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I watched my fiance as he walked first back and forth and then in circles, head down, free hand occasionally waving in the air. I couldn't hear what he was saying but it seemed important.
Of course it's important, I scolded myself, he wouldn't be taking calls at the funeral if it wasn't important.
The last guest had signed the book and taken a seat. The organ started to play. It was time to go inside and take my seat. I looked around the grounds one last time, trying to convince myself I was just making sure everyone had come inside. I wasn't looking for Erik. Really, I wasn't.
I waved at Richard to let him know we were beginning. He looked up at me and held up his hand with two fingers extended. Two minutes. He'd just be a couple more minutes. I nodded and went inside as the ushers closed the big doors behind me.
I took my seat in the first row and numbly went through the steps of the service. First a song, then a prayer, then the minister began talking about Mom and Dad. I listened to him give his eulogy from the index cards full of information I'd provided at our consultation.
Mom and Dad were still members of the church but they hadn't been active in years. They were still friends with a few members of the congregation, but the minister that had known them had retired a few years earlier. I absently flipped through the program and thought how Reverend Lyons sounded so sincere even though he'd never met my parents.
I heard the doors open behind me and I turned to look, but it was just Richard. He came and took a seat next to me and I reached for his hand.
I wondered if Erik had gotten my messages? Maybe one of his friends from town had been able to contact him. Certainly, someone still knew how to get ahold of him. He must know about the accident by now.
What if he doesn't? What if he's out there somewhere, riding his bike in South America and he doesn't have cell phone reception or internet access and he still doesn't know? Or what if he's still staying away because of me?
I sat in the pew and worried to myself while the service droned on around me. Erik had had a good relationship with our parents. I couldn't understand why he wouldn't come to their funeral. Even if he didn't want to see me. He wouldn't miss his chance to say good bye to Mom and Dad.
When the service was over, I stood beside Richard in a daze while teary-eyed friends and family filed out of the chapel into the reception hall across the courtyard. As I began the walk up the aisle toward the door I saw him. Sitting in the far back, staring absently into space, clean cut in a dark suit and tie. I'd never seen my step brother in a suit before, his long hair was cut short into a style that made him look disturbingly grown up, but it was him. I didn't know if I should run to hug him or not.
As Richard and I got closer, Erik's eyes refocused and followed our progress toward him. He finally stood to face us.
"You made it." It was a weak statement of the obvious but I didn't know what else to open with.
"Yeah. Sorry about not getting back to you, sis." The tone of his voice was comforting and familiar but it sounded tight and it seemed clear that falling into his arms would be awkward. So I held a polite distance and resisted my urge to wrap my arms around my brother and hold him out of a combination of relief that he was here, grief for our shared loss, and joy at seeing him again.
His eyes were fixed on Richard and it suddenly dawned on me that Erik didn't even know I was engaged and Richard had never seen Erik.
"Oh!" I turned first to Richard, "Honey, this is my brother, Erik."
Then I looked up at Erik in time to catch a fleeting expression of shock and-- was I imagining it?-- disappointment, "Erik, this is my fiance, Richard."
The men shook hands and made small talk as we made our way to the reception and Erik and I were soon caught up in the tedious task of greeting everyone, fielding their questions, and playing catch up with the people who had lost contact with us along the way.
I saw Richard go into the reception hall and then lost track of him in the sea of faces. A few moments later, Erik and I found ourselves alone in the church court yard, facing eachother for the first time in nearly 6 years.
He had filled out since I last saw him. Aside from the new grown up hair style and the suit, he was also broader in the shoulders, the well tailored jacket couldn't hide the chiseled physique or the muscled chest under the button down shirt. The belted waist of his pants drew attention to a flat stomach and hints of powerful thighs moving just beneath the perfectly pressed fabric were revealed whenever he moved.
I had spent the last 6 years convincing myself that I had been a silly teenager with a crush on a forbidden boy, trying to wash away the fantasies of Erik that had fueled my adolescent masturbatory sessions. I had told myself numerous times that I didn't still think of him that way, he was my brother, and that if I ever had the chance to see him again I would apologize to him for ruining our relationship and hopefully we would be able to put that stupid, awkward night behind us, brushing it off as just a drunken impulse.
I was a grown woman now, with a college education and a good job. I was engaged to an upwardly mobile local politician. I was headed for a solid future as a responsible adult. I would be able to assure my stepbrother that we could resume our relationship as nothing more than brother and sister and he wouldn't have to worry about me crossing the line again.
As I stood there in the little yard, next to the rose bushes blooming reds and pinks and yellows and whites, looking at the man my brother had become I caught myself taking it all back. The sight of him made me weak in the knees. My heart beat like a set of wild war drums in my chest. Butterflies filled my stomach as they were disturbed from their 6 year slumber.
Any notions that I would be able to have Erik back in my life and not think of him as anything more than my brother were forgotten in a heartbeat. Given a chance, I would gamble everything to be with him.
