by Nia Arthurs
The little girl’s statement registers. My jaw falls. “Your dad?”
She nods sharply.
I glance at the door on the other side of the hall. Maybe I have the wrong room. “Sorry.” I start to walk away and then turn back because I feel compelled to say, “My name is Benjamin Duncan. I’m looking for my brother.”
“Duncan?” A little bit of her defensiveness leaks away and she blinks. “That’s my last name too.”
The older woman straightens. Her brown eyes scan my face with such intensity I start to squirm. “I’m Logan, Reece’s friend.” She swings the little girl’s hand to indicate who she’s referring to. “I didn’t know Harry had a brother.”
“I didn’t know Harry had a daughter.” The words pour out of my mouth without thought. They feel foreign as they hang in the air.
“That man looks like him,” Reece says to Logan. Then she turns to me, those grey eyes flashing. “You look like my daddy.”
The words are quiet, but we’re all so confused and out-of-sorts that it’s easy to hear.
The door to my brother’s room opens and an elderly woman steps out. She’s got long grey hair with streaks of black. Lines carve a map around her eyes and mouth. Despite her age, or maybe because of it, she seems regal. Queenly.
“Ben?” she says.
“Lydia,” Logan’s brown gaze darts between the two of us, “do you know this man?”
“He’s Harry’s brother.” Lydia swipes at a tear that courses down her paper thin cheek. “Mr. Duncan, would you like to say your goodbyes?”
Reece sobs.
Logan bends to comfort her. “It’s okay.”
I nod although what I want to do is shake my head and beg her to tell me that my brother isn’t dead. Instead, she takes me into the hospital room where his body lies. Still. Pale. Unmoving.
The moment my gaze lands on Harry, my knees go weak and I stumble. There’s no one to catch me. I end up slamming my hand against the edge of his cot to stable myself. My vision goes blurry.
I grab ahold of Harry’s hands and bawl my eyes out. “Wake up, man.”
My pleas fall on deaf ears. He’s gone.
My grief overwhelms me. I shed a storm of tears. Sobs wrack my body, producing deep convulses. My face crumples, falling into itself. I look a mess, but I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back even if I had an audience.
My brother will never smile at me again. Or scold me about settling down. Or laugh sheepishly when I argue he has to take his own advice and find a girlfriend first.
He’ll never challenge me to go my own path instead of the one Dad thrust me on. Never tease me about my drawings or my obsession with webtoons. Never lecture me on becoming better. Doing better.
I cover my face with my hands. Not once in my quest to put off my future, did I think that Harry wouldn’t be a part of it.
By the time I’ve run out of tears, my head is throbbing like someone rammed me with a pick ax. I slowly compose myself and slip out of the room. The door closes, the lock clicking into place with a note of finality.
I find Logan leaning against the wall. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Downcast. She’s clutching trembling arms to her chest. It’s clear she was crying too. I wonder how she knew my brother. Given how shaken she looks, they must have been close.
“Hey,” she says, pushing herself off the wall. I notice she’s wearing an old, baggy T-shirt and shorts. The blouse falls straight down her chest like a curtain draping a window. I can tell there’s not much on top.
Are you seriously sizing her breasts right now? Get yourself together, Ben.
I shake my head, glad she can’t hear my thoughts. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
She said that already.
I glance down the hallway. “Where is everybody?”
“Lydia took Reece to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She hasn’t had anything since the accident last night.”
“The accident. What happened?”
Logan pulls her plump bottom lip in, capturing it between her teeth. “Harry lost control of the wheel. Ran off the road. It was raining hard last night and…” She sniffed. “I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah.” I clench my fingers into fists, trying not to cry in front of her. “How did you know him? My brother, I mean.”
A soft smile climbs her face. One that makes me wonder if Logan and Harry really were involved. “We met about five years ago. Harry had to attend a party, but he didn’t know what to do with his daughter’s hair. She was only four at the time.”
“Reece?”
Logan nods. “He brought her to me, desperate and begging for help. I did Reece’s hair that day and I’ve been doing it ever since.”
Talking like this, I realize Logan probably knows more about Harry than I did. Hell, in all our e-mails, calls and visits my brother didn’t feel like mentioning he had a daughter once.
A little, ‘Hey, Benji. I impregnated a local and now we’re expecting. Crack a beer, would you?’ would have gone a long way.
But it explains why he refused to let me visit Belize. Whenever I’d mention bringing my friends for spring break, Harry would immediately turn the conversation into planning his next trip out to my place.
Last year, I insisted on booking a ticket. I missed my brother and a few weeks in a Caribbean paradise sounded like a dream. Unfortunately, a hurricane swept the country and threw a wrench in my travelling plans.
At least I know now why Harry was so happy about that.
“Are you okay?” I glance up and find that Logan has migrated closer to me. She leans in, drawing my gaze to her sleek black ponytail.
Despite her clothes that were obviously meant for comfortable sleepwear, there’s something elegant about her. Sophisticated. It’s unnerving and intriguing at the same time.
“I’m fine.” Realizing my brother’s body is a few feet away and I have a niece I never knew about, I rescind the statement. “You know what? That’s a lie.”
Logan nods sympathetically. “I’ll go find Lydia and take Reece home while you two talk.”
“Logan?”
She stops. Turns around. Fixes her brown eyes on me.
I take in a breath. “Thank you. For being there for my brother.”
“I was just a hairdresser.” Her smile warbles as she walks away. “But thanks.”
Suddenly exhausted, I back up until I’m against the wall. I feel myself sinking and realize I’m on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest.
A doctor passes by with a group of nurses. They enter Harry’s room. A moment later, they leave with a cot holding a corpse draped by a white sheet. The room spins. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
In my head, it’s clear that they’re taking Harry away. Probably to hold him in the morgue until we make his funeral arrangements. But in my heart, that’s some other poor schmuck who lost his life today.
Not my brother.
Not Harry.
Footsteps patter through my hazy mind. A pair of wrinkly knees appears in front of me. Soon enough, those knees bend—cracking and popping like that cereal Harry used to like when we were younger.
“Ben?” Lydia Stuart leans over. Places a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “We need to talk.”
One half of my lips curve up in a smirk. I’ve heard that phrase a time or two. Mostly from ex-lovers. Some from my dad. Looking at Lydia now, I can tell she’s probably said that to a few men in her day.
“Can you stand?” she asks.
I wave my hand. “Just talk to me here.”
Lydia looks uncertain, but I’m—quite frankly—dangling on the edge of insanity and the prospect of engaging my muscles to push myself up is the most daunting task I’ve ever faced in my life.
I’m relieved when Lydia doesn’t push the issue. “Before he died, Harry had a few instructions. His first was to get your number and call you.”
“Uh-huh.”
She licks her lips and stares uncertainly at my face. “Th
e second was about Reece.”
“The kid. Harry’s kid.” My head feels heavy. Like my neck isn’t thick enough to hold it. I bob around, struggling to focus on Lydia’s words when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.
“Yes. Ben, are you listening?”
I nod enthusiastically.
“Harry wanted you to take care of her.”
My body seizes. I slam back to reality like a man dropping from a plane and splattering to earth. “What?”
Lydia digs her fingers into my shoulders. “As of tonight, you’re Reece Duncan’s official guardian.”
Chapter Three
Logan
I look over at the little girl sleeping next to me. Reece’s small chest rises and falls rhythmically. She’s clutching her stuffed dog close, slender fingers digging into the cotton of the toy’s black tail.
Tear tracks are still drying on her light brown cheeks. The princess nightlight plugged into the wall near her queen-sized bed throws a golden shade on her braids—the ones I painstakingly installed last week.
I wish I could put her life in order the way I part and tame her hair. There’s no dragon I wouldn’t slay for her, but my hands are tied. Loneliness and grief are not monsters I can fight with my fists or my cutting scissors.
How can anyone ever replace her father?
My heart hurts for Reece. For everything she’s been through and everything she will have to face in the future.
“God, please take care of this precious girl,” I whisper.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen and wince. This isn’t a call I can take near Reece. Especially since she just managed to cry herself to sleep.
I sit up and scoot carefully to the edge of the bed. The steady cadence of Reece’s breathing eggs me on. I set one foot on the ground. Point my toe. Set the other.
She snorts.
I freeze. Glance back. Check to make sure her long, black eyelashes aren’t fluttering, catching me in the act. But she’s still sleeping. Her nose slightly flares. Her jaw slackens. A bit of drool slides down the side of her mouth.
Adorable.
By the time I tiptoe out of the room, my phone goes silent. I’m not dumb enough to think it will stay that way. It lights up again, revealing a picture of a woman with light brown skin, brown eyes and thin, arched eyebrows.
I pick up, mentally preparing myself for her scolding. “Hey, Tan… how’s the store?”
“Don’t ‘hey, Tan’ me.” Tanya, my best friend and co-owner of our salon Curl Me Chic, smacks her gum in my ear. “I’ve told you a million times, Logan. That white man doesn’t want you. Running after him and his daughter for one night, I understand. But you missed a whole day at the store and for what?”
“Tanya, Harry passed away.”
Silence descends on the line. I can imagine Tanya right now with her mouth hanging open, chewing gum smattering to the floor. “W-what?”
I migrate to the farthest corner of the house in case Reece wakes up and overhears. My arms wrap around my waist as I say, “This morning.”
“You’re kidding. Are you okay? How’s Reece?”
“Not good. She was crying all day. She just conked out a second ago.” I scuff my toes on the hardwood floor, staring at my shiny pink nail polish. “Harry was her entire world. You can imagine how she’s taking this.”
“Girl, she must be devastated.”
“She loved him very much.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I have never seen a man dote on his daughter the way that white man did on Reece.”
“Could you stop calling him that?” I hiss. “Especially on a day like this?”
“Well… he is a white man,” Tanya mumbles.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Fine.” Tanya sighs. “Are you staying at his house?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Take as long as you need to get Reece situated. I’ll handle your appointments and spread the others between the girls. What will happen to Reece now? Is Lydia going to care for her?”
“No. Apparently Harry had a brother and he—” I hear a ping and pull the phone away from my cheek. “Tanya, can we talk later? I’m getting a call from Lydia now.”
“I’ll let you go. Tell Lydia I said hi.”
“I’ll see you later.” I hang up with my best friend and accept Lydia’s call.
“Logan,” her raspy voice sounds in my ear, “I’m sorry to bother you this late, but… is Benjamin there?”
“No. Did something happen after we left the hospital?”
“Well, I took him to the funeral home to make arrangements. Then I took him to meet Pastor Benson. We spoke for a bit at the church. Then I took him to get something to eat since it was after six and he said he hadn’t eaten before his flight.”
Is Lydia reading a grocery list or something? “Okay…”
“I left to use the bathroom. When I came back, he was gone.”
I tap my weave as I think. Exactly where would the American go? “He’s never been to Belize. It’s not like he has a ton of options. Did you give him the address of the house?”
“Yes, I did. Hopefully, he gets in. Please let me know if he does.” Lydia’s fretting so much even I’m getting anxious. “He looked so broken earlier. I have no idea what he’ll do.”
I stiffen. “You don’t think he’ll try to, like, jump off a bridge or anything?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him. To be honest, there at Harry’s deathbed was the first time his name came up.”
“What do you think happened between them?” I whisper.
“Not sure. But whatever drove the brothers apart was not a decision Ben approved of. I can tell he really looked up to Harry.”
“Okay.” I drag in a breath. “Keep me updated and let me know if he contacts you too, Lydia.”
“I will.”
We hang up. My eyes trail over the kitchen, flitting past the cheerful yellow paint to the stainless steel refrigerator that’s more of a pin board for displaying artwork and excellent school grades than a functioning appliance. The stove gleams like it’s never been used.
Which it hasn’t.
The Duncans did not cook often. Or at all.
I tried to rectify that as much as possible, but coming over a few days every month wasn’t enough to give the oven the loving it needs.
It feels like the house is already beginning to grieve. The silence is sorrowful. The shadows darker than usual.
I’m not used to the hush. When Harry had me over, there was rarely a moment of quiet. If he and Reece weren’t laughing and chatting, they were listening to music and dancing goofily or watching a movie at full blast.
He really was an extraordinary father. An extraordinary man.
Tears well in my eyes again. To keep from crying, I pad to the refrigerator to pour myself a glass of water. Just before the rim of the cup touches my lips, someone bangs on the door. I startle and slosh water onto my shirt. A curse tears from my mouth as I shudder and then glare at the intrusion.
“Seriously?” I mumble. Setting the cup on the counter, I jog to the front door and wrench it open before the visitor can disturb Reece.
A very drunk man stands in the doorway. As he lifts his face to the light, I gasp in recognition.
“Logan!” Benjamin Duncan staggers to the edge of the welcome mat.
My gaze rakes over his thatch of thick brown hair, his strong nose, and sharp jaw. He’s got skin so pale that even in the shadows of the porch, I can see him.
“Well?” Ben slips his arms up. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
I step aside though a part of me is saying that’s a bad decision. He may be related to Harry, but we know nothing about him. What if he’s dangerous? What if he’s crazy?
“Ben? No, Ben, you can’t sleep on the floor!” I rush toward him, yanking him up just before he collapses on the ground.
He wrenches his arm away and waggles a finger at me. In the sof
t light coming from the kitchen, I notice his solid blue eyes. They’re such a bold color, one I’ve never seen up close, that I’m tempted to stare.
He takes my prolonged eye contact the wrong way and smirks.
I’ll admit… the Duncan men are pleasing to the eye and Ben is no exception. So when his lips tilt up that way, my heart flutters a little.
But only because it reminds me of Harry.
“You’re cute, Logan,” Ben says.
My eyebrow arches. Cute? “You’re drunk, Ben. Let me show you to the guest room.”
“Drunk?” He pulls the hem of his shirt to his nose and sniffs, flashing his chiseled mid-section at me. “I’m not drunk.”
“Yeah, you are, buddy.” I avert my eyes.
I’m stunned he made it home the way he’s stumbling around. Ben’s an inch shy of six feet. He’s also solid with broad shoulders and large hands. I don’t think I can overpower him even if I wanted to.
What should I do in a case like this? Harry rarely drank since he didn’t know when the hospital would call him in to do a surgery. The moments he did, he was always conscious of his limit in case Reece needed him.
He was considerate like that.
“You’re not usually my type,” Ben informs me, “but I’ll make an exception this once.”
He lurches toward me, pink lips puckered. I put my hand up against his solid chest to keep him back. “Hold it, tiger. Although I’m flattered that you’re making an exception for me, the feeling is not mutual.”
He scrunches his nose as though the very thought of me rebuffing him is foreign. “No?”
A smile blooms without my permission. Whether it’s the alcohol or Ben’s genuine personality, I find his bafflement amusing. “No.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. You’re not my type anyway.” He stops and studies me, pale finger on his chin. “You’re too… uptight.”
“Uptight.” I arch an eyebrow. “I’ll let that pass because you’re obviously out of your mind with grief.” I reach out and clamp onto his arm. “The guest room is that way.”
Ben wrenches his hand free and squints into the light. “I’ll find it myself.”
“Okay.” I step back to give him his space.
