Page 127 of Merging Wright

“What about him?” Landon tilts his head as he asks and glances down at Ma.

Ma watches me, her mouth slowly curling. “You don’t know?”

“What don’t I know?” These two are so cryptic and all those eye-glances during the will reading come back to me. What a pair. True partners.

Ma grins bigger at me. “Why don’t you go find your brother.”

+ + +

As I stroll to the end of Bridge Alley, a light is on in the new community room. The low building will be dedicated on New Year’s Day. A ceremony for Ma will be hosted to celebrate the space. Another contribution from Jane.

“What are you doing working?” I ask after entering the single room.

Myles’s head pops up, surprise in his expression. “Just wanted to finish hanging these shelves.” Painted boards lay on the floor along with a power drill.

Furniture and finishing touches will happen here soon. The rectangular room has a small kitchen area in one corner, and tons of floor space for seating arrangements. Jane says the community room should feel like someone’s living room. Three large French doors open to a yard that isn’t visible in the dark. A patio has been built with a stone path leading to a trellis. The river is in the background. The bridge beyond. The setting is perfect for a wedding.

I envision Jane and I renewing our vows out there. She’ll wear that fairy tale dress she dreamed of wearing for a wedding. We’ll throw a party where we serve cake, dance to our song, and drink champagne. My fantasy concludes with me making love to my wife.

“Need help?” I offer. Hanging shelves is really a two-person job.

Myles gives me a long look before answering. “Sure.”

I shrug out of my jacket and reach for a board while Myles limps over to the wall, measuring out the spacing and marking it with a pencil. We work in silence for a few minutes. He drills the anchors into the wall, and then we each stand on a step stool to hang the first shelf. Working together reminds me of when Myles and I worked side-by-side to fix up that old Chevy.

Fischer. What a fucking ass he’d been to give us a hunk of junk that we had to restore on our own.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask as we stand back to admire the position of the first plank.

“Why’d I do what?” Myles steps back toward the wall to double-check the distance from the top shelf to the second one.

“Why’d you fix that truck?” After the accident, it was wrecked and waterlogged. Why did he repair that thing I was prepared to send back to the junkyard where Fischer first got it?

Myles shrugs, keeping his eyes on the wall, taking more time than necessary to check the measurements. “It was therapeutic for me.” Then he shrugs dismissing his actions. “I guess I didn’t want to see that hunk of junk go to waste.”

Therapeutic? Hadn’t Myles had enough rehabilitation on his body? Or did his head need help? Maybe his heart?

He’d lost his best friend. He’d lost his twin. My insides rumble and roil with the distance between Myles and me. Distance I placed between us. I don’t know how much to push him. I don’t really have a right to some answers, I suppose.

“I’m sorry, Myles.”

He turns to face me, hands coming to his hips. Maneuvering without his cane, he works within two or three steps from the wall. “For what?”

“For not making the deadline for you. For the town being trashed again. For doubting you and Tracy, and just . . . everything.”

Myles glances away from me, pursing his lips. “Probably don’t need to mention how much your disappearance hurt.”

I shake my head. I’ve hurt him much more than he’d ever hurt me.

“No, you don’t need to mention it.”

“Also, it isn’t your fault Aunt Becca was a crazy bitch.”

I softly chuckle. “Yeah, well . . .” I scratch under my chin at the thickness of my scruff.

“And we didn’t miss the deadline.”

“What?” Myles lowers his head as I stare at him.