Three Brothers

by Nicole Williams

  Once I was out of the foyer, I stopped to catch my breath and collect my wits. I’d done it. I’d walked away from Conn when he was crooking his finger, inviting me closer. It hadn’t been a solid defeat—as my entire circulatory system could attest—but it had been as close to a success as I’d ever gotten with Conn.

  I waited in the hallway until my heartbeat had returned to normal and my breathing had calmed, then I continued into the dining room. John was sitting at the head of the table, his body swallowed by the high-back chair he used to seem too large for. A few piles of pureed slop dotted his plate, and a few other plates were set around him at the table. They were all empty.

  His nurse sat in a chair beside him, lifting a spoon to his lips with some of the pea-soup green slop on it. She had to feed him. My chest ached as I watched the strongest man I’d ever met be spoon-fed while it seemed to take every ounce of his strength to keep from sliding out of his chair.

  “Good morning,” I said as I approached the table with hesitant steps. If it was so hard for me to be in the same room with John, I could imagine how difficult it must be for his sons. It wasn’t enough to excuse them from it, but it was an explanation. “Am I too late?”

  John’s head turned slowly in my direction. What I guessed was a smile pulled at his mouth as he shook his head. It sounded like he said, “Never,” but I couldn’t be sure. His voice was so quiet and broken it was like trying to interpret a toddler’s first words. When he patted the table, I understood what that meant.

  “Sorry, I had a late night and got . . . sidetracked on my way here this morning.” Yeah, sidetracked by a twisted son of a bitch wanting to play his twisted games.

  John shook his head and tried to vocalize something, but it wouldn’t come to fruition. I saw the frustration settle into his face, and I felt my own build as I watched him struggle to form a word. Finally he gave up and lifted his shaking hand. His fingers moved into a familiar symbol.

  “Okay?” I interpreted.

  John nodded, the folds of frustration falling from his forehead.

  I smiled when I realized the man who’d put punctuality high on the list was now flashing me an okay symbol for showing up half an hour late to breakfast. After stopping behind one of the chairs on John’s right, I slid it out and took a seat.

  The house was eerily quiet. I heard nothing but Mrs. Baker bustling around inside the kitchen and the breeze rustling the leaves of the Japanese maple just outside the open window across from me. I was used to that room being filled with noise: knives and forks scraping against plates, coffee cups set on saucers, and most especially, conversation. Whether it had been Chase and John arguing about who would go to the Super Bowl that year or Chance going on and on with the ranch report or Conn throwing in his two snarky cents, noise had always been in more abundance than the food at that table.

  That wasn’t the case anymore.

  Since John was replacing words with symbols, it didn’t look like noise would be returning any time soon. I could carry on a conversation well enough, but I wasn’t sure how long I could go on with a one-sided conversation.

  “Would you like some coffee, Scout?” the nurse asked, lifting the familiar silver coffee pot.

  “Thank you.” I held my cup across the table, and she filled it for me.

  Two days ago, she’d been quite a spunky thing, but today she was quiet, and the whites of her eyes bloodshot. That meant she’d been up a good portion of the night or she’d been crying. Neither was a good sign. John’s time was running out, seeming to pick up speed with every day that went by.

  “Did everyone sleep well?” I asked when I couldn’t figure out what to say next. I couldn’t ask John how his day had been yesterday or what he’d worked on, as I had before. No more stories about crazy adventures on the ranch or who he’d had dinner with.

  John struggled to get a word out and struggled some more until he decided to make another okay symbol.

  I worked up a smile. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Some days are better than others for speech,” the nurse said, giving John’s hand a squeeze in the most natural kind of way—as though she’d spent a lifetime doing it. Knowing that someone who actually cared and was good at her job was seeing John to the end was a small comfort. “Today’s not such a good day.”

  I worked up another smile for her, wondering how many more smiles I’d have to force before breakfast was over. I wanted to be able to smile for real. I wanted something to be happy about, but nothing staggered around the dining room table was something to celebrate.

  When I continued to sit with my plate empty as I took sips of my coffee, John motioned at the table. A word that was close enough to eat to understand came from him. I was somewhere between ravenous and starving thanks to the day I’d had yesterday, but how could I just dive into the fried eggs, bacon, and thick-sliced sourdough bread when John’s breakfast consisted of slop I wouldn’t even scrape into the pig trough?

  Another eat come from him, this one quieter and less distinguishable. I wanted to—I’d eaten hundreds of meals at that table, probably thousands—but nothing seemed right. First, John was nothing like the man I remembered. Second, three other chairs were empty. Finally, it just didn’t feel the same. I felt like I was at a funeral—when I said good morning, what I meant was good-bye.

  “Well, if you’re not going to eat, I sure as hell am. Besides, it doesn’t look like Mrs. Baker made enough for the two of us anyway.”

  When I looked up to match the voice to the person, it took me a few seconds to believe that Chase Armstrong was in the dining room. Pulling out the chair at his normal spot. Sitting and scraping a pile of bacon onto his plate.

  If I looked surprised Chase was there, acting as if it was no big deal at all, John looked shocked. But in a good way. I watched him watch his son like he could watch Chase dig into breakfast for the rest of his life.

  “You got here,” I said, taking the plate of bacon when Chase handed it over.

  He looked at me as he scraped butter on his toast. There was a light in his eyes again that I’d thought had been blown out forever. “I told you I’d get here when I got here.”

  I dropped some bacon onto my plate while Faye filled Chase’s coffee cup. Just with the addition of Chase, I felt stronger.

  “One hell of a morning, isn’t it, Dad?” Chase lifted his coffee cup at John before taking a long drink.

  John couldn’t toast back, but he did nod, his eyes looking glassier than they had before as he stared at his oldest son. I wasn’t sure if John was getting all sentimental because one of his sons was sitting at the table with him again or if, like me, he was relieved to see Chase crawling his way out of the darkness, resembling part of the man everyone knew and loved.

  “Save some for everyone else, Chase,” I scolded half-heartedly as he stacked a half dozen fried eggs onto his plate. I knew no one else was coming to breakfast—Conn was probably still stewing in the closet and Chance was working his ass off in some field or barn—but it felt good to give someone a hard time around the table. Teasing had set the tone of most of our meals, and I wanted to see if that was a place we could get back to.

  Chase shrugged, stuffing a whole piece of bacon into his mouth. “Hey, I told you there wasn’t enough for both of us.” He crunched into the bacon. “I’m so hungry my stomach is about to stage a revolution if I don’t down some serious food.”

  “From the looks of that heart attack on a plate, you haven’t eaten in days.” When I stared at Chase’s plate, which could have fed a family of five, I realized that might have been true. He’d lost a lot of weight and hadn’t seemed able to recognize cravings such as hunger or thirst.

  After washing down another piece of bacon with some coffee, Chase nodded. “I feel like I haven’t. I’ve been too damn busy with that wolf . . .”

  My head whipped in his direction first, finding his whole face creased into a grimace, before both our heads slowly turned toward the head of the table where one a
nti-wolf ranch owner sat. From the look on John’s face, I couldn’t tell if he’d heard or understood what Chase had just said. I had planned to tell John about the wolf pup that morning—I couldn’t keep it a secret from him—but Chase casually dropping it into breakfast conversation wasn’t the way I’d planned to bring up the topic of nursing a wolf back to health on his pool table.

  Across the table, Chase mouthed a quick, “Sorry.”

  “So yeah . . .” How did I put this in a gentle way that wouldn’t shock the hell out of him? “John, I found a wolf pup out in Deep Creek Valley when Chance and I were out checking on the mustangs yesterday morning. His mother’s dead or gone and he was dying, so I brought him back with us, and I’m trying to fix him.” I swallowed, realizing that nothing about my explanation had been gentle. Maybe I should just nix the next part . . . “He’s in the house. In the library.”

  Chase gave me a familiar look—one that read abort or risk loss of limb or life.

  “On your pool table,” I finished in a rush.

  I was almost afraid to look at John—not because of what his answer would mean for me, but what it would mean for the wolf. This was John’s place. If he said he wanted that wolf off his land, what could I do? I could hardly pack him up and fly him back to Washington with me. Even if I could, my apartment barely fit me and my futon. I wasn’t about to call a zoo or sanctuary. Although they were better than letting an animal die, more often than not, the animals there lived short, unnatural lives. John’s word was rule on his ranch, and even though I’d never considered him an unfair man, I knew he wasn’t the type of person whose mind could be changed once it was made up.

  From the corner of my eyes, I saw John’s trembling hand lift. Slowly, it formed a misshapen okay sign. I felt my mouth drop open. Across from me, Chase stopped chewing mid-bite.

  John’s eyes found mine, a rare warmth in them, and he nodded.

  “I’ll be damned,” Chase said under his breath, dropping his toast onto his plate. “They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but here’s this one rolling out the welcome mat for a wolf.”

  “Really? It’s okay?” I couldn’t quite believe it, but unlike so many things that had changed around there, this was a welcome change.

  His hand stayed in the air a moment longer, the okay symbol holding for another beat before his hand went from trembling to quaking and fell onto the table. His face showed that he’d just exerted some serious effort.

  “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” I wanted to get up and hug him. I wanted to get up and dance. But I stayed in my seat and finally took a bite of breakfast. As usual, Mrs. Baker’s fried eggs were like silken divinity—yolks still a touch runny, fried in bacon fat. I’d gotten so used to egg whites scrambled with cooking spray that I’d forgotten what “good” tasted like.

  “Not that I’m not happy about this, but mind telling me who or what is responsible for getting the wolf-hater to agree to let one live under his roof?” Chase’s initial shock must have passed because he was busy stuffing another piece of toast with egg and bacon on top into his mouth.

  I saw that John wanted to answer. I also saw it was impossible. He looked at his nurse, a silent exchange passing between them before it ended with her nodding.

  “We had an early morning visitor,” she said, angling in her chair to face Chase and me. “He explained about the wolf and got John to understand how important it was to you. John’s mind was already made up before you even asked.” She winked at me. “And who says this guy doesn’t have a soft heart?”

  My gaze lifted to Chase. With as much care and attention as he’d shown for the wolf, it must have been him. “So what kind’s your favorite now? It seems I’ve got a case of beer to pick up as a thank you.”

  The skin between Chase’s brows folded. “What? If you think I’d be the first person to bring up the words ‘wolf’ and ‘pool table’ in the same sentence, then you’re living under the impression that I’ve got way bigger huevos than I’m in possession of.” Chase stabbed a fried egg and lifted it. “Literally speaking, of course.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If something lewd can be implied with you, Chase, it is. Nice try though. I know exactly which huevos you’re referring to.” I shouldn’t have smiled—it only encouraged him—but I couldn’t help it. He was teasing me, making light of life again and living it as if it was all one big punch line after another. Chase Armstrong was coming back. “So if it wasn’t you, who was it?”

  His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “That you have to ask that tells me just how clueless you are when it comes to real-life people and real-life situations.”

  “Why don’t you tell me who it was then, Mr. Reality? Since you’re the only down-to-earth one at the table.” I spread a layer of blackberry jam on my toast and took a bite. The bread had been made that morning, and the berries in the jam picked from the garden last summer and preserved with just the right amount of sugar. I could have moaned out loud.

  “If you try playing a game of twenty guesses, I’ll fling a pat of butter at your face.” Chase sliced a healthy chunk of butter from the stick, cocking a brow in the process.

  I looked at John for an answer, but he seemed to enjoy watching Chase and me squabble like a couple of teenagers again. When Chase loaded the pat of butter onto his spoon and tilted it back into launch position, the nurse sighed.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake . . . it was Chance. He swung by your dad’s room before he left this morning and told him everything. It’s fine. The wolf’s fine. For now. When it gets bigger and starts licking its chops when it sees my meaty white thighs in shorts, we might have to address some boundaries.”

  Chase barked out a laugh, spreading the butter onto his toast instead of flinging it at my face.

  “Everything’s good to go, so why don’t you two eat more and bicker less?” she said.

  “A-OK with the eat more part, but no promises on the bicker less.” Chase winked at me, shoving half a piece of toast into his mouth. “One of the few things Scout and I do really well is not see eye-to-eye.”

  “Except on the wolf. We seem to see eye-to-eye on that issue.” Following Chase’s lead, I stacked a few pieces of bacon onto a piece of toast, layered a couple of eggs on top, and completed the masterpiece with one more piece of toast. When I smashed it all together, yolk drizzled down the sides and dripped onto my plate.

  “The tie that binds.” Chase lifted his arms out at his sides. “Go figure that a scrawny, half-dead wolf pup would be the thing that brings this family together.”

  I finished chewing before replying. Some of us might have been okay with acting like cavemen at the dining room table, but I still had some standards. “Fixing something, saving a life, doesn’t seem like a bad way to bring people together. It’s better than someone needing fixing or someone losing a life . . .” My voice trailed off when I realized what I’d just said. The reason we’d all reconvened on Red Mountain was because of John’s impending death. He’d assembled his family at the pinnacle of his demise. How I’d been so insensitive could only be explained with utter stupidity or not enough coffee. “I’m sorry, John. Everyone. That was an insensitive thing to say, and not what I meant about us and this situation.” Of course that was what I meant about this situation, but I’d done enough damage, no need to do more. I didn’t want to be bound to the people in my life by death—I wanted life to tie us together.

  John muttered something I couldn’t understand then lifted his hand a few inches, hitching his thumb into the air. He was replying with a thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure if that was a thumbs-up that he agreed with what I’d just stupidly vocalized, or a thumbs-up that it was okay and he’d forgiven me for what I’d said, but either way, it made me feel better.

  “Am I to take the silence to mean the food’s just that good or you’re all just holding your breaths waiting for me to show my pretty face?” Chance burst into the dining room via the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He had a wide smil
e.

  Chase twisted in his chair to look at Chance. “Neither, brother. We were staying quiet hoping you wouldn’t find us.”

  When Chance was done with the towel, he lobbed it at Chase, and it parachuted over his face. “Nice to see you at the table. I didn’t realize pajama bottoms and slippers were standard breakfast attire.” Chance winked at me as he clapped his hands over his brother’s shoulders.

  Chase swiped away his brother’s hands good-naturedly. “I work in an office. That means I get to wear whatever I want to breakfast and maybe think about showing up before lunchtime after I force myself into a suit and tie. Unlike those poor chumps who wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and pull on a pair of tight jeans and shit-coated boots to go work themselves to death when they’ve got a trust fund that would make a Rockefeller green.”

  Chance grabbed a piece of bacon from Chase’s plate and shoved it into his mouth. “I can sense your jealousy. Not all of us are cut out for day in and day out of hard labor. Some are forced to toil the day away in air-conditioned offices, with a water cooler right around the corner, nodding their heads and shaking hands.”

  “It’s a rough life.” Chase shoved Chance’s arm away when he reached for another piece of bacon.

  “I know. I wouldn’t last a day doing what you do. My hat’s off to you.” Sliding off his hat, Chance hooked it on the back of the empty chair beside me then swung by his dad’s chair. “Good morning, Dad. Kicking ass and taking names?” As natural as if his father hadn’t been reduced to Parkinson’s worst nightmare, Chance slung his arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze.

  What sounded like a laugh, or close to it, fell from John’s lips. After waving at the nurse, Chance came around behind me and slid into the chair beside me. He scooted closer, inspecting my sandwich with hungry eyes.

  “Busy morning?” I said, already reaching for the knife to cut my breakfast in half. While I’d been sleeping those few extra hours, Chance had probably gotten a barn painted and three thousand cows hand-washed . . . or something close to that.