned down the dinner invitation. “Well, if you’d like to go over and see Abby with me tomorrow or Friday, let me know. I’m going to take a run before dinner if there’s time?”

“Yes. There’s time.” Suddenly she turned to me, her eyes wide with fear. “Be careful, Wes.”

“I will.” After Drew had his heart attack, I’d had all kinds of tests done, but there was no sign of the hypertrophic cardiomyopathy that had caused my brother’s sudden death. I gave her a hug and she wrapped her arms around my waist. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

“I miss him so much.” Her voice was muffled against my chest.

My throat tightened. “Me too.”

“Oh, Wes, it’s so good to have you back home.”

I hugged her, thinking there was at least one person in town who might disagree.

* * *

I ran along the beach, waving at neighbors, smiling at dogs and kids, getting my feet wet where the lake encroached high upon the bank. After two miles, I paused to take stock of my body, making sure my heart rate wasn’t too high, my chest felt loose and pain-free, and breathing wasn’t too difficult. I’d brushed off my mother’s concerns, but the truth was that hypertrophic cardiomyopathy was usually inherited, and our father had high blood pressure. Like many physicians, I’d tended to ignore my own health concerns over the years in favor of helping others, so a little extra vigilance when it came to monitoring my own health was warranted.

But I felt good, and my pulse was in the normal range. Rather than turn around and head back, however, I decided to take advantage of the empty strip of beach I was on and stretch a little. Looking out over the lake I’d grown up on, I caught the top of my right foot in my right hand and felt the pull in my quadriceps. After counting to twenty, I repeated it on the other side and then switched positions to stretch out my hamstrings.

Childhood memories skimmed across my mind like the rocks Drew and I used to skip across the calm surface of the lake. I remembered the day our dad had taught us to skip them, and how we’d both struggled at first. I’d caught on before Drew, but after seeing the crestfallen expression on his face after I’d successfully skipped three stones five times, I’d stopped doing it and instead helped him find flatter, smoother stones. Showed him exactly how I angled the rock—he kept trying to skip it completely flat, but that didn’t give him enough friction—and flicked my wrist for just the right amount of spin. Once he got the hang of it, we had endless stone skipping contests every summer.

There were other competitions too—sand castles and rock throwing, and later, kayak races and waterskiing tricks. Drew loved showing off daring feats on the water, especially if there were girls on the boat. I wasn’t bad, but I was too scared to make an ass of myself in front of girls to try anything really crazy.

Sometimes, after a day out on the water with friends, we’d have bonfires on the beach at night, sneaking beers and cigarettes and first kisses. I could still hear the crackling of the fire and the pounding of my heart as I leaned toward Cece Bowman, fueled by curiosity, two cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and a raging hard-on. She’d tasted like beer and bubble gum. Later we’d gone to my room—our parents must have been out—and made out on my bed, where I’d fumbled my way through removing her bathing suit top and feeling her up in clumsy disbelief. She’d put her hand in my shorts and I’d immediately come all over her fingers.

Shaking my head, I started jogging again, hoping that experience wasn’t as terrible for her as I imagined it. Drew, who’d already had sex five times with two different girls by the summer we were seventeen, couldn’t believe I hadn’t even tried to go all the way. “How could I?” I’d asked him. “It was over too fast!”

“Yeah, you have to think about other things, or else that’s what happens.” We were in his room, me on the floor and Drew on the bed tossing a baseball in the air and catching it again right above his face.

“What kind of other things?”

“Whatever will distract you. Hockey or baseball stats usually work for me. Or I say the alphabet backward. Shit like that.”

It wasn’t until college that I had the opportunity (and the nerve) to try again, and I’m pretty sure I recited at least the Preamble to the Constitution before losing complete control.

I liked to think I’d come a long way since then.

I’d never had the kind of feelings for someone Drew and Hannah had shared, but I’d at least learned a thing or two about sex during the short-lived fuck flings I’d had in the last ten years. Those kinds of relationships suited me best—physical gratification with little to no talking, especially about feelings.

“Don’t you want to get married? Have a family?” my mother would ask me any time I came home.

I’d shrug. “Maybe. If I find the right person.”

“Leave him alone, Mom.” Drew would always defend me. “It’s his life, and he’s doing important work.”

“Having a family is important too,” she’d insist. “And I know some nice girls who’d just love to meet a handsome doctor.”

Drew and I would exchange an eye roll and then he’d change the subject. But I wouldn’t have him around to defend me anymore. Or change the subject. Or commiserate about our mother’s meddling.

Fuck. I miss you, Drew. I should have come home more often. I should know your daughter better. I should have reached out to Hannah sooner.

But I knew why I hadn’t, and it didn’t make me feel any better.

When I reached the stretch of sand in front of my parents’ house, I slowed to a jog, then a walk, pacing the length of their beach as my heart rate slowed. Then I yanked off my shirt, ditched my shoes and socks, and waded into the lake. When I got deep enough, I dove beneath the surface of the water and stayed under for a long, long time.