playtime to three hours a day, right?”
“Less than that. I’m not sure I want him to grow up to be a thrill junkie like you.”
Corin hesitated. “Maybe someday soon I’ll be able to play the game with him.”
Robin didn’t answer.
“Sorry, had to say it.”
A short sigh floated through the phone in concert with his own.
Should he ask the follow-up question? He knew the answer, so why did he always ask? “Will you and Shasta and the kid be coming to my house for dinner next weekend?”
“I think you know the answer to that one.”
“Yeah. What did he say this time?”
“That he’s busy.”
“You’d think he’d have a better excuse by now.” Corin kneaded the steering wheel. “Does he miss Mom and Dad? The anniversary of their passing was six weeks ago.”
“I know.” Robin coughed. “He misses them a great deal.”
“But that same emotion isn’t extended my direction.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Hang on a second.”
Corin heard a door shut through the phone, and when Robin spoke again it was in a whisper. “He still cares about you. And I’ll never stop talking to God about it.”
“Right.”
“Deep down he does. I see it in his eyes when your name comes up.”
“All I saw in his eyes during my last impromptu visit was apathy. A healthy dose of it. It’s not that he hates me; it’s that he’s devoid of any type of emotion toward me.”
“He cares.”
“If I died tomorrow, he wouldn’t cheer, he wouldn’t break down. He wouldn’t do anything.”
Five seconds passed.
“Do you know what he had restored to pristine condition and keeps out in the garage?”
“No idea.”
“His Honda CRF 230.”
A memory flooded Corin’s mind as he considered the implications of Shasta keeping the Honda. His brother had almost killed himself on that bike on that August morning in 1994.
“You always have to push me a little farther than I want to go, don’t you?” Shasta tried to pretend he was frustrated, but Corin knew underneath his helmet his brother was laughing.
They sat on their dirt bikes, revving their engines, staring at an eastern Colorado gorge with a seventy-foot drop to a thundering river.
“Not a little, a lot farther.” Corin shifted into first gear, revved his engine, and let out the clutch. The wheel of his Honda CR 500 popped into the air and the bike screamed forward, the rush of acceleration making him laugh. The jump wasn’t long, but being short wasn’t an option. He let the whine of first gear get to ear piercing, then shifted into second, then third. He needed to be going at least forty-five when he hit the ramp, fifty would be better.
The wind whipped against his chest and he leaned forward in the seat.
Thirty feet to the ramp. Twenty. Five more feet. Launch!
The ground vanished and he flew thirty feet into the sky.
Corin’s landing was perfect and he skidded to a stop forty yards on the other side of the gorge.
He threw his bike into first gear and raced back up to the edge of the cliff and shouted across the gorge. “You coming, little brother?” Corin shouted.
Shasta revved his engine in response. Corin imagined he could see Shasta rolling his eyes under his helmet.
“Just don’t be slow, little bro.”
Shasta hit the ramp dead center but Corin’s heart clenched. The bike didn’t have enough speed.
C’mon! Be enough.
Time slowed as Shasta arced across the ravine, body and bike in perfect form.
Be enough.
An instant later the back tire of Shasta’s Honda smacked down high on the ramp sending a mini dirt shower into the air. Shasta threw his hands up in victory.
He yanked off his helmet, long dark brown hair swirling in the wind, and grinned at Corin after skidding to a halt twenty yards away. “Yeah, baby!”
“I don’t need a heart attack, bro. What were you thinking?”
“What are you talking about?”
Corin jogged up the ramp to see where Shasta’s tire had landed. He coughed out a frightened laugh when
“Less than that. I’m not sure I want him to grow up to be a thrill junkie like you.”
Corin hesitated. “Maybe someday soon I’ll be able to play the game with him.”
Robin didn’t answer.
“Sorry, had to say it.”
A short sigh floated through the phone in concert with his own.
Should he ask the follow-up question? He knew the answer, so why did he always ask? “Will you and Shasta and the kid be coming to my house for dinner next weekend?”
“I think you know the answer to that one.”
“Yeah. What did he say this time?”
“That he’s busy.”
“You’d think he’d have a better excuse by now.” Corin kneaded the steering wheel. “Does he miss Mom and Dad? The anniversary of their passing was six weeks ago.”
“I know.” Robin coughed. “He misses them a great deal.”
“But that same emotion isn’t extended my direction.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Hang on a second.”
Corin heard a door shut through the phone, and when Robin spoke again it was in a whisper. “He still cares about you. And I’ll never stop talking to God about it.”
“Right.”
“Deep down he does. I see it in his eyes when your name comes up.”
“All I saw in his eyes during my last impromptu visit was apathy. A healthy dose of it. It’s not that he hates me; it’s that he’s devoid of any type of emotion toward me.”
“He cares.”
“If I died tomorrow, he wouldn’t cheer, he wouldn’t break down. He wouldn’t do anything.”
Five seconds passed.
“Do you know what he had restored to pristine condition and keeps out in the garage?”
“No idea.”
“His Honda CRF 230.”
A memory flooded Corin’s mind as he considered the implications of Shasta keeping the Honda. His brother had almost killed himself on that bike on that August morning in 1994.
“You always have to push me a little farther than I want to go, don’t you?” Shasta tried to pretend he was frustrated, but Corin knew underneath his helmet his brother was laughing.
They sat on their dirt bikes, revving their engines, staring at an eastern Colorado gorge with a seventy-foot drop to a thundering river.
“Not a little, a lot farther.” Corin shifted into first gear, revved his engine, and let out the clutch. The wheel of his Honda CR 500 popped into the air and the bike screamed forward, the rush of acceleration making him laugh. The jump wasn’t long, but being short wasn’t an option. He let the whine of first gear get to ear piercing, then shifted into second, then third. He needed to be going at least forty-five when he hit the ramp, fifty would be better.
The wind whipped against his chest and he leaned forward in the seat.
Thirty feet to the ramp. Twenty. Five more feet. Launch!
The ground vanished and he flew thirty feet into the sky.
Corin’s landing was perfect and he skidded to a stop forty yards on the other side of the gorge.
He threw his bike into first gear and raced back up to the edge of the cliff and shouted across the gorge. “You coming, little brother?” Corin shouted.
Shasta revved his engine in response. Corin imagined he could see Shasta rolling his eyes under his helmet.
“Just don’t be slow, little bro.”
Shasta hit the ramp dead center but Corin’s heart clenched. The bike didn’t have enough speed.
C’mon! Be enough.
Time slowed as Shasta arced across the ravine, body and bike in perfect form.
Be enough.
An instant later the back tire of Shasta’s Honda smacked down high on the ramp sending a mini dirt shower into the air. Shasta threw his hands up in victory.
He yanked off his helmet, long dark brown hair swirling in the wind, and grinned at Corin after skidding to a halt twenty yards away. “Yeah, baby!”
“I don’t need a heart attack, bro. What were you thinking?”
“What are you talking about?”
Corin jogged up the ramp to see where Shasta’s tire had landed. He coughed out a frightened laugh when
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