by Rebecca Shea
He drops his head back and lets out a chuckle from the back of his throat. “Will we ever agree on anything?” He lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes pleading for an honest answer. “Do you think that just once, we’ll ever agree on anything?”
“If Emilia’s involved, probably not.” It’s the truth. Emilia is not a bargaining tool, and I will do anything to protect her.
“Emilia aside,” he says. “I think we both want the best for her, even if you think I don’t.”
I pause for a moment to collect myself, rein in my anger. “I don’t know,” I admit honestly. Even as young boys, twins, brothers bound by blood, we never agreed on anything. We had different interests, different friends. We argued more than we bonded.
He blows a puff of air from his mouth and sets his beer down. “I’ll let you be,” he says as he saunters toward the front door. “And I won’t use Emilia.”
I push myself up off the couch and follow him out onto the front porch.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Remember when that market used to be the bodega?”
“I do. We used to ride our bikes down there with a dollar bill and come home with a shit ton of candy.”
He chuckles. “Mom used to get so mad at us. She always said the sugar would ruin our appetites.” He smiles at the memory. Then, suddenly, his smile falls. “I miss her, Alex. Every day, I miss her. I know you and her had a different kind of bond, and I was so jealous of that for so long…” He swallows hard before continuing. “I was at her gravesite today. First time in over twenty years.”
“Why today?” I ask, curious.
He hesitates, then says, “Emilia wanted to see where you’d be buried. Alex, I hate lying to her. We were right there, and I figured if I took her to see Mom’s headstone, and I told her you’d be buried next to Mom, she could finally begin to heal and move on.”
I still as he tells me he took Em to where I’m supposed to be buried. “How did she handle it?”
“Like I expected. She lost it. She was hysterical. Crying, then screaming at you, then laughing, then she went quiet and prayed. I was able to finally get her out of there, but seeing Mom’s headstone—” His voice breaks, and he goes silent.
“I miss her too, Sam. God, every single day, I think about her.”
“First thing we agree on,” Sam says quietly as his eyes stay focused down the street.
“It is.” I sigh and lean against the concrete pillar. “It’s weird being back in the old neighborhood,” I admit. “I mean, I lived what, less than four miles from here, but I haven’t been back in this neighborhood since Dad sold that house to the old couple after Mom died. No good reason to come back here.”
“It’s just around the corner, you know.” Sam leans against the opposite pillar.
“Yeah, I remembered when the marshal brought me here this morning. This house looks so much like our old house.”
“It doesn’t look like that anymore,” Sam says meaningfully, twisting his car keys in his hand.
“You’ve seen it?”
He lets out a small laugh. “I own it.”
“What?” I’m shocked.
“Yeah, the old couple put it on the market about five years ago. I bought it from them.”
I can’t believe it. He bought it? “Why? That house holds so many bad memories. That’s where Mom was killed.”
“It was where she was killed,” he says, barely above a whisper, “but it’s the only place I have good memories of her—of us. The meals she’d cook for us, the Christmases we had there. The tire swing in the backyard. Everything good that happened with her, happened in that house. I couldn’t lose those memories, so I bought the house.” Sam’s voice breaks as he speaks.
“That house tore our family apart,” I correct him.
“Wrong.” His eyes are strong but not defensive. “That house did nothing. Antonio tore our family apart. He destroyed the only good thing you and I had in our lives—her.”
He’s right. “Another thing we agree on,” I reply in a hushed tone.
“I’ve remodeled the house, taken away the parts where the bad memories lived, but the bones are there. She’s there.”
I nod, understanding Sam for once. The bones are there because Mom was the bones of our family. She was what kept us all together, the glue.
We stand on the front porch in silence as I absorb everything.
“I’d like to see it,” I tell him.
He turns his head and nods, his face somber. “Anytime. I’ll need to make sure Emilia isn’t there, but it was cathartic for me—buying the house.”
“I remember the day we moved out,” I say, reliving the memory like it was yesterday. It was a horrible day that I long ago buried, but the memory is crystal clear in my mind. “I remember you sitting in the back of Tio and Tia’s car…” I pause as the memory flashes through my head. “Tio was yelling at Dad, begging him to let them take me with you, but he wouldn’t budge.”
“I was so scared,” Sam says, raking his hands over his face. “We had just lost Mom, our family was being torn apart. Everything we knew came to a screeching halt.”
“It did,” I admit.
“I was so angry that Dad chose you and left me behind—discarded me like a piece of shit,” Sam says with a hiss. His tone is bitter, angry. “You were always the one that they loved a little more. You were Mom’s favorite, it was no secret.” He smiles genuinely at me. “She baked for you, always comforted you first when we fought or were upset. But when he chose you—and left me behind, it made me hate you. I realize now I should’ve never hated you.” He nods to himself, as if he’s coming to some realization. I can see the pain he’s been carrying around for all these years and I feel terrible. “It was him I hated. I despised him for taking you from me. You were all I had left. My brother, and he took you from me and you never once looked back. I know we were nothing alike, Alex, but you were my brother.” His voice is a combination of hurt and anger, and I’m shocked.
We’ve never talked about any of this. We were so young, but clearly what happened impacted both of us dramatically.
“I hated both you and Dad so much, that I made it my mission to do whatever it took to bring you down. To end you both,” he says resentfully.
“I guess jealousy goes both ways,” I admit to Sam. “I was jealous that you got to stay in the same school, and Dad pulled me out. I was jealous that you got to live with Tia and Tio, and I lived with Dad. Maybe you had the life that I always wanted.” It’s an honest admission. I wanted his life. He looks at me in shock and I narrow my eyes at him. “You think it was sunshine and roses for me, but it wasn’t. Sure, Dad sent me to the best schools. He ensured I went to college, and had the best of everything—but the best of everything means nothing when you have no family.”
“Dad and the business were your family,” Sam says snidely.
“That’s not family. I lost my family when I watched you drive away twenty years ago.”
This is the first honest conversation Sam and I have ever had with each other. We’ve never had the opportunity to discuss our mother’s death or the events afterward that separated us. We both are the products of the environment we were raised in, but blood is always thicker than water. Although we’re separate in every way possible, there is one thing that we’ll always be—brothers.
“Every birthday, I grew to envy you more,” I admit. “Selfishly, I knew you were having a party and you were loved. Tio was just like Mom. He made every birthday better than the year before. I wanted that. Instead, Dad would order us a pizza and we’d watch baseball until he’d disappear to manage business. Every year. Every single year, it was pizza, beer, and baseball.”
I run my hand through my hair as I think about those years. “You have no idea how much I fucking hate baseball,” I say, and laugh.
“I love baseball,” Sam says with a chuckle.
“For twins, we couldn’t be more opposite.” I kick the toe of my shoe against the side of th
e concrete porch and it feels good to finally reconnect with Sam. “I’m glad you came by, Sam.”
“I am too,” Sam agrees. “It doesn’t really make up for lost time, but we only have a few weeks left anyway.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
He hesitates. “When you officially sign the deal, you agree to not have contact with anyone from your past. That means me too. Even though I’m a federal agent, I won’t know anything. The U.S. Marshals office handles all of that. It’s a fresh start, a clean slate for you.” He pats me on the shoulder and takes the steps down from the patio.
“Sam,” I call after him.
“Yeah?” He stops and turns around.
“You said earlier, ‘you were my brother.’ I am your brother. I’ll always be your brother. Even if you hate me. Even if you deny me, I’ll always be your brother. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
A look of contentment settles across his face as he pulls his keys from the pocket of his shorts. “You’re welcome,” he says before he jogs to his car. I give him a short wave and watch as he pulls away from the curb, his Mercedes maneuvering down the narrow street. His taillights disappear as he turns and heads home, and it’s not until he’s gone that a combination of relief and unease settle in.
I look up at the sky, the stars dancing in the darkness, and I can’t help but feel lighter. Yet at the same time, I feel heavier with the weight of the knowledge that, in a few weeks’ time, I will never talk to my brother again. I’m both comforted and saddened that this will be one of our last conversations. Ever.
I SIT IN my car, in my driveway, the engine idling as I replay everything Alex said. I should be happy we finally talked, but sadness is weighing heavily on me. I’m realizing now how misdirected my anger has been for years, and for that, I am angry with myself.
I’m distracted, lost in thoughts of the past and the future I’ll never have with my brother when a shadow slips past me. I’ve learned from experience that distraction can get you killed, and that’s what I’ve been—distracted.
Before I even hear the gunshots, I see bursts of light, hear glass shattering, and then feel pressure.
One.
Two.
Three.
I feel all three shards of metal pierce my chest and I gasp for breath. I glance down and see blood staining my shirt. I want to run to the house where Emilia is, but I’m paralyzed in fear.
Emilia. I promised to protect Emilia.
The shadow approaches, and I see his face—Saul Trujillo. He lifts his gun one last time and pulls the trigger, hitting me in the chest again. Four. I gasp, and he sprints away. Paralyzed from shock, I panic when the light from the open front door spills into the darkness. Emilia’s long hair dances in the air as she runs down the steps of my front porch.
The panic.
The screaming.
The fear in her eyes.
“Sam!” she screams at me. “Sam. God, no.” She yanks on the handle, but the doors are locked. With a shaky hand, she reaches through the broken glass and presses the lock release, yanking the door open, desperately trying to get to me. Reaching across me, she pulls my cell phone from the center console and frantically presses the screen, finally screaming into the phone.
Crying.
Tears.
Begging.
She pleads with someone on the other end to send help before her pleas turn to me. “Sam, stay with me. You can’t leave me,” she begs me. I feel myself slipping away and my heart aches that I pulled Emilia into this mess. If I could go back and do it over, I would. I wish I could tell her this. My lips move, but I can’t speak. I try to clear my throat, but I’m tired. I know I’m losing blood and slowly losing consciousness.
Emilia holds my head in her soft hands. “Look at me, Sam. Help is coming. Stay with me, okay?”
I blink once and try to nod. Forcing myself to get her information, I’m able to finally muster out, “Saul.”
“Saul did this?” She glances around feverishly, and I want to tell her to run, she shouldn’t be here.
I nod and try to swallow.
“Sam, don’t talk. Just stay with me.” She presses her hand to my chest, and I can feel her body shaking against me. “Stay with me,” she whispers. “Help is coming. I can hear the sirens. Do you hear them? They’re close.” She tries to remain calm, but I can see the fear in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. They should be twinkling and dancing in the moonlight, full of laughter. Instead, they’re full of fear and panic as she pleads with me to stay with her.
“Alex,” I sputter as my eyes go fuzzy.
“Alex?” she says, confused.
And that’s when I slip into the darkness.
TIGHT HANDS GRIP my shoulders. I feel those hands pulling me away from Sam, and I buck against them. I don’t want to be pulled away. They can’t make me leave him. But I’m too weak, and I stumble to the ground, my knees hitting the hard, concrete driveway. Loose rocks scrape against my palms. On all fours, I struggle to breathe, finally losing my composure. I gasp for air as my stomach turns and bile rises into my throat.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” a gentle voice asks, and I feel hands again, this time touching my back.
No. No, I’m not okay, I want to tell him, but I can’t breathe, I can’t talk. All I can think about is Sam.
I watch through hazy tears as they pull Sam from his car. There is a flurry of activity, hands pumping his chest, tubes from his arm, and piles of white gauze covered in blood. I’ve seen this scene one too many times. Images of Alex lying on his floor with blood pooling around him. I struggle to breathe around these images of horror I seemingly can’t escape.
“Can you talk to me?” the gentle voice asks, and I finally fall from all fours to my bottom and begin to cry. I sometimes feel like the only thing I’m good at is losing people I love and crying. “My name is Jeff. Can you tell me what happened?” His blue shirt and pants tell me he’s with the fire department and here to help us.
I look up to a pair of the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen, dark brown and sympathetic. I want to answer him, but I don’t have words, so I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face there.
“Let me see your hands.” He tugs lightly on my arms. Looking up, I see him pouring cool water into my palms. Using small gauze pads, he wipes away dirt and gravel from the shallow scrapes.
There’s a commotion behind him as they lift Sam onto a stretcher and rush him down the driveway to a waiting ambulance. Flashing lights line the street from police cars¸ fire trucks, ambulances, and even unmarked vehicles.
“There she is,” I hear a voice say, and when I look up, I see Agent Hoffman walking toward me. “Emilia, are you okay?” He squats down next to the firefighter wrapping my palms in bandages.
“Is he alive?” I muster as I choke down tears. “I can’t lose him,” I sputter. “I can’t lose both of them.”
“Yes, he’s alive, but…” He pauses, his face twisted in worry. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
I manage to take a deep breath and try to calm myself enough to talk. “I don’t know. I was inside the house, and I heard the gunshots. They were so loud. I opened the door and saw Sam’s car in the driveway and a man running away.”
Agent Hoffman jots notes while Jeff pours water gently over my knees and wipes them clean. “What did the man look like?” His eyes narrow on me.
“I don’t know. I saw the back of him. It was so dark, and I could just make out a figure running. But Sam said it was Saul.” I rack my brain to remember the dark figure running away, searching my memory for anything I can share that might help.
“Saul?” he asks, confused. “You asked him who shot him and he said ‘Saul’?”
“Yes.”
“Did the man running look like Saul Trujillo?”
“I don’t know. I just saw a man running.”
“So you said it was a man, but it could have been a woman?” he asks, clearly agitated.
“It looked like a man. The way he carried himself.”
He blows a puff of air through his nose with a slight shake of his head. Finally, he looks away from me.
Agitated, I bark at him. “Agent Hoffman, I’m telling you what I know.”
His head snaps back to me. “You’re not protecting your boyfriend and his family, are you?”
Really? Is he serious? “My boyfriend is dead! And I just told you Sam said it was Saul. I’m not protecting anyone!” I yell at him and I narrow my eyes when he throws Alex’s name into this so casually. “And since I seem to be the last to know everything, you’d know that Sam is my boyfriend’s family.”
He glares at me and shoves his pen into the pocket of his dress shirt, and I can’t help but grit my teeth. “I didn’t see who did it, Agent Hoffman. But if I did, I’d tell you. I’d do anything to protect Sam.”
After a moment, his face softens, and he gives me a short nod, turning his attention to Jeff. “Is she okay? Can she go, or does she need any further medical attention?”
Jeff answers Agent Hoffman, but addresses me. “You’re all cleaned up; however, you need to watch these scrapes. You may need to see a doctor if there’s any sign of infection.”
“Okay,” I answer quietly, my hands stinging.
“Emilia, this is an active crime scene. I’m going to bring you to the office until I can find a safe place for you to stay, and I’ll need a formal statement.”
“Okay,” I say again. It seems to be the only thing I’m capable of speaking right now.
Jeff stands up and helps me up as well. “You good?”
“I am,” I lie because I’m not good at all. I’m far from good. My legs are weak and my stomach lurches as I pull out of Jeff’s grasp just in time to vomit.
“Jesus,” I hear him say behind me.
“She’s pregnant,” Agent Hoffman says quietly. “I forgot about that. And she’s recently had a head injury.”
