Thinking about her lights me up inside, and for the rest of the flight, I allow myself the luxury and the pleasure.
It’s raining when I arrive at Aidan’s cabin. There’s a spare key hidden under a window ledge, and I let myself in.
The small living room is empty. In fact the whole place is bare and clean, very spartan. There’s a fire in the grate, telling me Aidan has been here. That’s not the only sign. On an end table in front of the worn leather couch, there are three unopened bottles of scotch.
In his short life, Aidan has tried almost every harmful vice. Alcohol addiction, gambling, and even drugs…every path that presented itself as a means to forget the one thing for which he’s always blamed himself, he’s tried.
He discovered from experience that those things don’t work, and that suppressed memories always return.
Now he’s returned to considering the forgetfulness he can find in a bottle.
I consider dumping the contents of the bottles in the sink, but I stop myself. If he has been here for days and isn’t passed out drunk by now, it’s likely he has a handle on the situation and whatever he’s dealing with.
The door opens, and my brother walks in, soaking wet. He’s not surprised to see me. The car outside would have told him I was in here.
He shrugs off his dripping jacket. “Hey man.”
Everyone always forgets how young he is, but I never do. I try not to hover, not to worry or control, but he is still my little brother, the only thing left from an idyllic past only the two of us can remember.
I study him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re running around in the rain now?”
“I needed some time.” He smiles and joins me at the fireplace, warming his hands over the grate. “I thought you were in San Francisco.”
“I was, but…here I am.” I eye his wet clothes. “You should change out of those clothes before you catch your death of cold.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes harden and I can see the memories of that cold morning in their depths. Wilson’s voice, grave and pained. “It’s your father. He’s dead.” Aidan, a teenager, screaming “I killed him!” over and over, crying until he had to be sedated.
“How’s that for poetic justice?” he says now.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I sound harsher than I intended.
Aidan doesn’t reply.
I take a deep breath, hating my role of the scolding big brother. “You skipped out on work, didn’t tell anybody where you were, switched off your phone…is there something you want to tell me, Aidan?”
A shadow of hurt crosses his features. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Aidan—”
“Landon, I’m fine. I needed some time off to clear my head.”
My eyes go to the bottles on the table. “So it’s the pressure from the play?”
“Something like that.”
There’s more, but he’s not ready to share. “Aidan.” My voice is firm. “You’ve taken on a lot of responsibilities for someone your age. I know you’re committed to the production, but if you want to pull out and start seeing a professional again, I’d understand.”
He doesn’t like what I’m saying. A stubborn frown deepens on his face. “You’ve always had a lot of responsibilities,” he retorts. “Even when you were much younger than I am now.”
I sigh. “That’s different. I had to—”
“Take care of me? Be the responsible one?”
“Maybe. Yes.”
He scoffs. “Maybe now it’s time for me to be responsible for myself.”
I study him for a moment then smile. “So, what are you doing hiding so far out here?”