“I will.” After Drew had his heart attack, I’d had all kinds of tests done, but there was no sign of the hypertrophic cardiomyopathy that had caused my brother’s sudden death. I gave her a hug and she wrapped her arms around my waist. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”
“I miss him so much.” Her voice was muffled against my chest.
My throat tightened. “Me too.”
“Oh, Wes, it’s so good to have you back home.”
I hugged her, thinking there was at least one person in town who might disagree.
I ran along the beach, waving at neighbors, smiling at dogs and kids, getting my feet wet where the lake encroached high upon the bank. After two miles, I paused to take stock of my body, making sure my heart rate wasn’t too high, my chest felt loose and pain-free, and breathing wasn’t too difficult. I’d brushed off my mother’s concerns, but the truth was that hypertrophic cardiomyopathy was usually inherited, and our father had high blood pressure. Like many physicians, I’d tended to ignore my own health concerns over the years in favor of helping others, so a little extra vigilance when it came to monitoring my own health was warranted.
But I felt good, and my pulse was in the normal range. Rather than turn around and head back, however, I decided to take advantage of the empty strip of beach I was on and stretch a little. Looking out over the lake I’d grown up on, I caught the top of my right foot in my right hand and felt the pull in my quadriceps. After counting to twenty, I repeated it on the other side and then switched positions to stretch out my hamstrings.
Childhood memories skimmed across my mind like the rocks Drew and I used to skip across the calm surface of the lake. I remembered the day our dad had taught us to skip them, and how we’d both struggled at first. I’d caught on before Drew, but after seeing the crestfallen expression on his face after I’d successfully skipped three stones five times, I’d stopped doing it and instead helped him find flatter, smoother stones. Showed him exactly how I angled the rock—he kept trying to skip it completely flat, but that didn’t give him enough friction—and flicked my wrist for just the right amount of spin. Once he got the hang of it, we had endless stone skipping contests every summer.
There were other competitions too—sand castles and rock throwing, and later, kayak races and waterskiing tricks. Drew loved showing off daring feats on the water, especially if there were girls on the boat. I wasn’t bad, but I was too scared to make an ass of myself in front of girls to try anything really crazy.
Sometimes, after a day out on the water with friends, we’d have bonfires on the beach at night, sneaking beers and cigarettes and first kisses. I could still hear the crackling of the fire and the pounding of my heart as I leaned toward Cece Bowman, fueled by curiosity, two cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and a raging hard-on. She’d tasted like beer and bubble gum. Later we’d gone to my room—our parents must have been out—and made out on my bed, where I’d fumbled my way through removing her bathing suit top and feeling her up in clumsy disbelief. She’d put her hand in my shorts and I’d immediately come all over her fingers.
Shaking my head, I started jogging again, hoping that experience wasn’t as terrible for her as I imagined it. Drew, who’d already had sex five times with two different girls by the summer we were seventeen, couldn’t believe I hadn’t even tried to go all the way. “How could I?” I’d asked him. “It was over too fast!”
“Yeah, you have to think about other things, or else that’s what happens.” We were in his room, me on the floor and Drew on the bed tossing a baseball in the air and catching it again right above his face.
“What kind of other things?”
“Whatever will distract you. Hockey or baseball stats usually work for me. Or I say the alphabet backward. Shit like that.”
It wasn’t until college that I had the opportunity (and the nerve) to try again, and I’m pretty sure I recited at least the Preamble to the Constitution before losing complete control.
I liked to think I’d come a long way since then.
I’d never had the kind of feelings for someone Drew and Hannah had shared, but I’d at least learned a thing or two about sex during the short-lived fuck flings I’d had in the last ten years. Those kinds of relationships suited me best—physical gratification with little to no talking, especially about feelings.
“Don’t you want to get married? Have a family?” my mother would ask me any time I came home.
I’d shrug. “Maybe. If I find the right person.”
“Leave him alone, Mom.” Drew would always defend me. “It’s his life, and he’s doing important work.”
“Having a family is important too,” she’d insist. “And I know some nice girls who’d just love to meet a handsome doctor.”
Drew and I would exchange an eye roll and then he’d change the subject. But I wouldn’t have him around to defend me anymore. Or change the subject. Or commiserate about our mother’s meddling.
Fuck. I miss you, Drew. I should have come home more often. I should know your daughter better. I should have reached out to Hannah sooner.
But I knew why I hadn’t, and it didn’t make me feel any better.
When I reached the stretch of sand in front of my parents’ house, I slowed to a jog, then a walk, pacing the length of their beach as my heart rate slowed. Then I yanked off my shirt, ditched my shoes and socks, and waded into the lake. When I got deep enough, I dove beneath the surface of the water and stayed under for a long, long time.
Three
HANNAH
On Friday afternoon, while I was getting ready to leave work, I got a text from a strange number. My heart began to pound as soon as I read the first four words.
Hey Hannah, it’s Wes.
Fuck. I’d been on edge the last day and a half, expecting him to turn up on my doorstep unannounced. My stomach started to churn as I read on.