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She finger-combed her hair and lay down on the bed with her yellow pad open in front of her.
Today I talked to my mother. This is a remarkably ordinary sentence for a truly revolutionary act.
I talked to her. She talked to me. By the end of it, we had both wept, although not, Im sure, for the same reasons.
What I dont know is where we go from here. How can I walk downstairs and pretend that nothing has changed? And yet, it was simply a conversation, words passed back and forth between women who are strangers to each other even though they share a past. I want to believe Im wrong in feeling that things are different now.
Why then did I cry? Why did I look at her and feel like a child again and think-even for a moment “What if?”
Chapter Thirteen
Dean carried the breakfast tray up to his brothers bedroom. It wasnt much--a glass of juice, a soft-boiled egg, and a piece of wheat toast. He knewEric wouldnt eat more than a few small bites, but it made life seem normal, this offering of food.
When Dean stepped into the room, he found his brother already awake, sitting up in bed.
“Heya, Dino,” Eric said.
Dean set the tray down, helped his brother sit up higher in the bed, then carefully placed the tray across Erics lap.
“Ill bet this smells great,” Eric said as Dean went to the window and flipped the curtains open.
Dean opened the casement window just enough to let in the sound of the sea. When he turned back around, he noticed how wan and wasted his brother looked this morning. The shadows beneath his eyes were as dark as bruises. He seemed to have grown sicker since yesterday. “Bad night?”
Eric nodded. His head lolled back into the pillows, as if the pretense of eating breakfast hadexhausted him. “I cant seem to sleep anymore, which is pretty damned ironic since its all I do. The pain cocktail knocks me out but its not the same as a good nights sleep. ” He smiled tiredly. “Its funny the things you miss. I dont dream anymore. ”
Dean pulled his chair up to the bed and sat down.
“I wanted to talk to you last night, but I couldnt seem to stay focused. ”
Dean reached out and held his brothers cold, thin hand.
Eric turned to him, smiling. “I always thought wed come back to this house as old men. I pictured us sitting on the porch. Wed have white hair by then. . . or maybe only I would have hair; and youd be bald asGrandpa. Wed play Chinese checkers and watch your kids run up and down the dock, looking for shrimp. ”
Dean let himself be carried away by the dream. “Theyd have nets . . . just like we used to. ”
Erics eyes fluttered shut. "I wonder whatever happened to those nets we bought every year? You and Ruby used to play down on that dock for hours. . .
Dean swallowed hard. He thought about changing the subject, but suddenly he wanted to remember her, to reminisce with someone whod known her. “Sometimes when I close my eyes at night, I hear her laughing, yelling at me to hurry up. She was always running off ahead. ”
“I thought Id be the best man at your wedding. Its crazy, isnt it, you and Ruby were sixteen years old, but I thought it was true love. ”
“I thought so, too. ”
Eric looked at him. “And now?”
Dean wanted to smile, pretend it was just a silly question between grown men about something that had happened long ago and didnt matter. But what was the point? He knew now how precious this time with Eric was. It was obvious that it was running out, leaking away like the color in his brothers cheeks. “Now I know it was. ”
“Shes on Summer Island. ”
Dean frowned; it took a moment for the full impact of those words to hit him. “Rubys at the summer house?”
Eric grinned. “Yep. ”
Dean leaned back. “What . . . with her husband and kids?”
“Shes never been married, baby brother. I wonder why that is?”
Dean stood up and strode toward the window. He stared through the glass, trying to see Summer Island through the trees. His heart was beating so fast he felt faint. Ruby is here.
