by Faith Potts
“No, I–I don’t believe so.”
Maybe this is wrong… Maybe she shouldn’t know… I stare at the ground a few feet ahead of me, debating over whether to continue—forcing myself to talk about it again—or claim it’s nothing, change the subject.
Callie leaves her chair and sinks to the footstool in front of me, moving directly into my line of vision. “What is it, James? You don’t look okay.”
Something tells me to slow down, to not throw this on her now, maybe not at all. Who would want such a broken dude for an estranged brother, anyway?
But something else, a stronger tug, assures me that she can handle it. She’s shouldered more than this in her few years.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to meet her eyes. She deserves some tact, deserves for me to say it gently and try to make the swallowing of it easy on her. As her brother, I should be trying to look out for her and protect her. But no, I just blurt it out.
“I nearly committed suicide.”
Her mouth falls open as tears form in her eyes. “Oh, James…” She drops her gaze to her lap, breaking eye contact. I can see her hands beginning to shake. But more so, I see her heart breaking when she reaches up and grabs hold of my hand like she’s never going to let go.
“But…but you’re better now?”
“Yeah,” I manage around the lump in my throat, squeezing the small fingers clinging to mine. “Yeah, I’m doing okay.” I say it even though it’s not always true.
Eyelashes blink behind the protection of her glasses as her gaze settles on my prosthesis, now inches from her own knees. “James, when…when did you attempt that in comparison to when you left home?”
So she knows about that, too. I swallow, feeling the need to bring some lightness to this situation. “Well, I wouldn’t call it an attempt exactly.”
Callie pins me with a firm glare. Though she be small, man, is she threatening. “The question.”
“A few days later. But, I mean, I’d had thoughts for some time, and—”
She cuts me off with a shake of her head. “James, I don’t understand how Dad could have spoken that way of you. I mean, he didn’t approve of my choices, but you were always the prized son.”
I shrug, releasing a sigh. “He’s basically right, you know. I’m pretty messed up.” I can’t believe I’m making excuses for the man, but it seems I am. Anything to remove that look from her eyes. “Did you, uh, go see them?”
Sighing, she stands and wanders over to lean against one of the porch posts. “I showed up there quite unannounced this morning. I wouldn’t call what I received a warm welcome, but they were okay. Until I mentioned the real reason I was there and about the call I’d received.”
I cross my arm and try to appear nonchalant, but inside I care more about what Dad’s response was than I want to let on.
“Mom cried,” Callie says simply, smudging the toe of her dress boot over a crack in the concrete. “She wants to see you, but she feels like she’s lost the right to come here, so she said it’s up to you if you want to go see her.”
That one will require some thought and prayer. “And Dad?”
Callie sighs deeper and returns to sit next to me. “He was distant. He claims it was wrong of you to leave like that…” She visibly cringes and finishes in a soft distant voice. “And that you deserve wherever you’re living now.”
I mutter something indecent under my breath and immediately regret it. “I’m sorry.”
She’s quiet another moment before speaking. “I’m sorry, too, James. I wish there was more to tell. Or rather, more good news.”
“Ahh, you’ve done more than you know. Thank you for coming here. And for telling me all of this. I still have a long way to go, but…” I wink at her, hoping to liven the mood. “It means a lot.”
She smiles at me sweetly. “What are sisters for?”
“Callie…” I reach over to place my hand on hers, and I’m pleasantly surprised when she grabs it and fairly beams at me. “I need to ask your forgiveness for anything I’ve ever said or did to hurt you.” I don’t want to end up like him…
“Oh, stop it.” She swats my hand away. “I’ll start crying all over my glasses again.”
I laugh, pleased again when she laughs with me.
“You’re forgiven…if…”
“Oh, great.” I cringe, squeezing my eyes shut.
She quiets for a moment before going on. “You remember that?”
“The way you tormented me when we were kids by only leaving my room if I gave you candy or money?”
She laughs harder than before, a sweet and innocent laugh that makes me wonder how Marisa and Joel Greene could ever do what they did to her. “Hey, a quarter isn’t bad for a nuisance fee.”
I’m forced to laugh with her. “I should have been the one getting rich off of it!”
The breeze blows by, gently taking the laughter with it and leaving behind the memories it brought. “But Dad didn’t mind. You were always his favorite, his little princess.”
“Don’t say that, James,” she whispers, reaching for my hand again. “You were his pride and—”
Leaning back against the exterior wall, I twist my head on the siding until I face her. “And you were his joy. Funny how neither of us have a good relationship with either of them now, huh?”
“Yeah…” She stares off into the distance until I remember how we got so sidetracked in the first place.
“So what’s the ‘if’?”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
I can’t believe I agreed to this.
Standing in the scatteredly populated entryway of some Italian restaurant on the west side of town was not how I’d expected the day to end. But here I am, waiting next to Callie for our name to be called. There aren’t that many people here, so I’m pretty sure this little routine is more tradition than necessity.
When she offered ‘take me out to eat’ in response to her regulation on my request for forgiveness, I bit back a scoff. Doesn’t she know that I can hardly walk up a set of stairs without panting? Doesn’t she know that I hate going out in public and having to face the world? Doesn’t she know how many stares she will receive just being seen out with me?
But she doesn’t know. And I don’t want her to. But even if she did, it wouldn’t matter to her. Because she’s genuine and she cares.
“Greene, table of two.”
“That’s us.” Callie nudges me in the side, and we move forward to follow the hostess.
“I know. I lost two limbs, not my memory and ID.”
As soon as the words roll off my tongue, I know they were a mistake. Although she takes it as a joke, I don’t miss the momentary flinch of pain. Nor do I feel good over having said it to her.
I catch her arm before we officially enter the dining room. “I’m sorry, Cal. That was uncalled for.”
She gives me a little smile and shrugs it off. “I know you didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
Thing is, I did mean it; I just didn’t mean it toward her. Being treated like an invalid is beyond frustrating. Which is basically how Mom treated me when I was home, like I’m helpless. Which may have contributed to my staying away. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”
“It’s really okay, James.” Smiling wider, Callie nods toward the hostess—standing a few yards ahead and visibly huffing. “Can we sit?”
I flash what Mom used to call my ‘charm smile’ toward the restaurant employee and motion Callie ahead of me into the dining room lined with booths and tables.
After taking our seats and ordering, I offer to wait at the table while Callie goes up to the salad bar.
“No, that’s all right. You go ahead. I, uh, need to text someone.” Already digging through her purse, presumably for her phone, she shoos me away.
Shrugging, I amble off toward the salad bar. Once there, I slide my plate along the bar as I fill it, cane looped over my hand. I breathe a sigh of deep relief. It’s okay; I can do this. I’m doing just fin
e.
As a distraction from the side glances I’m receiving, I peek over my shoulder to where I left my sister. I see her grinning down at her phone screen, fingers tapping furiously. Wonder if there’s some guy in her life…
From the booth moments later, I see a woman stop Callie at the salad bar and say something to her, making vivid hand gestures. Callie smiles, appearing to be holding back a laugh. She nods emphatically, and after exchanging a few more words with the woman, comes toward me with her salad plate.
“What are you snickering about?” I ask as she slides into the booth across from me.
She sets her plate down and props her elbows on the table. “She told me to thank my husband for his sacrifice.”
I chuckle, trying to downplay the message.“What did you say?”
“All I could say was tell her I would. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!”
When the shared laughter dissipates, I find Callie watching me with a gentle smile. “It’s kind of nice to have a brother again.”
I grin, not wanting to let on how much it means to me, too. “Kind of?”
She laughs and turns back to her salad. “Okay, maybe more than kind of. Maybe a lot.” She reaches out to push the drink out of her way, and the light sparkles off of something on her hand. Mmhmm.
“Hey, what’s this?” I take hold of her hand and inspect the ring on her fourth finger.
She flashes me a cute little grin, flushing pink. “Oh, James, I’m engaged. To a wonderful man. You’ll love him as much as I do.”
I roll my eyes. “That’d be weird.”
Apparently convinced I’d lost all sense of humor, she sits up straight, eyes widening. “Oh, you!”
I spear a chunk of cucumber, pleased with my joke. “Congratulations, Callie. Hope he treats you right.”
She fairly beams. “Oh, he does. His name is Tyler and we’re getting married next February.”
“Do I get to give you away?” I joke, fumbling with my fork in attempt to catch a tommy-toe tomato. Maybe being left-handed was a curse.
I hardly noticed that Callie hadn’t answered—until she did.
“Would you? Seriously?”
Fork pausing in mid air, I meet her gaze. “Dad isn’t doing it?”
She shakes her head. “Well, I hadn’t really planned that part of the wedding…just putting it off, I guess. But, James, I don’t want Dad to walk me down the aisle. The tension and hard feelings…I just feel like it would make that special moment so difficult. Tyler’s brother offered to walk me in, but…” She halts long enough to give me a quick smile. “I’d much rather it be you.”
Returning her smile, I nod. “I’d be happy to, Cal.” And I’m gonna be working extra hard in therapy, starting now.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
Entering the Italian restaurant, I brush past all the patrons waiting in line and head straight for the small, circular booth in the back, adjacent to the salad bar. It’s Monday night, which means chicken fettuccine and raspberry cheesecake with Joe and Gloria.
I slide into the leather booth across from them and exchange pleasantries.
“What looks good tonight, Uncle Joe?” I ask over top of my menu, starting up our weekly routine. We’ll read portions of the menu aloud to each other and make remarks about how exotic things sound—and then we usually end up ordering the exact same thing as the week before.
Same as every Monday night since that awful year when I broke things off with Drake, when Joe and Gloria were my rock, my firmness, my advisers who loved me through it. Monday nights began at my darkest and have continued ever since. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel right not going out with them one night a week.
“I’m looking at the Caesar,” Joe begins, stroking his imaginary beard. “What about you, dear?”
“Chocolate fondue looks exquisite.”
Aunt Gloria laughs, flapping her napkin toward both of us. “Oh, get on with you two. Neither of you will ever try anything other than your usual. I don’t know why the waiter even bothers asking what we want.”
Grinning, I lay the menu on the end of the table. “You’re absolutely right, my darling aunt. This banter is probably more tradition than enlightenment. So, have y’all heard anything from James or Callie?”
Uncle Joe adds his menu to the stack. “Not a thing. There was a car I haven’t seen before out front when I drove past this afternoon, but we’ve been gone all evening, so I haven’t heard anything. They say no news is good news, and since we haven’t gotten a call from James demanding to know what we were doing in contacting her, I’m going to assume things are going well.”
My aunt and uncle fill me in on the happenings in their life today as they sought to finalize plans for a fundraiser in a couple weeks. They’ve had one nearly every spring for many years, to raise money and awareness for the ministry.
“Against my qualms, my bride has convinced me that the event will be a dinner and dance this year. You know she’s an ol’ romantic at heart.”
I smirk, knowing Joe is as much a romantic as his wife—if not more so. “That sounds fun,” I offer. This is a dance I’ll be working at, so at least I won’t feel awkward attending without a date.
Drink orders and appetizers are brought to the table, and the conversation moves to other random things.
As I reach for a straw to stick in an icy glass of Dr. Pepper, my gaze lands on a young couple just entering the dining room. I can’t see much of the guy, but the young woman is hanging off his arm and laughing. When they turn the corner at the salad bar, I see the guy’s empty left shirtsleeve—and my eyes bounce to his face.
“I think I’ve got an answer as to how things went, Uncle Joe.”
“Oh?” He glances my way across a breadstick.
I nod, trying to drag my gaze away as James and the short, pretty blonde girl take seats behind the bar, across from us. “Don’t look now, but they just came in and sat over there.”
Gloria watches me across the table ladened with drinks, bread, and napkins. “Does it look like things are going well, Alex?”
Without hesitation, I nod. “They look happy.” Really, really happy… She’d better be his sister.
Chapter Nine || Alex
At work the next morning, I’m preoccupied. I don’t even noticed how much until a co-worker points out that I’m not as with it as I usually am. But she’s right. I’m not giving my patients the attention they need and deserve with him on my mind…and I don’t like it.
Between patients, I slip away to the break room and drop into a chair. James should be here any minute, my last patient of the day, and I’ve got to get myself pulled together before he comes in. I’m dying to know how things turned out with Callie—I probably care more than I should—but I can’t just bombard him with questions as soon as he walks in the door.
That might make my desperation for details slightly obvious.
Back in the main room moments later, I hear the gait of someone with a prosthesis coming up behind me as I kneel to adjust one of the exercise machines.
“Hey, Semper Fi.”
His low chuckle meets my ears. “Not exactly sniper material, huh?”
Laughing with him, appreciating the humor, I push to my feet and turn to face him. I pause, surprised, when I see that his hands are empty. “No cane?”
“No.” He watches me for a minute, eyes becoming solemn. “I don’t need it.”
“Oh, I know you don’t.”
That earns me an eyeroll. “Smart aleck.”
“Proudly. Now, c’mon, we’ve got things to do.”
Once I get James started on an exercise machine for a leg workout, I prop my arms across the top of the front. “So how was Cardini’s last night?”
His head jerks up from watching his progress on the digital screen. “How did you know about that?”
I shrug, struggling to keep a straight face. He acts like I caught him smoking at the responsible age of nine. “Word gets around.”
>
Forehead wrinkling, he eyes me with suspicion. “Not funny. ‘Fess up, Lil’ Miss Therapist.”
Snickering light-heartedly, I drop my arms to my sides and punch a button to up his resistance. “I was there with Joe and Gloria for our weekly date night.”
He glares at me for messing with the machine and leans back against the seat back, still pumping. “Stalker.”
“Nope. I was there first.” He’s not going to offer information; I’m going to have to ask if I want to know about the girl. “I didn’t know you had been going out at all.”
“Well, I hadn’t.” From where he sits, hand clenched on the bar that allows his arm to make up for his leg strength, he looks up at me and then back straight ahead. “But I figured I owed it to Callie after she’d come so far and accepted me so openly.”
So that was his sister adoringly smiling up at him and hanging on his arm. Knowing that loosens me up inside more than I want to admit. Even to myself.
“Speaking of which…” The cycle ends and his momentum slows to a stop. Accepting the towel I hold, he wipes his face and neck, panting. “I understand you had something to do with that contact.”
Biting back a smile, I hop atop the nearby weight bench. “Did we overstep our bounds?”
Breathing heavily, he shakes his head from where he’s leaning against the machine’s back. “Oh no, nothing like that. I was a bit shocked at first, but then I was glad.” A handsome smile—did I really just think that?—edges up the side of his mouth. “Turns out, I’m now going to be in a wedding come spring.”
This is good. So good. Uncle Joe knew what he was doing, after all. Or maybe Someone else did.
“Break over.” Seizing the quiet moment to tease, I reach over and punch a couple buttons on the machine and it starts back up at a tight speed. “If you don’t get back to work, you ain’t going to be in nobody’s wedding.”
Pinning me with a jesting glare, he wraps his hand around the handle to get the most out of the workout for his upper body as well.
