From This Moment

by Melanie Harlow

  He didn’t answer right away. He held my gaze, then dropped his to his wine, which he swirled in his glass. “I think,” he said, “that you’ve suffered a lot. And that it’s only natural to want to keep your daughter close to you.”

  I took another drink and let that sink in.

  “We’re not perfect, Hannah. And grief is overwhelming. It makes you feel helpless, like everything is out of control. Since time with Abby is something you can control, maybe you sort of cling to that as protection.” He paused before going on. “I think it’s why I threw myself into my work—along with being a distraction from grief, helping people made me feel more in control. Like I wasn’t powerless against death.”

  “I hate that feeling,” I said, shivering. “The fear that no matter what we do, death is just coming for us when it wants to and there’s nothing we can do about it. Do you know I still hate the sound of my doorbell, because every time it rings I think it’s the police coming to tell me someone else is dead?”

  He nodded. “I have nightmares a lot. Where I’m trying to operate on someone’s heart and I don’t know how to do it. I can’t save them. In the end, the person is always Drew.”

  “Oh God, I hate the nightmares,” I said. “You wake up screaming and sweating and frantic, and then there’s the moment of relief when you realize it was just a dream, except it’s taken away from you the very next second because you look around and realize he’s still gone. You’re still alone.”

  “I wonder all the time if I could have saved him,” Wes went on. “Like, if I hadn’t been halfway across the world, maybe we’d have been running together. Maybe there would have been something I could have done.” His beautiful, familiar eyes grew shiny. “But I wasn’t here.”

  “Wes, don’t.” I touched his arm. His skin was warm beneath my palm. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.” He backed away from me a little and shook his head. “I invited you over to have fun today and here we are talking about death.”

  “Hey, listen. I know better than anyone what a constant companion grief is. And she’s a bitch, too. Just when you think you’ve gotten rid of her, she shows up again.”

  Wes laughed a little, rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

  “And we are going to have fun today.” I sipped my wine. “Tons of fun. And then later…”

  “We’ll feel guilty about it,” he finished.

  “Exactly.” Our eyes met. Something was exchanged between us—understanding, sympathy, regret—I don’t know what it was. But it eased something within me. It was like we were both in on the cruel joke our feelings played on us. I smiled ruefully.

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone, Hannah. I promise.”

  Something happened when he touched me. Something floaty and quivery in my stomach I hadn’t felt in years.

  “Should we go down to the beach?” he asked, taking his hand off me.

  But the feeling lingered. I wasn’t sure I liked it. “Sure.” With one more glance at Abby, who was totally swept up in her grandmother’s stories and photos, I faked a smile at Wes. “Let’s go.”

  He refilled our glasses, tucked the bottle of wine into a sleeve pulled from the freezer, and led the way across the lawn, past the seawall, and down the steps to the beach. Before I could stop myself, I realized I was staring at his butt as he walked ahead of me. It looked nice and round in his red bathing suit.

  What on earth? Stop that.

  It was warm and a little breezy on the beach, but the waves were gentle. They calmed my nerves.

  “Want to go out in the canoe?” he asked.

  “Okay.” I ditched my flip-flops on the small, beach-level deck, and we set our wine glasses and the bottle on the deck’s little round table. Wes was already barefoot. Together we dragged the forest green canoe from the tall beach grasses on the side of the deck down to the water’s edge and tipped it over.

  “Let me rinse it out a little,” Wes said, frowning at the dirt and spider webs inside. “Want to grab the paddles? They should be in the shed.”

  “On it.” I went to the small shed on the embankment, opened it up and grabbed the oars, which stood in one corner. On the shelves were life jackets and sand toys and deflated rafts that probably had holes in them, and scratched into the wooden door among other graffiti was WP + CB. Huh. I’d never noticed that before. Who was CB? I glanced over my shoulder at Wes, who’d taken off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the sand.

  My stomach full-out flipped.

  Quickly, I shut the door to the shed and brought the oars down to the canoe.

  Wes stood up straight and stuck his hands on his hips. He wore different sunglasses than Drew had worn, more of an aviator than a wayfarer. The body was similar, though Wes’s arms seemed more muscular, especially through the shoulder. Other things were the same and caused a rippling low in my body—the soft maroon color of his nipples, the trim waist, the trail of hair leading from his belly button to beneath the low-slung waistband of his red swim trunks. In my head I heard Tess’s voice. Arms. Chest. Shoulders. Skin. Stubble. Muscle. The smell of a man. The solidity of him.

  “What’s the law on drinking and canoeing?” he asked.

  What’s the law on staring at your brother-in-law’s nipples? I wondered, swallowing hard. What was wrong with me?

  “I think we’re okay,” I said, handing the oars to him. Our hands touched in the exchange. “Let me grab our glasses.”

  “Perfect. If you hold them, I’ll take us out.”

  I retrieved the wine glasses from the table and walked carefully across the sand to the lake’s edge, taking deep, slow breaths. A sweat had broken out across my back. I was wearing a swimsuit beneath my cover up, a modest tankini, but I didn’t want to remove it. Wading ankle deep, I attempted to step into the canoe, but it wobbled beneath my foot.

  “Whoa.” Wes took me by the elbow and didn’t let go until I was seated at one end, facing the other. “Okay?”

  I nodded. Despite the heat, my arms had broken out in goose flesh.

  “All right, here we go.” As he rowed us away from shore, the breeze picked up, cooling my face and chest and back.

  “Drew and I used to have canoe-tipping contests.”

  I snapped my chin down and skewered Wes with a look over the top of my sunglasses. “Don’t even think about it.”

  He just grinned, the muscles in his arms and chest and stomach flexing with every stroke of the oars through the water. Momentarily mesmerized, I allowed myself the pleasure of watching him. It was okay if we were both thinking about Drew, wasn’t it?

  In fact, it was only natural that I was intrigued by the sight of Wes’s body. He was my husband’s identical twin, for heaven’s sake, and I missed his physical presence in my life. I missed looking at him naked. I missed feeling the weight of him above me. I missed the feeling of being aroused by him, of my body’s responses to his touch, his kiss, his cock.

  Deep in my body, the rusty mechanism of arousal creaked to life. My nipples peaked, my stomach hollowed, and something fluttered between my legs.

  Oh, Jesus.

  I sat up straighter, pressed my knees together, and closed my mouth, which I realized had fallen open. Hopefully I hadn’t moaned or anything. After another sip of wine, I turned my head and studied a freighter off in the distance. My heart was beating way too fast.

  It’s only natural. It’s only natural.

  Wes stopped paddling and set the oars in the bottom of the canoe, their handles resting against the seat in the middle. “We’ll have to bring Abby out here.”

  “Definitely.” Did my voice sound normal? “She’ll love it. Here, want this?” I held his wine glass toward him and he reached out to take it. His fingers brushed mine, and I pulled my hand back as if the touch had burned me.

  “Thanks.” He tipped the glass up then looked along the shore. “I’d like to find a place on the lake. Maybe not along this stretch of beach, though.”

  I c
aught his meaning and smiled. “A little too close to home?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t want to be too far away. I’d like to get a boat too.”

  “What kind of boat? Drew always talked about it, but we never quite settled on one.”

  “Not sure. Maybe just a little fishing boat, something to ski behind.”

  “That sounds fun. Drew loved to ski.”

  “We’ll have to teach Abby.”

  I laughed. “You, not we. I managed to get up and stay up a few times, but I am not the expert.”

  “You can teach her to cook, I’ll teach her to water ski.”

  “Deal.” Separate activities seemed like a good idea.

  “Breakfast was incredible.”

  “Thanks.” I tucked a strand of hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear, but the wind blew it right back into my face. “I really like working there. I’m so glad Georgia suggested it to me.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Since spring, when they got busy. I’m not sure what I’ll do this winter when it slows down. I’m dreading it, actually. Abby will be in school full time, and it will just be me at home alone.” This was something else I hadn’t talked about with anyone, how worried I was that the gray skies and cold weather and silent hours would set me spiraling into depression. “I always thought I’d have another baby to take care of, but life saw things differently.”

  “You’re still young, Hannah.”

  I shook my head. “I’m really not. And I feel even older than I am.” Please don’t go Grief Police on me and tell me I’m being ridiculous, I begged him silently. This isn’t the life I chose. It was handed to me and I’m doing the best I can.

  But he didn’t say anything more, just sipped his wine and looked out at the horizon. I was grateful.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Think maybe you’ll get married now that you’re back? Have a family? Abby won’t have any siblings so she needs some cousins.”

  “That seems to be a popular topic of discussion around here,” Wes said, shaking his head, “but I really have no idea.”

  “Small town. We like to know everyone’s business.” I smiled. “Hey, what about CB? I saw your initials carved with hers on the door of the shed. Maybe she’s still around.”

  He groaned. “Is that still there? Jesus. That had to be twenty years ago.”

  Hugging my knees, I leaned forward. “First love?”

  “Not even.” He hesitated, as if he were trying to decide whether to confess something.

  “Come on,” I cajoled, carefully reaching out of the canoe, and splashing water toward him. “Tell me. I’ve been spilling my guts for an hour.”

  “First kiss.”

  I squealed. “And?”

  He cringed. “It’s too embarrassing.”

  “Wes, I had a completely humiliating breakdown in front of you last night. I got snot on my arm.”

  “This is worse.”

  “Get it out. You’ll feel better.”

  “Let’s just say it was a very awkward, very fast experience.”

  I gasped. “You lost your virginity to her?”

  “No. Just my dignity.”

  Laughing, I tilted my head back and felt the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, and something like joy in my heart.

  It had been a long time.

  Six

  WES

  It was exactly the kind of day I’d wanted—for Abby, for Hannah, for my parents, for myself. We took Abby out in the canoe, we built a sand castle complete with a moat and keep, we walked along the beach looking for fossils and sea glass. We talked. We laughed. We remembered Drew with funny stories and favorite memories. It was the first time since he’d died that we had all been together without being overwhelmed by sadness.

  After dinner, I helped Abby find a stick to roast marshmallows. My mother tried to talk us into using metal skewers she’d brought down to the beach, but I insisted we had to do it the real way. We stood side by side holding our sticks with the marshmallows over the flames, watching them get warm and brown and bubbly. I like mine nearly charred, but I left my first one over the fire too long and it plopped into the ashes, which made Abby giggle uncontrollably.

  And Hannah—I hoped she felt as happy as she looked. She had a smile on her face all afternoon, and I saw no trace of the tension I’d sensed in her this morning. In complete contrast, she seemed relaxed and contented, joking with my father, tolerating my mother’s criticisms-disguised-as-compliments (“My goodness, look how thin you are in that swimsuit! I can’t hardly see your shadow!”), and giving me a grateful look when I went back for seconds of her potato salad and told my dad he had to try it. (He did, and enjoyed it, much to my mother’s chagrin.) She’d even stopped playing with her wedding ring. Everything about the day was perfect.

  There was only one problem.

  My heart beat faster every time I looked at her. My stomach tightened every time she came near me. My breath hitched every time I caught the scent of her skin—a potent mix of Coppertone and waffles. I was nearly drunk on it by day’s end.

  I wasn’t imagining my body’s responses to her, and by the time the sun went down I was finally forced to admit it had nothing to do with how much we both loved or missed Drew, and everything to do with the fact that I was attracted to her, plain and simple. I always had been.

  Other truths I’d buried threatened to surface.

  She’s part of the reason I stayed away.

  I measure every woman I meet against her, and no one ever comes close.

  What if? What if? What if?

  I tried hard to ignore my feelings. Deny them. Convince myself there was nothing wrong with appreciating a beautiful woman.

  Yeah, but you don’t just want to appreciate her, do you? asked my conscience, which seemed to have a direct line of communication with my dick. You want to—

  Don’t even think it.

  I thought it.

  I wanted to touch her. Kiss her. Know what it was like to be inside her. Feel her hands on my body. Hear her soft moans and loud cries and make her come over and over again.

  You’re an asshole.

  God. I was an asshole. In no universe were these feelings about my brother’s wife okay. They’d never been okay. But what could I do? Tell her to put her cover-up back on because the sight of her slender curves in a bathing suit was too tempting? Tell her to stop giggling at my stupid jokes and stories because the sound of her laughter was too sweet? Tell her to stop looking at me that way when I took off my shirt because I wasn’t my brother no matter how much I looked like him? I wasn’t an idiot. I knew it wasn’t me she was seeing.

  No matter how much I wished it was.

  Look, you can’t turn back time. You made your choice, and they made theirs. And you know what? If you had to do it all over again, you’d make the same decision. You’d step aside for him, you always did.

  I frowned into the fire.

  “Hey, you.” Hannah nudged me with her bare foot. She and I were sitting next to each other in chairs by the dwindling bonfire while Abby played nearby in the sand. My parents had just gone up to the house. “Everything okay?”

  I sat up straighter, took a drink of my scotch. I’d poured some over ice when it became clear my stupid feelings for her had not gone away, no matter how much time and distance I’d put between us. “Yeah. Fine.”

  “Fine, huh? I give that answer a lot too.”

  I braved a glance at her, and her expression was shrewd. Then she nudged me again with her foot. “I’m on to you, pal.”

  For fuck’s sake, did she have to touch me? She was making things worse. “Sometimes I’m just quiet.”

  “I remember that about you.” She tipped up her wine glass, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the hollow at the base of her throat. “But actually, I think you’ve been very talkative today.”

  “Have I?”

  “Yes. And you’re an amazing listener. I appreciate it.”

  N
ot if you knew what I was thinking. “Any time.”

  A minute or two went by. The sun was sinking fast behind the trees, deepening the shadows on the beach. Abby began to sing softly, backed by the rhythmic shush of waves on the shore. “Can I tell you something?” Hannah asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Lots of people have told me, ‘You’re not alone.’ But I haven’t felt that way until you said those words to me today.”

  I looked at her and vowed I would never violate the trust she placed in me. “I meant them.”

  She smiled at me as she stood up. “I better get Abby home and in the tub. But Wes, you were right about today. Thank you. I had such a good time.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Then she did something that shocked me—she reached out and slowly slid her fingers through my hair.

  I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t even sure I could breathe.

  She smiled. “You have sand in your hair.” A moment later, she was walking away from me. “Come on, Abs. Let’s get the toys put away. Time to go home.”

  I was still sitting there in disbelief when I heard my mother’s voice. I hadn’t even seen her come down the steps and I was looking right at them.

  “Hannah, dear,” she called, making her way toward them, “I was thinking earlier, why doesn’t Abby just stay the night here? I’ve got a room all set up for her, and she hardly ever uses it.”

  Hannah hesitated. “I have the sitter coming in the morning.” Then she glanced at me. “But I guess I could give her the day off. Sure. She can stay.”

  Good girl. I felt proud of her for letting go of the reins a little.

  “Perfect!” My mom clapped her hands together. “I’ll keep her until you’re done with work. You can just pick her up here.”

  “What about clothes for tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I have plenty of things here. You know how I love to shop for her. I always wanted a little girl and ended up with two boys!”