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“Yes!”
“That’s right! It’s me and ye,brathair, who can stand against us?”
That sequence of events fades. Another memory commands my attention.
Chevelle was a wreck, cried about this and about that. She suffered from a bit of postpartum depression in the beginning, but every month in ourbairn’sfirstyear, we celebrated a birthday. Chevelle had a four-month-old Mia in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks while holding the lassie’s palm in her hand.
“She won’t stop growing!” Chevelle cried.
“Hen, aren’t ye amazed watching our bairn grow? When Mia rolled over the other day, ye were crying happy. Now, sad tears run down yer face.”
Chevelle babbled, hugging Mia tighter. “It’s the best and worst feeling in the world. She’ll leave one day.”
“Aye, she will. For now, we’ve the privilege of caring for thisweegirl. We’ll do a good job givin’ her roots, hen. But Mam always says, ‘We’ve gotta give her wings, too.”
An ache stretches across my knuckles. Fisting the steering wheel, I continue to stare into oblivion. Different moments over the years flit through my mind in a sequence of still frames. I told my weebrathairthat it was him and me. I told my wife that we would teach our daughter to fly.
Incapable of shedding a tear, I press my knuckles to my lips. My pride ruined my marriage. My pride stole myfeckin’kidbrathair. My pride murdered my bairn.
Brody pops the driver’s side window.
“Get out,” he demands through gritted teeth.
My lifeless gaze slides to him. I turn, staring straight ahead again.
Another thump lands on the window. “Leith, look at me! I’ll not do thisshitewithout ye. Ye’re my- ye’re mybrathair. We have to tell Mam and Da that their beloved firstgrandand theirsonare . . . I’m not doing it without ye.”
It’s like my body is being fractured into two. One wants to go kneel at my parents' feet to tell them I failed my clan. The other is ready to be the man I should’ve been from day one. I place my keys in the ignition, but Brody’s Silverado has blocked me into the spot.
“Leith!” Brody roars. “Lachlan iswatchingus through the window. Yer other littlebrathair—”
I’m just about to toggle the shift to reverse when a loud, scraping sound assaults my ears.
“Get out of the car!”
Through the driver side mirror, my wife wields a samurai sword. Legs wide, she brings the blade down over the trunk of my sportscar.Pop!The rear end of the Audi tilts to the left as a back tire deflates.
Chevelle screams, “I’m over internalizing my emotions, cheater! Your Audi is hen number two, huh? How much do you love—”
“Chevelle,” Brody holds his hands out. “Let’s all talk.”
With duct tape constricting my abdominals beneath a t-shirt riddled with holes, I shove the door open. I grit my teeth to the pain and say, “I got this,brathair.”
“Yes, let Leith dig his grave,” Chevelle tells him.
“Chevelle?” Mam calls from the double doors. “Witare ye doing, sweetie?”
“I’m contemplating if I’m gonna murder your son or just chop off his dick! Sorry for the choice word, Nan.” Chevelle smiles.
“Hen, stop!” I demand as the blade swipes for my knees. I jump back, the tape holding firm to my wound. “Stop now!”
“Stop? Very effective, simple word.Stopacting like a crazed lunatic?” Tears gleam in her eyes while she brandishes the sword like a baseball bat. “How about Istoploving you!”
“Chevelle!” I bark. “Put thatfeckin’thing down! Nae, this isn’t simple. I’m ‘bout to tell ya the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.After that,do with me as ye wish.”
A cry curdles in her throat. At her rear, Brody’s glower warns how my cryptic statement doubled as an admission of guilt.
My parents, weebrathairs, and a few younger male cousins come out, all staring on in shock. Brody eases back. Each time he comes forward to grab Chevelle from the rear, the air dices between them.
