Authors: Samantha Garman
“Okay,” Kai agreed, “but call her and tell her yourself—she doesn’t believe me. Call Celia while you’re at it. She wants to hear your voice.”
“I will,” I promised.
I drove to the Ferris’ house and used Kai’s keys to let myself in. Knowing Claire was not there made it easier, but I still sighed in respite. She’d come to the hospital when I lost the baby, but had stayed in the waiting room. I didn’t know if it had been because she hated me, or because she thought her presence would make my pain worse. I knew she would return eventually, but for the time being I could focus on George.
Alice had given me a casserole to bring with me, hoping that might entice George to eat—I brought a bottle of bourbon. I knew what he needed.
“George?” I called out, but he didn’t answer. Following a hunch, I went to the library. He sat on the couch, a newspaper that he wasn’t reading spread across his lap. He looked at me, his face not registering surprise.
“Are you taking anything to help you sleep?” I asked without preamble.
“Just bourbon.” His voice was rusty, like an old, clogged copper pipe. He held up his glass of melting ice cubes and potent liquor. “What are you doing here, Sage?”
“Thought you could use a drinking buddy.” I set the casserole down on the table before opening the bottle of bourbon and taking a swig. It was only eleven in the morning, but there was nothing like death to make a person forget the time.
“Not even going to bother with a glass?”
I shot him a look. “Careful, you sound very much like your wife, who already disapproves of me. Besides, there’s no one here to witness my crassness except you.”
I poured him a double and then settled onto the couch.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” It was a flimsy excuse.
“Because I’m supposed to be sitting at home in the dark mourning my child?”
He flinched. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry for yours.”
“Don’t.”
“Listen, George, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Hard way is for you to deny me. Easy way is for you to let me sit here, drink until we’re hammered, and I’ll listen to you talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“That’s fine, then I will. I lost my mother, too, remember?”
“And your father. You were a lot younger than me.”
“I don’t remember my dad,” I admitted. “There’s no shame in how you’re behaving. We all handle loss in different ways.”
“You’re pretty transparent. There’s no guile in you, no manipulation.”
“Your wife doesn’t agree.”
“Claire doesn’t know what to think.”
“She’s irrational.”
“Undoubtedly.” He paused. “I’m ashamed.”
“Of what? Claire? Kai?”
“Myself—for letting Kai go.”
“He was here one minute and gone the next—you didn’t have a chance to stop him.”
“Didn’t even leave a note. Can you imagine?” George looked at me; his eyes held wonder, confusion, hope.
“Not one of his best moments.”
“Is my son a coward? I used to think he was, but I’m not sure anymore.”
“He left, George, but he did come back.”
“Claire told me Kai was supposed to be in the plane.”
“Yes.”
“God, it’s been awful for him, hasn’t it? I had no idea.”
“Some of us are meant to go on, no matter what life throws at us. Kai is no coward. You know, it was his idea to stay and mend the family after your mother died—it was his idea to build a house on your mother’s land. I had nothing to do with that.”
He took a long swallow of his drink and rubbed a hand over his mouth as though he tasted bitterness. “It’s nice having him home. I’ve missed him.”
“He’s missed you, too.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “I would really like a chance to get to know my son.”
“You will,” I promised, “but he is not going to be the person you expect him to be.”
George looked thoughtful. “I think he may be someone better.”
•••
We drank and talked for hours, and I even managed to make George laugh. His face was ruddy with color and bourbon, and half the casserole was eaten right out of the dish by the time Claire returned home.
She popped into the library, her countenance disapproving. “What’s this?”
“I came over to cheer George up.” I hiccoughed.
Claire looked at her husband as he smiled, his lips curving like the bow of a boat. “It’s not even cocktail hour. How long have you been drinking?”
“When did you leave?” George slurred.
“Ten-thirty.”
“Then about five minutes after that,” George explained, and I couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping my mouth. Claire glared at us.
I rolled my eyes, but said nothing. Drinking with my father-in-law seemed to be doing some sort of trick—for both of us.
“Sage?” Kai called out, the front door opening and closing.
“Library,” I called back, then grinned at Kai when he came to stand in the doorway next to his mother. “Your dad and I were chewing the fat about life and stuff. Right, George?” I glanced at my father-in-law, whose eyes were closed, and he was on the verge of snoring.
“You outdrank my dad? I’m impressed.”
“I’m sleepy,” I admitted. “Take me home?”
Claire’s watchful gaze followed us, but she said nothing. It was out of character, but I would take any reprieve I could get. Maybe Claire felt bad for all that I had lost. I had no idea.
When we were settled in Kai’s car, I said, “Don’t take me to Alice and Keith’s.”
“You said to take you home.”
“That’s not home. We have a home for the time being—your grandmother’s cabin.”
“But—”
“I want my own space, and I want to make love to you as loud as I want.” I missed our intimacy, our physical connection.
His breath hitched. “The doctor?”
“Cleared me a few days ago.”
“How drunk are you?”
“Very.”
“Sage…”
“I always want you. Please, Kai, I need you to hold me, so I can feel your heart beating against mine.”
We barely made it into the foyer before we fell together onto the floor. It was not making love—it was primal, needy, desperate. And when it was over and he cradled my face in his hands, I felt a deep well open. My breath became shallow and tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes.
“What is it, darlin’?”
“My love for you sometimes overwhelms me.”
He pulled me close and rested his lips on my shoulder. “It’s nice.”
“What?”
“Knowing I’m not alone.”
“I’ll love you forever.”
He sighed. “I’m counting on it.”
•••
I was on the front porch of Memaw’s cabin, a notebook open on my lap, doodling in the corner of a page. The door opened and closed, and Kai came next to me, holding his mandolin. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his fingers strumming the strings a few times before stopping.
“Do you think death is organized or just completely random?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, do you think God, or the universe or whatever just picks people off, or is there a method or something?”
“Are you really asking me if there is an algorithm to death?”
He paused in thought before nodding. “Yeah, I think that’s what I’m asking.” He played a quick song; it sounded familiar but wasn’t. It was probably one he had written.
“I don’t know.”
Kai laughed though it wasn’t a joyful sound. “Neither do I.”
Somewhere in the distance, a bird cawed. “Play me something.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“I don’t know. Transport me. Take me someplace else.”
“Climb aboard this magic carpet ride.” He dipped his head and closed his eyes. His hands moved over the wooden body of the instrument that defined him. Kai was a mandolin player. He’d been other things, too; wanderer, dreamer, survivor.
Experiences shaped us. Some we clung to, others we threw to the wind. I wondered if we ever had a choice in how the song of our lives played, or if we were notes written in permanent ink, our paths already defined.
Chapter 27
Kai
By the time the trees were completely bare, the plans for our house had been completed. I’d wait until spring to begin building it.
It was one of those rare stretches of life when there seemed to be nothing but possibilities in front of us, and everything was calm.
It felt like hope.
One mild afternoon, Sage and I took a picnic basket to a small clearing on our land. We spread out the blanket and watched the clouds roll by. Sage’s eyes were closed, her body warm next to me.
“Do you know that sometimes I watch you sleep?” I asked. Her eyes popped open. I was propped up on an elbow gazing down at her. Her features were soft, but she was stronger than steel. My true match. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re really next to me, so I put my hand on your belly and wait for the rise and fall of your breath.”
She smiled, reaching up to stroke my face.
I turned my head and kissed her palm. “Lucy and Wyatt set a date for their wedding, and my brother asked me to be his best man.”
“What did you say?”
“I said
yes
.” I stared across the clearing, neither seeing the trees nor hearing the birds. “But how can I watch him marry my best friend’s wife?”
“Wyatt is your brother,” Sage said, “and Tristan is gone.”
“I know.” In anger, I stood.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Sage commanded, scrambling up from the blanket.
I stopped my retreat and spun to face her. “You’re right, okay? I know she deserves to be happy, and I know he loves her. I know Dakota should have a father, but I just—can’t.”
She came to me and tugged on the zipper of my jacket. “Are you mad because Lucy found love again, or because she found love again with your brother?”
“Don’t know. I’m trying to sort everything out, and Wyatt is wrapped up in all of that. Sometimes I wish life really was either black or white.”
“You don’t think I know how that feels? It’s what I’m going through with my writing and my mother’s death.”
“It’s not the same.”
She shrugged. “Trees bend; you know why? If they didn’t, they’d snap.”
“Adapt or die,” I said into her hair.
She paused. “Do you know the dandelion is both yellow and white?”
I was thrown by the change in conversation. “There aren’t two types?”
She shook her head. “The dandelion is yellow before the bees pollinate it. Then it turns white, when it’s ready to spread its seeds. There’s a time for everything.”
“When is it our time? To flourish?”
“When we stop fighting what we can’t change. Lucy and Wyatt are going to get married, and you will stand next to your brother. And when the time comes and Lucy tells you she’s having Wyatt’s baby, you can either be happy you’re going to be an uncle, or you can destroy any shot of ending this estrangement with your family. You have to stop looking at Wyatt like he’s an outsider. You may never be as close to him as you were to Tristan and Reece, but Wyatt is still here. You really want to push him away?”
“You’re not supposed to be this rational.”
“Someone has to be,” she grinned, “because it’s clearly not you.”
“Ouch.” I took her hand and placed it on my heart.
“Call your brother. Tell him you want to take him out for a drink, and try talking to him. Don’t yell, don’t throw punches—talk.”
“Talk,” I repeated.
“He asked you to be his best man. He made the overture; you owe him this.”
•••
I sat with my brother in a low-lit dive bar, taking a swig from my pony neck beer. Wyatt’s gaze was wary, like he didn’t know what to make of me. I didn’t blame him. I had been an ass to him most of our lives.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?”
“For a lot, but for starters, not being supportive of you and Lucy.”
“I always thought my bachelor party would include a trip to Vegas. Instead, it’s taking place in a shitty bar, and my brother and I are having a heart to heart.”
“I didn’t have a bachelor party. There wasn’t time since Sage and I got married a week after I proposed. I never really believed in them anyway.”
“And yet you threw Tristan a party.”
“Yeah,” I sighed the word. “I did.”
Tristan’s bachelor party would live forever; the parts I could recall, anyway. Lots of alcohol, cigars, and poker. At one point, I bet my argyle socks because I didn’t have any money left. I’d thrown those socks into Tristan’s casket, an eternal reminder of an inside joke that would last long after both of us turned to dust.
“He was your best friend. And what am I? Just your brother.” His tone could’ve been snide—it wasn’t. It was full of understanding. “You don’t think I know how this looks? Everyone knew Tristan, everyone loved him—everyone loved Tristan and Lucy together. I’ll be the second husband, always second best.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” I asked in surprise. My brother always seemed so sure of himself. Solid, but never cocky. Did we have something in common—were we both sinking under the bulk of our own inadequacies?
Wyatt grinned in wry humor. “No, but I know that’s what others will think. I don’t want to replace anyone; I just want to make her happy.”
“A worthy mission,” I said. “I’m sorry I never tried to know you, not the way you deserved.”
“It’s okay, Kai.”
“It’s not okay,” I insisted. “All these years…I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight.”
“You’re my brother,” Wyatt said. “You’ve had your own share of hardships.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
“Things are going to be different—I want them to be different.”
Wyatt tapped his beer bottle against mine, letting years of tension between us clink away as if it had never existed. It was gracious and more than I deserved. Wyatt was a true gentleman. To think I’d spent years of my life taking my brother for granted, never wanting to be close to him because I had Tristan and Reece. Who did Wyatt have? Lucy, and now he’d have me, the way it should’ve always been.
“Let me buy you a shot,” I said, rising. I had a lot to make up for, but it was a new beginning for Wyatt and me. A new beginning for all of us, maybe.