I feel more and more relaxed by the second.
“This is a lot for him to take in at once. He’s got a long road ahead of him. The next few days will be the hardest.” The doctor’s voice seems to be drifting further and further away. “He’s probably going to be in and out for a while.”
* * *
I splash down into a breaking wave, holding a football under my arm.
“Show off,” Brandon calls from the shore.
I stand up and make my way through the surf, tossing the ball back to him. He catches it and starts running toward me. I plant my feet, set to tackle him, and when he gets within two feet of me, I lunge toward him and take him down hard.
“Take it easy,” he says, shoving my shoulder into the wet sand. “You’re not supposed to tackle your QB.”
I laugh and sit up. “I really miss protecting your sorry ass on the field. Four years of high school football wasn’t enough.”
He leans back on his hands and stares out at the horizon. “No, it sure wasn’t. I miss playing with you too. We had some good times back then, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we did.”
The beach is empty and the sun is starting to sink in the afternoon sky. I drop my head back and soak in the day’s last rays of heat. “Things are going to be a lot different after we all graduate next year, huh?”
He nods his head, but keeps his eyes on the horizon. “You have to take care of my sister, okay?”
“You know I will.”
“It’s different now. She needs you. And you need her.”
I look at him, but he stares out at the ocean.
“Brandon—”
“Just remember that you can always talk to me. I’ll always be here for you, brother.”
Chapter 5
Liv
I sit at the kitchen table across from my mother, watching her sip her coffee and read the newspaper in her nightgown. Her messy hair is pulled up, her face is makeup free, and she’s wearing reading glasses in lieu of contacts. I haven’t seen my mother like this in years, but I find it incredibly comforting. It reminds me of Saturday mornings growing up, especially with the hum of the lawn mower outside.
The only thing that’s missing is Brandon.
When I saw the cemetery yesterday, it caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready to go see him yet. But today, I’m ready. I think.
“I’m going to go see Brandon today,” I say tentatively to my mom, who sits up over her plate of scrambled eggs and gives me a small smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want some company?”
“No. I want to go alone, if that’s okay.” I sip my coffee, hoping she doesn’t mind.
“Yeah, honey, that’s okay.” She lowers her eyes to her newspaper again. “I think it’s a good idea.”
I finish my oatmeal, take my bowl to the sink, and head upstairs to get dressed. I take a quick shower and pick out my outfit—a sundress and sandals for what will certainly be a warm day. I curl loose waves into my hair, which the humidity will likely knock out, and let them fall down my back anyway. I take a little extra time with my makeup, which I carefully inspect in the mirror.
He can’t see you.
I roll my eyes and grab my purse.
* * *
I walk through the cemetery, holding a bouquet of blue hydrangeas—Brandon’s favorite. Once, when he was little, he picked all the blue hydrangeas in our yard because he said blue was his favorite color. My mom got so upset because there was nothing left but stems. I smile, remembering his little voice.
I walk under the giant oak trees, noticing the way the sunlight illuminates the Spanish moss that hangs from their wide, weepy branches, casting shadows on the sprawling green lawn that’s covered in headstones. Some of them lay flat and others stand tall. In between the graves, the manicured grass is sprinkled with flowering crepe myrtles and magnolia trees that are in full bloom. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of my childhood. Just like the salty marsh, the delicious lemony scent of the magnolia blossoms warms my heart. The sunshine on my shoulders is another welcome comfort.
It’s been years since the last time I made this walk, but I follow the familiar path to Brandon’s grave. When I see his headstone, my heart falters, pushing aside the nostalgic thoughts of my childhood. I take a deep breath as I get closer and try to swallow down the guilt that’s suddenly choking me.
I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.
I drop my bag on the cement bench by his grave and kneel down in front of his marble headstone, tracing my finger over the words engraved in it.
In Loving Memory
Brandon Thomas Dalton
March 28, 1991 – August 15, 2012
If tears could build a stairway, and memories
a lane, we’d walk right up to heaven and
bring you home again.
“I’m so sorry, Brandon. I’m so sorry,” I cry over and over, pressing my palm to the cool marble. I’m racked with guilt, not just because I haven’t visited his grave in so long, but because I’ve barely even spoken to him the last few years.
I let the tears flow out of me until the heaviness in my heart begins to lighten. I’ve cried more in the last two weeks than I have in the last two years, but each time I have a breakdown like this, I feel a little bit better.
With a final ragged breath, I place the flowers on top of his headstone and turn toward the bench to get a tissue from my bag, but I’m startled when I look up and see a man standing behind me.
I blink up at the tall stranger, who’s staring at me with golden brown eyes. His wavy brown hair is falling slightly over his forehead and his square jaw is clenched tight. His cupid’s bow lips are pushed into a small pout and his broad chest and shoulders are bouncing up and down under his white T-shirt. I’m intensely aware that I’m breathing just as hard. My heart feels like it’s in my throat, racing like a wild stallion. I watch his full lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. After a long, silent second, he drops his head, turns around, and begins to walk away. And I’m flooded by an emotion I haven’t felt before—a mix of elation and grief. It washes over me like a tsunami, bringing a fresh wave of tears with it.
“Gabe,” I call, and he pauses. “Please...don’t go.”
His shoulders rise and fall a few times, and then he turns around and slowly walks toward me again. My thoughts stammer around my head as I take him in. My Gabriel, but bigger. Much bigger. The muscles in his arms and shoulders are thick and well defined. And his face...it’s the face I know, but more sculpted, more masculine. Beautiful.
He stands in front of me and all I can do is stare up at him in disbelief. I forgot how tall six-four is. He towers over me. “Gabe,” I say his name again, still shocked.
“Liv,” he says my name curiously, but it’s like a thousand symphonies playing in my head. “What are you doing here?” His voice is deeper than I remember, and he has a strong southern drawl. Was it always that strong?
“Um”—I shake my head and glance at Brandon’s headstone—“I’m visiting my brother. I...needed to see him.”
“I mean, what are you doing in St. Simons?” He looks confused.