I pull out the well-worn photo album and thumb through the pages.
Ethan’s smiling face when he was a boy stares out at me. He’s with his younger brother, both of them on bikes, while a woman crouches next to them, a proud motherly smile on her face.
The next photo shows the whole family. The two boys with Mom and Dad. Dad holds the younger brother in his arms, tiny hands clasped around his solid neck.
A pang of envy runs through me as I look through the family photo album. I never had a family like this. There are no photos of me as a child and certainly no loving parents helping me ride a bike or playing with me at the park.
There’s a small pang of envy, but mostly I find the photos comforting.
Ethan’s a good man. I’m glad he had a happy childhood. The photos give me hope. Maybe someday I can have a family like his.
I flick through the pages as the boys get older, the younger brother with dark hair and a constant scowl on his face that contrasts with Ethan’s good-natured smile.
There’s something about the younger brother that I find intriguing. As he gets older, he seems more remote, and I wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes.
The photos get less frequent as the boys get older. There’re some holiday snaps at a beach when they’re teenagers and neither seem happy to be photographed.
By this time, the brother is looking positively hot, especially in an Iron Maiden t-shirt with tight black jeans and scruffy hair. I stare into his dark eyes, wondering what’s going on in his head, wondering what kind of a man he grew into, this troubled-looking kid.
On the next page, he’s straddling a small motorbike. He must be barely eighteen and just learning to ride. He’s smiling in this one, like the bike is the thing that lights him up.
A few pages later and the photos stop abruptly, the album half-finished.
Ethan told me what happened to his parents—the accident that took both their lives.
The boys were in their early twenties by then, but it’s still a tragedy to lose both parents. From what Ethan’s told me, I know he set off travelling while his brother stayed behind on the Sunset Coast.
The rest of the pages in the album are empty, and I slide it back in its place on the shelf, wondering if I’ll ever know what happened to Ethan’s dark-eyed brother. I’ve thought about asking Ethan, but I’ve never worked up the courage.
The next album is of Ethan and his travels through North America and across the border into South America. I flick through these quickly, not so interested in the places he’s been.
It’s when Ethan meets Craig that I slow down again.
They’re both so young and carefree here, lounging about on white sandy beaches, checking out the markets of Buenos Aries, and hiking in the Andes. The next pages are of them settling in Bourbon where Craig grew up. Then there’re their holidays that get more elaborate every year.
Florida, Alaska, and the European tour.
I like looking at Ethan and Craig together. Their travels over the last ten years take up two more albums. They’re always happy, with their arms around each other or with groups of other travelers.
As they get older, the places they stay get nicer. Cheap hostels are replaced with hotels and then five-star experiences. But the love they have always shines through in the photos.
I wonder if I’ll ever meet anyone who looks at me like that.
Probably not.
This kind of family, this kind of love, isn’t for someone like me. My own mother didn’t even want me, so why would someone else?
It’s while I’m thumbing through the final album that there’s a knock at the door.
I snap the album closed and slide it back to its place before going to the door.
It’s probably a delivery. Ethan’s always ordering stuff online, and Fitzy must have let them up the elevator.
But when I open the door, it’s not a delivery driver. It’s a bearded man in biking leathers wearing an Underground Crows Motorcycle Club jacket.
The man looks surprised to see me but not as surprised as I am to see him. I don’t recognize the patch on his jacket, but anyone in an MC has got to be bad ass.
I start to shut the door, but then I properly look at his face.