tiny landing—one for each of the three bedrooms and one for the bathroom. I open my bedroom door and drop my suitcase by my bed. As I turn around, I look into my mother's bedroom. The bed is unmade, and there are clothes on the floor. It's totally unlike her. The only thing she's got some sort of handle on is her home. It's impeccable. She's a neat freak.
I go into her bedroom, pick up her clothes from the floor, and make her bed.
That's more like it.
I turn around and brace myself as I step into my brother's room. He'd moved back in with her a few weeks after I started law school. He thought she shouldn't be left alone. We argued about it because technically she wouldn't really have been alone, with her in-laws next door. I thought it was time she learned to be by herself. David wouldn't hear of it, he is—he was—all about doing the right thing.
I sit down on David's bed and look around at the mess. Hugging his pillow in my arms, I start to rock back and forth fighting the tears that are threatening to come pouring out. His leather jacket hangs on the back of a chair, and his helmet rests on the floor next to his mud-covered riding boots. One leg of his pants, caked with mud, is spilling out of a hamper.
The mud is fresh, not totally dried out, like he's just come back from a ride and left to go to the Shamrock Bar and Grill. Yes, that's it—he went out for a drink, and he'll be back any minute. I'll hear his steps on the creaking stairs… and then I do.
I look out the door, and I'm ready to call my brother's name when I realize it's not David. The man I see is the same height, the same build, and he's got the same gait as he climbs the stairs. It's not David; it's my other childhood idol, Brian. From the torn look on his face, I now know for sure.
It's true. David's really dead.
Oh, God, no! David's dead.
Brian comes and pries my brother's pillow out of my arms. He picks me up from David's bed and carries me into my room. He sits on my bed and cradles me on his lap.
"Come on, Lisa, you need to let it out."
As always, when he asks me sweetly, I obey. So I wrap my arms around him, hide my face in his neck, and the dam opens. I cry hard, and the harder I cry, the tighter he holds me, as if I needed grounding, which I probably do. It takes a while before I realize that he's crying, too.
I'm stunned; my invincible hero can shed tears. Never have I seen Brian cry, and I've known him all my life. He was five when Tony married his mother.
Legally, he's not my cousin because Tony never adopted him. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because Brian's biological father, the VP of the Iron Tornadoes MC never let go of his eldest son. Every so often during the school year and one month every summer he would come and take Brian. I’ve always wondered how his old lady felt about that.
I think the adoption never happened because Tony must have felt he didn't need a legal document to know that, for all intents and purposes, he was the only real father Brian ever had.
I cradle Brian's face in my hands and wipe his tears away with my thumbs. His brown curls are all crushed, probably from the helmet he wore on his ride here; his incredible green eyes are red from the tears, and his chin is covered with two days' stubble. He looks like a mess, but in my eyes he's still the most handsome mess there is. He turns his head, kisses the palm of my hand, and then whispers, "Oh, Lisa, I still can't believe he's gone."
"I know. I want to believe that he's going to come up the stairs and barge into my room any second. When I heard you, for a moment I thought it was him," I say with a ragged breath, and then I smile as I whisper, "Boy, would he kick your ass if he found us like this."
"No," Brian says with a sad smile. "I think he'd be okay with this."
The leather of his weathered jacket is wet from my tears, and after wiping it off with the sleeve of my restaurant-uniform white shirt, I rest my head on his shoulder.
"What do
I go into her bedroom, pick up her clothes from the floor, and make her bed.
That's more like it.
I turn around and brace myself as I step into my brother's room. He'd moved back in with her a few weeks after I started law school. He thought she shouldn't be left alone. We argued about it because technically she wouldn't really have been alone, with her in-laws next door. I thought it was time she learned to be by herself. David wouldn't hear of it, he is—he was—all about doing the right thing.
I sit down on David's bed and look around at the mess. Hugging his pillow in my arms, I start to rock back and forth fighting the tears that are threatening to come pouring out. His leather jacket hangs on the back of a chair, and his helmet rests on the floor next to his mud-covered riding boots. One leg of his pants, caked with mud, is spilling out of a hamper.
The mud is fresh, not totally dried out, like he's just come back from a ride and left to go to the Shamrock Bar and Grill. Yes, that's it—he went out for a drink, and he'll be back any minute. I'll hear his steps on the creaking stairs… and then I do.
I look out the door, and I'm ready to call my brother's name when I realize it's not David. The man I see is the same height, the same build, and he's got the same gait as he climbs the stairs. It's not David; it's my other childhood idol, Brian. From the torn look on his face, I now know for sure.
It's true. David's really dead.
Oh, God, no! David's dead.
Brian comes and pries my brother's pillow out of my arms. He picks me up from David's bed and carries me into my room. He sits on my bed and cradles me on his lap.
"Come on, Lisa, you need to let it out."
As always, when he asks me sweetly, I obey. So I wrap my arms around him, hide my face in his neck, and the dam opens. I cry hard, and the harder I cry, the tighter he holds me, as if I needed grounding, which I probably do. It takes a while before I realize that he's crying, too.
I'm stunned; my invincible hero can shed tears. Never have I seen Brian cry, and I've known him all my life. He was five when Tony married his mother.
Legally, he's not my cousin because Tony never adopted him. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because Brian's biological father, the VP of the Iron Tornadoes MC never let go of his eldest son. Every so often during the school year and one month every summer he would come and take Brian. I’ve always wondered how his old lady felt about that.
I think the adoption never happened because Tony must have felt he didn't need a legal document to know that, for all intents and purposes, he was the only real father Brian ever had.
I cradle Brian's face in my hands and wipe his tears away with my thumbs. His brown curls are all crushed, probably from the helmet he wore on his ride here; his incredible green eyes are red from the tears, and his chin is covered with two days' stubble. He looks like a mess, but in my eyes he's still the most handsome mess there is. He turns his head, kisses the palm of my hand, and then whispers, "Oh, Lisa, I still can't believe he's gone."
"I know. I want to believe that he's going to come up the stairs and barge into my room any second. When I heard you, for a moment I thought it was him," I say with a ragged breath, and then I smile as I whisper, "Boy, would he kick your ass if he found us like this."
"No," Brian says with a sad smile. "I think he'd be okay with this."
The leather of his weathered jacket is wet from my tears, and after wiping it off with the sleeve of my restaurant-uniform white shirt, I rest my head on his shoulder.
"What do
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