Authors: Mariah Stewart
The backs of her thighs drew the chill from the damp stone despite the sweatpants she wore, and she shifted uncomfortably. She pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them and wished she’d grabbed a jacket on her way through the kitchen. Shoes would have been nice, too. Goose bumps rose on her arms under her sweatshirt, and she thought it would be especially nice if the sun, just now nudging over the smallest of the three barns, would move just a little faster.
Light silently fanned out across fields she’d played in once upon a time. The memory of chasing their dogs through the rows of corn was so fresh, so real, she had to stop and mentally tally just how many years it had been since she’d been a child.
That many? Really?
The dogs were long gone, and her life had taken many an unexpected road since they’d romped together. It was hard to believe that the onetime Miss Blue Claw and Miss Eastern Shore—the golden girl, the beauty queen, the girl most likely to succeed—was once again living on her family farm, sleeping under the familiar red roof with her mother down the hall to the left in the room she’d shared with Brooke’s father for forty-two years, and her brother two doors down to the right. Déjà vu all over again. Except that it wasn’t.
For one thing, her father had passed away two years ago. For another, the room next to Brooke now belonged to her son. The biggest change of all was that the once happy-go-lucky girl was now a not-so-merry widow.
“Brooke? You out there?” her brother called to her as he crossed the yard. She’d been so lost in thought she’d heard neither the back door nor his footsteps.
“Here, Clay. In the herb garden.”
He pushed through the gate, telling her, “I’ve got coffee.”
“You’re a good brother.”
“The best.” He handed her a mug of coffee and took a seat next to her on the bench.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” Clay stretched his long legs out in front of him and took a deep breath. “Everything okay? How are your finances holding up?”
“Fine. Between Eric’s benefits and the life insurance and some investments, I’m fine.”
“You know if you needed anything …”
“I do know. And I thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Beautiful sunrise,” she observed, mostly to change the subject.
“Nothing like early morning. Watching the light spread across the orchard like that … I never get tired of it.” He raised his mug in a sort of salute in the direction of the apple trees that formed the property line beyond the garden.
“Old Clay Madison had a farm,” she sang under her breath. “Do I have to add the ‘E-I, E-I-O’?”
Clay laughed. “Hey, it’s all old Clay Madison ever really wanted.” After a pause, he asked, “What about you, Brooke? What do you want?”
“Today?” She sighed. “I just want to get through today without going off the deep end. I keep going back and forth between feeling just plain sad and just plain pissed off.”
“Please accept my apologies in advance for being an insensitive ass, but what’s today? Other than Logan’s birthday.”
“That’s it. Logan’s eight years old today.”
“And that makes you sad and angry?”
“Because Eric isn’t here for it, and he’ll never be here for any of Logan’s birthdays.” She paused. “Actually, Eric hasn’t been around for any of his birthdays.
He was in Iraq for the first four, and these past few years, he’s been gone.”
“Damn,” he said softly. “Has it been three years?”
“Two and a half since my husband was blown up in Iraq and my life blew up in my face.” She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice from quivering.
She glanced at her brother and could tell he was struggling to find something—the right something—to say.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I mean, what do you say? ‘I’m sorry Eric didn’t live to see his son grow up and I’m still sorry that he died’?”
“I am still sorry that Eric died. He was a hell of a guy.”
She turned her back on him and rested against his shoulder.
“Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, you said exactly the right thing. I just want to lean,” she said. “ ’Member when we were kids and we sat out here at night and tried to count the stars?”
“Yeah. I think the most I ever counted was a hundred and fifty-three before I gave up.” He turned and faced the opposite direction so that she could rest her back squarely against his. “Better?”
“Much. Thanks.”
They sat in silence and drank their coffee while the day unfolded around them.
“I guess I should go in and see if Logan—”
“Brooke, I know how hard the past few years have been for you. I know it’s
still
hard. But …” Clay hesitated, as if not sure he wanted to continue.
“But …?” She waited.
“But maybe … well, maybe it might be time to try to start to rebuild your life.”
“I
am
rebuilding my life. By December, I’ll have my degree and I’m starting my own business. I’d call that rebuilding.”
He nodded. “It is. You are. Of course you are. And I’m really proud of you for doing all those things. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered to take those last courses for their B.S., and I know you’ve put a lot of time into starting up this business of yours, but …”
“But …?” She swung her legs around and plunked her bare feet on the ground. Her toes curled up against the cold.
“But maybe it’s time for you to, you know, get out a little more.”
“I get out. I get out plenty. Last night I went with Dallas to look for her wedding dress. Tomorrow night I’m going over to Vanessa’s to help get things ready for the engagement party she’s hosting this weekend for Steffie and Wade.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. I meant, like, with a guy.”
“You mean dating?” She frowned. “I’ve gone on dates. I’ve gone on
lots
of dates.”
“You’ve gone on lots of
first
dates.”
“What’s your point?” Brooke loved her brother but knew where he was heading and she didn’t really want to go there.
“My point is that sooner or later you’re going to run out of guys to have first dates with.” His voice was gentle, and she gave him points for the effort. “I’m just a little concerned that you never seem to give anyone a real chance.”
She stared at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you flirt with a guy, you go out with him, then … nothing. I mean, every guy on the Eastern Shore can’t be a dud. There are a lot of nice guys in town.”
“I know.” Mentally she took back the points she’d just given him. “I’ve gone out with several nice guys.”
“Once. You go out with them once, then find a reason to never go out with the same guy again.”
“No chemistry.”
“I think the truth is that you don’t want there to be any chemistry. You like the company, you like the attention, and I know you well enough to know that you like getting dressed up and looking gorgeous and going out. But the bottom line? You don’t really want a relationship with anyone.” He took her hand. “You’re too young to give up, toots. You’re beautiful and fun and you deserve to have a beautiful, fun life with someone who adores you.”
“I had that.” She pulled her hand away. “Now I don’t. End of story.”
“Doesn’t mean that it’s the end of your story.”
“Yes, it does. You get one soul mate, Clay. I had mine.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I loved Eric so much. We had the best plans for the best life you could possibly imagine. We were going to have more kids, he was going to go back into the business he started with his brother, we were …” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “We were going to grow old together. Raise our kids and spoil our grandkids. Buy a boat and travel the Intercoastal Waterway, then retire on a beach somewhere. Then
bam!
Gone.”
“Brooke, the human heart …” Clay struggled to voice his thoughts, as if speaking them aloud for the first time. “There aren’t limits on how many people we can love.”
“Oh, I know that. But I could never replace him.”
“It’s not about
replacing
. Of course you can’t. You’re always going to love him, and you should. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find someone else to love, too.” Before she could protest, he added, “Loving someone else doesn’t mean you’re replacing Eric, honey. It’s not a betrayal. And sooner or later, you’re going to have to move on.”
“Why?” She knew she sounded pathetic but didn’t really care.
“Because the last thing Eric would have wanted would be for you to not live—really live—the rest of your life. You’re really young, you know. There’s someone else for you to love somewhere.”
“You know, there was a time, after Eric died, I wanted to die, too, so I could be with him. But there was Logan, and I couldn’t leave our son alone like that.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to love anyone like that ever again. I’ll never risk that kind of pain again.” She looked up at Clay. “I appreciate that you care, I really do. But I have no interest in falling in love or anything that complicates my life. Thus the occasional first date suits me just fine.”
Clay nodded, his way of conceding the argument.
“Would it be rude of me to mention that I don’t recall the last time you were involved with anyone for any length of time?” She thought she’d throw that out there. Tit for tat, as it were.
“I haven’t found the right girl.” He looked away.
“The difference between you and me is that I’m looking. You’re not looking.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
“Brooke. Life goes on. It has to.”
Because she didn’t know how to reply to that, she stood and drained the last drops of coffee from her mug. “You coming in?” she asked, signaling that the discussion was over.
“I’ll be along. I want to do a little watering out here first. Won’t be too much longer before we get frost. I want to keep the herbs going for as long as I can.”
“I’ll see you inside.” Brooke pushed the gate open, but before she stepped through it, she turned back. “Clay, I do appreciate that you’re concerned. I know that you care. It means a lot to me that you do.”
He nodded and handed her his mug to take back to the house. “You’re the only sister I’ve got. I want you to be happy.”
“I’m happy,” she assured him. “Just not in the way I used to be.”
Halfway to the house she called back to him. “You need to cut the grass, bucko.”
“It’s on the list,” he called back.
Brooke tiptoed on cold feet into the quiet farmhouse. The ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in the front hall was the only sound. She made a brief stop in the kitchen to refill her mug before going upstairs to wake her son for school.
Logan had been a baby when Eric first deployed. Brooke could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times father and son had been together. She knew that Logan had no real memories of his father, and that in itself was enough to break her heart.
Eric had been thrilled when Logan was born and had looked forward to watching him grow. Brooke took every opportunity to talk about Eric, to make him a real person to Logan, but she couldn’t help but wonder how her son really felt.
She pushed open his bedroom door and found him already up and looking out the window.
“Whatcha doing?” She tried to force a light tone to her voice.
“Uncle Clay is out in the garden,” he told her without turning around. “He’s watering the stuff that we planted out there. We checked last night. Some of the stuff is still growing, but he said the season is almost over.”
“That’s what happens. You plant the seeds, you water them, they grow. Then one season comes to an end, and the next begins.” She sat on the corner of his bed.
“Today is my birthday,” he told her.
“That’s right. Happy birthday. You’re a big eight years old today.”
He went to his desk and picked up the calendar where he’d marked off days with a big
X
and where he’d printed important reminders in his awkward second-grade hand. Softball practice. A class trip. The Halloween parade. His soccer games.
“See?” He pointed to today’s date and read, “ ‘My birthday.’ ”
“I see.”
He put the calendar back on his desk.
“Let me give you a birthday hug.” She motioned for him to come to her and she put her arms around him.
He permitted a quick one before running off to the bathroom. Seconds later, he stuck his head back out through the door. “Can I still go to softball after school even though it’s my birthday?”
“Sure. It’s your day and we’re not having your party till Friday afternoon. So definitely, you can go to softball.”
Logan ducked back into the bathroom and closed the door.
After breakfast, while Logan was packing his schoolbag, Brooke noticed that he’d removed the old catcher’s mitt—Eric’s old glove—and replaced it with the new one he’d gotten last Christmas.
“Don’t you want to use your dad’s glove?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, and continued on packing his things.
“Why not?” She picked up Eric’s worn mitt and slipped her hand inside, tracing the path his fingers had once taken with her own.
“Sometimes the gloves get mixed up and kids take the wrong stuff home with them.”
She understood. Eric’s glove was too precious to risk to a possible switch.
“Wait till I get something on my feet and I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to.” She searched for the flip-flops she knew she’d left downstairs the night before. “If it’s okay …”
“It’s okay.”
“Great.” She located her sandals under the kitchen table and slipped her feet into them. “Let’s do it.”
They were almost to the end of the lane when Logan asked, “Can I have a dog?”
“What kind of dog?”
“A nice dog. I don’t care what kind.” He shifted his shoulders to distribute the weight of the book bag. “A dog would make a really cool birthday present.”
“I thought you wanted a new bike,” she said, thinking of the new three-speed that Clay had hidden in the barn.
“I do. But a dog would be even cooler.”
“I guess you like playing with Cody’s dog.” Cody was his best friend and the proud owner of a bichon frise named Fleur that he’d gotten from the rescue shelter run by the town vet.