From This Moment

by Melanie Harlow

  And then right after that, something changed. She hadn’t even looked at me when she said goodbye. Come to think of it, she hadn’t even said goodbye. It was like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  You shouldn’t have touched her at all.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Was that it? Had she been upset that I’d rubbed her back? I’d only done it to soothe her, to let her know she wasn’t alone, to be there for her. And if I left it there a little too long, it was only because I knew the power of human touch. Not only as a physician, but as a person who often felt that words failed him. Or maybe it was me who failed words. Either way, I’d only wanted to comfort her.

  Are you sure? asked a voice in my head.

  Frowning, I pulled into my parents’ driveway and tried to convince myself that there was nothing untoward about my concern for Hannah. That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? So many years had gone by since I’d harbored that stupid, one-sided crush. For God’s sake, I’d been the best man at their wedding, and I’d been genuinely happy for Drew even as I continued to silently envy him and admire her. And maybe I still found her pretty, but I wasn’t drawn to her any longer because of my feelings. We had a connection—we had both loved Drew more than anyone else in the entire world, and we felt his absence most deeply.

  The front door to my parents’ house had barely clicked shut behind me when I heard my mother’s voice.

  “Wes? Is that you? Come on in here,” she called from the great room.

  I slipped out of my shoes in the foyer—house rule as long as I could remember—and headed into the great room, where she was curled up on one end of the couch reading a magazine and my dad was on his recliner doing a crossword puzzle. The TV was on, tuned to the baseball game, but the sound was off. I leaned on the far arm of the couch and eyed the screen, looking for a score.

  “Well? How’d it go?” My mother’s tone was a little impatient.

  “Great. Abby is adorable.”

  “Isn’t she? Don’t you think she looks just like Drew?”

  “I think she got the best of both parents.”

  “Did she like her gifts?”

  “Loved them. Put the dress on right away.”

  She clucked her tongue. “God love her, did she really?”

  “Mmhm.”

  My mother set her magazine aside, got off the couch, and headed for the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the shiny wood floor. She pulled a big white casserole dish with a glass cover from the fridge. “Let me make you a plate.”

  “Don’t bother, Mom. I ate at Hannah’s.”

  “What?” She blinked at me like she must have misheard.

  “I ate dinner at Hannah’s.” I braced myself for the icy wind about to blow through the house.

  The casserole dish thunked on the granite counter. “Well…you didn’t tell me you were going to eat there.”

  “I didn’t know. But she offered, and I was hungry. I’m sorry.” I tried to look as contrite as possible. “I’ll eat the mac and cheese for lunch tomorrow.”

  Her chin jutted forward as she turned her back to me and slid the casserole back into the huge stainless fridge. “What did she make, pasta?”

  I didn’t miss the snide note. I wondered how Drew had managed this—his mother’s obvious resentment of his wife. It was ridiculous, especially since Drew was gone. No wonder Hannah seemed reluctant to come over tomorrow. “Yes, pasta with tomato basil sauce. It was delicious.”

  She didn’t say anything to that, just switched off the light in the kitchen and went back to her seat on the couch. “How’d the house look?” she asked, resettling on the couch. “Last time I was there it didn’t look too clean. But she works so much, I don’t know how she has time for housework, bless her heart.”

  “The house looked fine.”

  “What’s a six-letter word for ‘thinking only of oneself’?” my dad interjected.

  M-o-t-h-e-r, I thought.

  “Starts with a G,” he added. It was hard to tell if he was interrupting on purpose because he heard what my mother was doing, or if he was oblivious to our conversation. My dad could be wily sometimes.

  “Greedy?” my mother suggested.

  “Aha!” He pointed a finger in the air and filled in the squares with his pencil. “That’s gotta be it.”

  “So Mom, how about having a cookout tomorrow on the beach? I invited Abby and Hannah to come over in the afternoon.”

  “Did she say she’d come?”

  “Yes. She works until two, but after that.”

  My mother’s face brightened. “I could make sweet honey ribs. And salad with grilled peaches. Deviled eggs, and green goddess potato salad.”

  “Don’t go to all that trouble. Really, I just wanted to cook some hot dogs and s’mores over a fire on the beach with Abby like Drew and I used to.”

  “Oh.” She stiffened. “I guess if we’re not invited…”

  I took a breath and counted to three. “Everyone is invited. I just didn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “Since when is feeding my family any trouble?”

  “I like hot dogs and s’mores,” my father put in without looking up from his crossword.

  “There. See? We can just keep it casual.”

  My mother sniffed. “Fine. Casual. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make a few things on the side.”

  “That sounds great, Mom.” A compromise. I’d take it. “Thanks.”

  “I also want to talk about your birthday dinner.”

  “My birthday isn’t until October.”

  “I like planning ahead. And you haven’t been around for your birthday in years. I want to make sure we celebrate it.”

  I understood that she needed something fun to focus on for my birthday. Otherwise, it would just be another day to mourn the loss of Drew. It would have been his birthday, too. It was still strange to me that I was older than he would ever be. He’d been older than me for thirty-five years. “We can do whatever you want, Mom.”

  She smiled. “So what are you up to the rest of the night?”

  “I was thinking of giving Pete a call.” I hadn’t actually thought of it until right that minute, but despite the cathedral ceiling above me, the house was feeling a little stifling.

  “Might as well.” She sighed and picked up her magazine again. “Since you already had dinner.”

  I ignored that and wandered out through the sliding screen door onto the wooden deck that overlooked the lawn and, beyond it, the lake. Scrolling through my contacts, I checked to see if I still had a cell number for Pete. I did, so I shot him a quick text and he called me right away.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey! I heard you were back in town! Welcome home.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How are you? Is it good to be back?”

  I thought about it. “Yes and no. Mostly yes, I guess.”

  “It’s gotta be strange for you without Drew here.”

  Looking out over the lawn, I saw a thousand games of catch and Frisbee and capture the flag with my brother and our friends. Nights just like this at the end of summer, August heat still hanging on even though it was September, the breeze warm, the temperature of the lake finally perfect. “It is.”

  “Man, what a shock. I still can’t get over it.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Hey, I’m on kid duty tonight because Georgia is working, but want to come over for a beer?”

  I slapped at a mosquito on my leg. “Yeah. I’d like that. My mother is driving me fucking crazy. I really need to move out.”

  He laughed. “Come on over. Pull around the back of the inn and park in the drive. We live in an addition off the old part of the house.”

  “Okay. See you in ten.”

  “You’ve got a great place here,” I told Pete after he’d shown me around. “Whoever did your addition did a really good job staying true to the style of the old house.”

  “Thanks. We like it.” He pulled two beers from t
he fridge and took off the caps. “Let’s go out back and sit on the deck. I can hear the monitor from there.”

  Outside, he lit a few citronella candles to keep the bugs at bay, and their wicks sizzled in the dark. We sat in a couple Adirondack chairs that needed a new coat of paint, our legs stretched out in front of us.

  “Have you seen Hannah yet?” Pete asked. “She works for us here.”

  “I heard that.” I took a slow pull on my beer, not entirely comfortable with the way my heart beat a little faster at the sound of her name. “Yeah, I saw her earlier tonight, actually. I stopped by the house.”

  “She’s had it rough.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “But it worked out really well hiring her. I had no idea how good she was in the kitchen. When Georgia came to me and suggested it, I wasn’t sure.”

  “I knew she was pretty good. Does she still bake pies?”

  Pete moaned. “Oh God, the pies.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach, which was slightly paunchy. “They kill me. But everything she makes is good.”

  We drank in silence for a moment before Pete spoke again. “So what about you? Your dad’s retiring, I hear. You taking over the practice?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “So you’re sticking around, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Pete laughed. “You don’t sound too excited about it.”

  “Sorry.” I took a long swallow before elaborating. “My mother is stressing me out.”

  “Moms are good at that. I love mine, but most days I’m pretty glad she’s in Florida.”

  “Exactly. I think I’ll like her better once I get my own place. I’m just feeling a little smothered. She was always easier to deal with when Drew was around.”

  “You should talk to my brother, Brad. He sells real estate, and I bet he could find you a great place pretty quickly. Lots of people sell this time of year here.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll do that. How are your brothers? I hear Jack is remarried and has a baby?”

  “Yep. So he’s exhausted, that’s how he is.” Pete laughed. “His wife is Margot, I’m not sure if you’ve met her. Their son James was born a few months ago. Brad’s the same. Still single, has his daughter with him every other week.”

  “That’s great.” I tipped my beer back again. “I’m happy for you guys.”

  “Thanks.”

  We talked through another beer, getting caught up on family and friends and future plans. We laughed about the dumb things we did as kids and traded favorite memories involving Drew and all the dares he took.

  “Oh, man, I thought for sure he’d break a leg when he jumped off that roof.” Pete laughed. “And I can’t believe he never got caught buying beer all those times.”

  “It’s because there was always a female cashier,” I said. “He could talk a woman into anything.”

  “Fuck yes, he could.” Pete took another sip. “I was actually surprised he got married first. I thought for sure you would.”

  I raised the bottle to my lips. “Nah.”

  “Think you ever will?”

  After a long swallow, I shrugged. “Not sure, Mom. I’ll let you know.”

  He punched me on the shoulder. “Asshole.”

  I grinned before finishing off my beer. “I should get going. Hey, if you’re not busy tomorrow, come by my parents’ place. Hannah and Abby are coming over for a cookout. Bring your family. Invite Jack and his family, too.”

  “Shit, I’d love to, but we’re so busy at the restaurant this weekend. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Another time then. It would be fun to get everyone together.”

  “Definitely.”

  We stood up and he clapped me on the upper arm. “I’m glad you’re back. Let’s get you into a house so you don’t lose your mind. And you should come by the inn for dinner sometime. Or even breakfast. Hannah makes waffles that will slay you.”

  “Oh yeah?” We collected our empty bottles and went back into the kitchen.

  “Yes. BLT waffles, carrot cake waffles, ham and cheese waffles, apple and prosciutto waffles…” Pete groaned. “They’re all amazing. She’s so talented.”

  “I’ll definitely come in.”

  We said goodbye and I drove home, my stomach growling at the thought of Hannah’s waffles. It made me happy to know she was appreciated at her job, that she had friends to support her. She seemed strong in a lot of ways, but fragile too. Not that I knew her all that well—but I wanted to. She was family to me, and making sure she was okay made me feel closer to my brother. Like I was doing right by him. When I thought of it that way, my protective feelings for her made perfect sense. They were acceptable on every level.

  Maybe I’d try the inn for breakfast in the morning.

  I woke up early, barely after sunrise, and went for a run, then a swim. After a shower, I dressed in jeans and a clean shirt, frowning at my lack of wardrobe choices. During the last few years, I’d basically lived in MSF T-shirts. It stood for Medecins Sans Frontieres, which was how I thought of Doctors Without Borders. Not that I’d cared. I’d never been all that fashion conscious, but now that I was back in civilian life, I probably should get some nicer clothes. I’d have to ask my mother where to shop, then hope she wouldn’t insist on coming with me. Maybe I could just order some things online.

  Happy that neither of my parents was up yet, I drove to the inn, hoping it would be open for breakfast business. It wasn’t even eight yet. As I approached the massive front porch of the old Victorian, I admired the beautiful restoration. I remembered the place as an abandoned, falling-down heap from my youth, its paint peeling, roof sagging, and windows boarded up. The transformation was miraculous. The house was painted a pale, sunny yellow, the shutters a deep green. The home’s roof had been replaced, and the white pillars supporting the portico looked strong and smooth.

  The massive wooden front door was open, but the screen door was shut. It looked original to the house, its wood painted red and embellished with fancy scrollwork. Someone had put a lot of thought—and money—into this.

  I knocked lightly before entering the front hall, which was empty. To my right and left were large, airy rooms with high ceilings and beautiful wood floors, filled with tables set for two or four. Straight ahead, at the end of the hall, I could see a portion of the home’s original dining room. I wandered into it and found a large antique table set for a meal with china and silverware and crystal for twelve guests.

  A swinging door at the back of the room opened, and a beautiful blond woman appeared carrying a vase of roses. “Oh, hello,” she said, surprise lifting her eyebrows. She set the vase at the center of the table. “I didn’t realize anyone was up yet. Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” Our eyes met, and recognition hit us both. This had to be Margot, Jack’s wife, and I had met her, but it was at the funeral. I could tell by the look in her eye she was a bit disconcerted by my appearance for a moment—I’d have to get used to that—but her smile returned when she realized I wasn’t an apparition. “Wes, right? I’m Margot Valentini.”

  I nodded and stepped forward, holding out one hand. “Of course.”

  She clasped my hand with both of hers. “So nice to see you. I ran into your mother last week in town and she was so excited about your homecoming. Welcome back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you come for breakfast?”

  “I did, but…” I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. “I guess I’m early.”

  She dismissed that with a graceful flip of her wrist. “No such thing. Let me get you a cup of coffee and tell Hannah you’re here. Take any seat you like in here, or if you’d prefer, I can seat you at a table in the parlor or the music room.”

  “Thank you. In here is fine.”

  She smiled at me again before turning and heading back into what I assumed was the kitchen area. I chose a chair at one end of the table and sat down, looking around at the room’s fireplace, antique sideboard
, and an old Victrola tucked in one corner. A moment later, the door opened and Hannah appeared with a cup and saucer in one hand and a small white pitcher in the other. My chest did something funny when I saw her—a quick catch and release—but it was over so fast, I thought maybe I’d imagined it.

  “Morning, Wes.” Hannah set the cup and saucer down in front of me and the pitcher of cream nearby. Unlike Margot, she didn’t make eye contact, and she didn’t smile.

  “Morning. I’m a little early, huh? I saw Pete last night and he was talking about the waffles here. I think I dreamt about them last night.”

  That earned me a little smile and a brief meeting of our eyes. “It’s okay. On Saturdays we serve breakfast starting at eight, and it’s nearly that. People will start to wander down soon. Oh! Let me get the sugar.” She was through the door again before I could tell her not to bother on my account. I drank my coffee black.

  I picked up the cup and sipped, worried I’d made her uncomfortable by coming here. When she returned with the sugar bowl and a silver coffee pot, I decided to be direct about it. It was what Drew would have done. “Hannah, can you sit for a minute?”

  She set the bowl and pot on the table and glanced at the kitchen door. “I really shouldn’t.”

  “Just for a minute. Please.”

  She looked uncomfortable, but she pulled out the chair adjacent to mine and sort of perched on the edge of it. Immediately, she began fussing with her wedding ring, a delicate band of tiny diamonds on the fourth finger of her left hand. I’d noticed her doing that a couple times last night too, a nervous habit. I felt bad I made her feel that way.

  “I know this isn’t easy for you. Seeing me.”

  She swallowed, and her eyes flicked toward me. “No. It isn’t.”

  “I understand. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have waited so long to come home.”

  “No, I—”

  I touched her forearm. “Let me say this. I couldn’t say it last night because…I don’t know. Because I was nervous. And you were nervous. And I didn’t want to make things any more upsetting for you. But I feel sick that I stayed away so long. It was selfish—it was me not wanting to face life without my brother. Over there, it was easier to pretend I wouldn’t have to.” If it wasn’t the whole truth, it was at least half of it. The half I could admit to, anyway.