The Promise of Everything - Garner-Willoughby Brothers Book Three

by Blaire Broderick

  I had to tear myself away from her, my body not wanting to go and my mind not yet prepared for spending most of my days away from her again. As I walked to work, I stopped in front of a jewelry store just outside my subway station. Sparkling diamonds in an elaborate window display glinted in the early morning light, and I honed in on a classic round with a halo set in platinum that would look beautiful on her dainty hand.

  I’d never thought much about marrying, and I’d never considered myself the marrying type. Daphne had dropped hints left and right, each one becoming progressively less of a hint and more of an overt you-need-to-propose-to-me-now demand than the one before. I ignored them all.

  The idea of spending my life with one person, forever, felt constricting when I was with Daphne. But I couldn’t imagine a life without Sophie. Not for one second. I was going to marry that girl even if I had to drag her kicking and screaming to the altar.

  Someday.

  A long and tiring first week at Brooklyn General was met with a peaceful weekend, Sophie by my side.

  “What are you looking at over there?” Sophie asked from her corner of the apartment where she deeply engaged with her latest masterpiece. “Awful quiet today.”

  “I’m always quiet,” I laughed. “Looking up hotels in Paris.”

  “Oui, oui, monsieur,” she said. “Carry on.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out only to reveal an unknown number.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, uh, Jamison?” The man’s voice held the same qualities as mine, and immediately, I knew.

  “Jude?”

  Sophie’s attention whipped in my direction as her brush froze against her canvas.

  “Yeah,” he said. My heart leaped a little for good and bad reasons. It’d been years since we last spoke, and we hadn’t exactly left things on good terms. But Sophie had been asking about him a lot lately, gently encouraging a reunion at some point in the near future. She didn’t push me half as hard as I pushed her to fix things with her family, but I knew she had a point.

  “How you been?” I asked, knowing full well there was a legitimate reason as to why he was calling me up out of nowhere.

  “Mom died.”

  Silence. I didn’t know what to say. Childhood memories, good mixed with bad, flooded my mind beginning with my youngest years. Birthday parties with clowns and ponies. The way her brilliant smile lit up her face. The way she kept me close, always holding my hand. The way she’d wipe my tears and bandage my scrapes when I’d taken a tumble.

  And then I remembered everything else. The day my father left. The day she stopped tucking me in at night. The day the kisses and hugs and comforting words vanished into thin air. The way she kept me tucked away from everyone else, particularly my little brothers. I left for college at eighteen, still barely knowing Jude and Julian and them barely knowing me.

  We could’ve been a family. Instead, we were compartmentalized, dysfunctional, separate, and definitely not equal.

  Jude got the brunt of it. He and Julian were only a couple years apart, and with Julian being sick, Jude’s needs almost always went untended to. I never could blame him for hightailing it out of there at eighteen like I did and never looking back.

  He had reached out to me once, about five years ago. He asked me to invest in his start-up promising he’d double my money within two years. Fully underestimating how intelligent he was, I had declined. At the time, I was appalled that he’d come to me asking for money. I figured he was broke, and Mom had cut him off. Sometime later, I saw his picture in an article showcasing the top ten entrepreneurs under twenty-five in Forbes magazine. I hated myself for judging him when I barely knew him. And then I hated myself for barely knowing him.

  “You still there?” Jude asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, raking my fingers through my hair and sinking back into the couch. Sophie trekked across the apartment slipping in next to me and studying my face. I’d barely said more than a few words, and already she knew I needed her. “What am I supposed to say?”

  Jude let out a frustrated sigh. “I know what you mean.”

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel sad or what.”

  “Funeral’s Tuesday,” Jude said. “In Haverford. Burial in the family cemetery.”

  “You going?”

  “I don’t want to,” Jude said. “But Evie says I should go. Closure or forgiveness or some shit like that.”

  “Evie?”

  “My fiancée,” Jude said.

  “How’d Mom pass?”

  “Breast cancer,” he said. “Apparently, she’d been fighting it for a while.”

  My body felt numb as if a small piece of me had been hacked off and thrown in the garbage, a piece that could never fully be repaired and had become useless anyway like a damaged spleen. I’d given up hope years ago that our relationship could ever be repaired, but I’d always silently hoped she’d come around. Underneath all the lies and manipulations and self-serving bullshit, she was still my mother. She’d been a wonderful mother once, and I’d always wondered if she was still in there somewhere looking for a chance to come back.

  My brothers never knew her before the ‘ice storm’ hit. They only ever knew one version of her.

  “You coming to the funeral?” Jude asked. “If anything, it’d be nice to see you again.”

  “It’s been a long time.” I didn’t want to go to Haverford, and I didn’t want to make any promises I couldn’t keep.

  “Well, we’ll be there,” Jude said, sensing my hesitation. “Evie’s dying to meet you. She was married to Julian once, you know.”

  “No kidding.” I ran the smooth underside of my palm against my five o’clock shadow as I tried to wrap my head around how that could’ve happened.

  “I won’t keep you, Jamison,” Jude said before wrapping up the call. “Just passing on the information.”

  I hung up with Jude and turned to Sophie.

  “Your mom?” she asked, her hand pressed against her heart. I imagined losing a mother meant something different to each of us.

  I nodded, and she wrapped her arms around me slipping her hand through the hair on the back of my head as she braced herself for a flood of emotions that weren’t coming. Confused, she pulled away and watched my face for a reaction.

  “You’re not sad?” she asked. “But it’s your mother…”

  “I told you, my family’s complicated.”

  Her mouth dangled, speechless, as she scooted back and gave me space. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

  “It is what it is.” Or rather, it was what it was.

  “We’re going to the funeral, right?”

  I pursed my lips reminding myself that the right thing to do was never the easiest. If anything, I’d go simply to catch up with Jude and meet Julian’s widow. “Yeah, we’ll go.”

  23

  SOPHIE

  “So, this is Haverford, Kansas?” I said, peering out the window of our rental car as we slowed down to obey the city speed limit. Pulling into town from the highway brought a myriad of decaying, outdated houses and a few beautifully restored ones. Tall, ancient oaks, still barren from winter, and brown grass painted the rest of the landscape. In a way, Haverford reminded me of my hometown.

  “Correct.” Jamison turned his blinker on, and minutes later we pulled into the small parking lot of an equally small funeral parlor. Jamison had been quiet all morning. I wasn’t sure if he was grieving or nervous to meet up with his estranged brother. Maybe it was a combination of the two, but I kept my mouth shut. I figured if he wanted to speak, he would—at least, that was how my father always was. You asked one wrong question, and it made you sorry you said anything.

  We climbed out and headed inside where a small group of formally-dressed people was standing around looking at pictures tacked to a bulletin board showcasing his mother’s life. I grabbed a program and flipped to the back reading her obituary:

  Caroline Margaret Garner-Willoughby
was born March 3rd, 1960, in Haverford, Kansas to Albert and Elizabeth (Mortenson) Garner. She passed in her sleep from cancer complications. Caroline attended Dartmouth, graduating with a B.S. in Business. An only child, Caroline inherited Garner Industries from her parents after their retirement in 1990. Working fearlessly and tirelessly, Caroline dedicated her life’s work to the success of her family’s business.

  Caroline enjoyed traveling abroad, collecting Waterford crystal, and reading fine literature. She is preceded in death by her parents and a son, Julian. She is survived by her loving husband, Arthur, and two sons, Jude Garner-Willoughby and Jamison Garner.

  Her painfully generic obituary gave no clues as to how or why Jamison felt the way he did about her. I tucked the paper under my arm and peered over a young woman’s shoulder staring at the photographs of a strikingly beautiful woman. With the same ice blue eyes as Jamison and blonde hair nearly the color of snow, she was a vision of elegance and distinction. Professional family portraits showed her beaming proudly amongst exquisitely-dressed little boys.

  “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” the girl said, turning to face me. She was about my age, pretty, with dark hair and big blue eyes. “Did you know her?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. I glanced around for Jamison, but he’d been quarantined to a corner where a few older gentlemen seemed happy to see him. “Did you?”

  She smiled and pursed her lips as her brows raised as if she had some stories she could tell. “She was my mother-in-law once.”

  “Are you Evie?”

  “I am…” She cocked her head to the side. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” I said, flashing an apologetic smile. “I’m here with Jamison. You’re engaged to Jude now, right?” I glanced down at her hand where she twisted her ring around her finger repeatedly.

  “I am,” she said.

  “Interesting family.”

  “You’re telling me,” Evie replied with a cautious smile. “I’ve been trying to peel back the layers of this onion for years, and I’m barely making progress.”

  A tall, square-jawed drink of water with chocolate hair and golden eyes sauntered up behind Evie pressing his hand into the small of her back.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” she said.

  “Sophie,” I said.

  “Jude, this is Sophie. She’s here with your brother,” Evie introduced us.

  Jude extended his right hand, and I met him in the middle, his hands soft and strong just like Jamison’s. They stood about the same height and had the same matching broad shoulders and silent, curious stares.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, studying my face. “Haven’t seen my brother around here by chance, have you?”

  I nodded my head toward the corner where Jamison still stood chatting with the older men. I watched as Jude swallowed hard. Evie threw him a supportive smile, and he cleared his throat as he walked toward his older brother.

  “I get the feeling this reunion has been a long time coming,” I said to Evie. We both watched with bated breath from our little perch by the photographs.

  “I didn’t even know Jamison existed until about a year ago,” she said blandly. “I didn’t even know Jude existed until Julian passed away.”

  We observed as the two brothers slowly smiled at each other, and we both smiled as we watched them embrace. It wasn’t quick and awkward. It was slow, steady, almost as if it were smoothing over a decade of jagged feelings.

  One by one, guests began filing into the chapel for the ceremony, and Jude and Jamison returned to our sides to lead us in. We sat in the second row, and my heart ached as I saw a man sitting all alone in front.

  “Who’s that?” I whispered to Evie.

  “Arthur,” she whispered back. “Jude’s dad.”

  I wanted to ask why he was alone, but it wasn’t the time nor the place. Regardless, my eyes began to mist at the sight, and I had to stare at the ground for a few minutes in hopes that no one would notice.

  A preacher took the makeshift pulpit and began reading Caroline’s obituary word for word. From where we sat, I could make out her profile, and her delicate hands clasped over her lower belly, her flawless skin the color of edelweiss.

  Arthur ducked his head down grabbing a tissue and dabbing the corners of his eyes. It always moved me to see a grown man cry, and instantly, I was taken back to my sisters’ funeral and the memory of my dad sobbing like a child.

  Without saying a word, Jude reached his big hand up and placed it on his dad’s shoulder. His lips pursed, and his eyes averted. I knew it wasn’t easy for him, but I had a hunch Evie had encouraged him to do the right thing.

  There was a morbid beauty in death in that it sometimes brought out the best in people. It reunited estranged families. It forced people to accept. Forgive. Move forward. It gave closure. It taught lessons. Sometimes the lessons were quick. Sometimes they took years.

  My fingers clasped the gold charms on my necklace, and I said a silent prayer asking Nori and Rossi to be there for Caroline and to tell her I would take damn good care of her son and love him unconditionally. I didn’t know her history. I didn’t know why her sons wouldn’t talk to her. She was a complete stranger to me. I just knew she gave life to the one person who made my life worth living again, and for that, I was eternally indebted.

  The preacher stepped away, and Old Rugged Cross began to play over the speakers. I casually glanced around. No one seemed to be losing it. No one except for Arthur. I looked over at Jamison who sat silent and still, his hands folded and his eyes focused on the ground, and I slipped my fingers through his.

  Elaborate floral displays of red roses with baby’s breath, daylilies, and daisy arrangements lined the space around her mother-of-pearl casket. It was a beautiful little ceremony by any standards.

  When it was all over, four pallbearers carried her out to a waiting hearse, and we followed it to the other side of town to an elaborate Gothic mansion. As we trekked across soggy, half-frozen grass toward a private cemetery, I began to realize this was the house Jamison grew up in, where he spent most of his time hidden away in one of the many wings.

  Jamison wouldn’t even look at the house. He just stared ahead biding the time until it was all over, and he could get the hell out of there.

  “You guys want to get lunch?” Jude asked after the burial. “We can catch up some more.”

  I looked at Jamison, who seemed to be considering it.

  “We should,” I nudged him. If he could prompt me to do the right thing with my family, I had to return the favor.

  24

  JAMISON

  Sophie squeezed my hand tightly as we walked back to the rental car. An old part of me was dead and buried that cold March day. But something changed when I looked into my brother’s eyes that morning. I saw a younger version of myself. I saw a man, not unlike myself, who only ever wanted to be loved. I saw the little brother I was never allowed to get too close to, the one I should’ve played with and protected. We should’ve had a history rife with memories that brought nostalgic smiles to our matching grins.

  Caroline may have robbed us of that, but I refused to let her rob us of a future full of memories and experiences. She missed out. That was her problem. Not mine.

  We pulled into the diner on 10th Street, Jude’s suggestion, and found a cozy corner booth.

  Evie and Sophie began chatting away like two kindred spirits. Evie patiently listened to Sophie ramble on about art, and Sophie patiently listened as Evie rambled on about traveling Europe, specifically Paris.

  “Besties already,” Jude joked, but the girls were so ingrained in their conversation, they didn’t hear him.

  “So, what’s new with you, brother?” Jude asked, tugging up the sleeve of his shirt and revealing a hint of a tattoo.

  “Just started a new job at a new hospital,” I said, taking a sip of the cold tap water our server had just delivered. “Yourself?”

  “I’m launching a new internet start-up here
soon,” he said. A small pang of regret slashed through me as I recalled him asking for my help once upon a time. “Just busy with that.”

  “You still in LA?” I asked him.

  “I am,” he said. “Though Evie wants to move once we get married. She’s on the hunt for the perfect place somewhere that marries the culture and excitement of LA with the quaint charm of Haverford.”

  I laughed. “Good luck finding that unicorn.”

  “I tried to tell her,” Jude laughed, shrugging.

  “We’re getting married next year,” he said. “We haven’t picked a place yet, but we’d love to have you there.”

  I glanced over at Evie. She seemed like a sweet girl. Low-key. Casual. But the kind of girl who could keep a guy like Jude in check.

  “I’ll be there,” I said, meaning every word of it. I’d missed out on enough, and seeing the dark-haired man sitting before me who was just a kid the last time I saw him drove that home. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  We left the diner and headed to our hotel in a neighboring town, numbers exchanged and promises to keep in touch spouting from all our lips. Jude and Evie were planning to visit the city in the coming months, and without thinking twice, Sophie offered them her pull-out sofa.

  “You doing okay?” she asked softly as the sun set over the flat Kansas terrain. Farm after farm whirred past our windows soon to be filled with corn and wheat once the weather got nice.

  “I am,” I said, turning to flash her a smile as proof.

  “Your brother seems nice. His fiancée, too. I like her.”

  “They’re good people.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your mother,” Sophie said as if she felt the need to officially offer her condolences. “I don’t know the history between you two, and maybe someday you’ll tell me, but until then, I’m always going to wish I’d have met her.”

  I squeezed her hand letting her think her Sweet-Sophie thoughts and not tarnishing her good nature with anything other than innocent ideas about the way things ought to be.