Dawn Atkins - His Brother's Keeper

“I do. Whatever puts groceries on the table. No car?”

“Saving up for one.”

She was broke? Living in a rinky-dink place? That surprised him, considering how well she dressed. Her family had money.

“So where to?”

She gave him an address not far from the school. After that, a heavy silence descended, broken only by his music and the rhythmic thump of the wipers. Stupid, with such a long drive ahead of them, so he said, “I got your note,” in a neutral voice.

She didn’t respond. After a few seconds, he glanced at her and was startled to see tears running down her cheeks. He jerked his gaze forward, not wanting to embarrass her.

When she spoke, her voice quavered. “I would never have… If I’d known… I really regret that I—” She stopped and he could tell she didn’t want him to know she was crying. She’d hidden her tears the day she’d crashed the car, too.

“Forget it. It’s over,” he said, wanting to be done with it.

“But your mom… She was so upset.”

“She survived.” He paused. “Giorgio’s good with her.”

“Really?” She sounded so relieved he felt a pang of sympathy. She blew out a breath and brushed at her face. “Wow. That rain’s really falling.” She was pretending it was rain that streaked her cheeks.

“It is.” He felt another pinch of emotion.

“I always loved when it rained here,” she said softly.

“Me, too.”

“Yeah?” She shifted in her seat to look at him.

“Sure. Especially the summer storms.”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s so magical with the sky brown and yellow and ominous, lightning zipping everywhere, rain in sheets, palm trees rioting and that great wet-desert smell.”

“Yeah. All that.”

She faced forward again. “It’s unusual in March. I’m glad for the change. March is…hard.” He heard her swallow. Did she associate spring with Robert’s death the way he did?

He steeled himself against feeling sorry for her. If she’d been so damned devastated, why hadn’t she written Robert in juvie? Or given him a number to call? She was just trying to make herself feel better about what she’d done.

“At the funeral, you were so angry at me, I was afraid to go to the graveside,” she said quietly. “That’s why I went last night. To say goodbye.”

Why the hell wouldn’t she shut up about this? He remembered her at the funeral—small and pale and scared.

She looked young now, and vulnerable, sitting low in the seat, her wet hair clinging to her face, plastered to her skull. Her candy smell filled his cab as it had her car the day he’d fixed it for her. He remembered how he’d felt that day, that tug inside that told him, Keep an eye on this one.

She raised her arm to push away her hair and he saw she had on a candy bracelet. Really? After all these years? That explained the aroma.

He saw they’d reached her building, so he parked, got out and started unloading her stuff, planning to help her carry it up.

She met him at the back of the car, looking troubled. “Do you think it helped your mother to yell at me? Was it cathartic? I know this has been terrible for her. They say it’s the worst thing, to lose a child.”

“She’s okay. Let’s get this stuff inside.” He lifted out a box that held a flat-packed table.

“What she said about me abandoning Robert…” Her teeth were chattering, but not from the rain, which was warm. “She was right. I did that. I tried to write, but the words were all wrong. I was ashamed and afraid he hated me because I got off. I know I was a coward.”

“Just let it go, would you?” He had an armload of stuff now.

But she kept going. “I should have made my mom take me to see him, but she was so furious. We spent all my college money on legal fees. She didn’t speak to me for months. I was afraid of her, I guess.”

“What floor are you on?” He tried to pass her, but she blocked him. She looked stricken, as if she had no choice but to spill her guts.

“I made Robert take the ride that night to the party. Damien was the only one with a car. Robert said Damien was bad news, but I didn’t care. I wanted to get to that stupid party.”

“You don’t need to tell me this.”

“Damien went into the Circle K to buy cigarettes. Robert and I didn’t pay attention. We were making out in the backseat. Then all of a sudden, Damien was back, yelling that he’d robbed the store. He drove off like a maniac.”

He couldn’t stand this, listening to her draw the scene, make him picture it again.

“We tried to get him to pull over and let us out, but he wouldn’t. Then that cop, the one who hated Robert, stopped us. And that went all wrong, too.”

“For the love of God, stop!” he yelled. “I don’t care how it happened. I don’t want to think about it. My brother is dead. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her face crumpling up, crying straight-out now. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. You shouldn’t. I can’t forgive myself.”

She stood in the rain, sobbing. It was pitiful.

He couldn’t stand to see her suffer. It wouldn’t bring Robert back. “You were fourteen. You were stupid and so was he.”

She met his eyes. “No matter what you think, I did love Robert. And I miss him. I still miss him.”

“I believe you, okay. It’s a long time ago now. Yes, we blamed you, but, hell, you had your own problems, I guess.” He thought he just wanted to calm her so they could get the hell out of the downpour, but he realized abruptly he meant it. He didn’t hate her anymore. Or blame her.

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