Three Weeks With My Brother

by Nicholas Sparks

  “I don’t think so. I think I need to spend time with the family first.”

  Micah nudged me. “I think you’re getting better,” he said. “You look better. You’re not nearly as glum as when you started. You actually look . . . relaxed.”

  “I am,” I said. “But how about you? Are you doing any better?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never had any problems to begin with.”

  I snorted. “Must be nice being you.”

  “Oh, it is. Christine is one lucky lady to have a guy like me around.”

  I laughed. “So what’s on your agenda when you get home?”

  “Oh, the usual. See the wife, see the kids.” He shrugged and let out a long breath. “And I’m sure Christine will want to go to church tomorrow, so I guess I’ll have to go.”

  I raised my eyebrows but said nothing.

  “What?” he asked.

  I shook my head, unable to hide the smirk. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Listen, I’m not going to church because of anything I learned on the trip. Or anything you told me. You’re not that wise, little brother.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “With that face. It wasn’t like I completely stopped going to church. I still went every now and then. I’m just going to go because I think it’s good for the kids to see me there. It teaches them the right kind of lessons—that you’re part of God’s plan. Mom did it for us, and look how we turned out.”

  “Mmmm,” I said, nodding, continuing to smile.

  “You’re smirking.”

  “Yeah,” I said smugly. “I know.”

  People often ask my brother and me how we continued to function—even flourish, by most standards—in the face of so much tragedy in our lives. I can’t answer that question, except to say that neither Micah nor I ever considered the alternative. We’d been raised to survive, to meet challenges, and to chase our dreams.

  We made the best of our lives because we had to. Because we wanted to. We had families of our own, families that needed us, and we couldn’t let them down. But in the end, both Micah and I also survived and succeeded for each other. I needed Micah’s support as much as he needed mine; Micah chased his dreams because I did, and vice versa. And it wouldn’t have been fair of either of us to have to worry about each other. There was too much else going on.

  We didn’t escape unscathed. Who could? Our sister’s death hit us hard—not just her death, but all of the deaths, one after the next. Even now, any elation we feel at reaching a goal or overcoming a challenge is tempered by the knowledge that, aside from each other, our family won’t be around to share in our joy. Even worse, our children will never know their grandparents or their aunt, and that, to us, is heartbreaking.

  But still, we have each other. People ask me why my brother and I are so close. The reason is simple; it’s the way it should be. The loss of our family alone didn’t drive us together; we were always close, even as children. We keep in touch, not because we have to, but because we want to. And we don’t only love each other, but like each other as well. My brother and I haven’t had an argument—or even a disagreement—since we were little kids. He is, along with my wife, my best friend in the world. And, if you asked him, he would say the same thing about me.

  My parents may have been crazy, but whatever they did, it worked.

  We landed in Dulles, and made our way through customs. Micah and I, like everyone else, would be going in different directions. We strolled through the terminal, weaving through weekend crowds, until we finally reached the point where our paths were forced to diverge.

  We faced each other to say good-bye, and when I looked up at Micah, the first thought to go through my mind was that I might never see him again.

  It’s a sad thought, of course, but honest. It had happened to both of us three times before. It’s what I always think when I say good-bye to my brother.

  “I had a great time,” I said. “Like you promised, it was the trip of a lifetime.”

  “It was the best,” he said. He set his suitcase down and smiled. “I’ll give you a call when I get back home.”

  “You better.”

  He opened his arms and I went into them. And for a long moment, my brother and I held each other in the terminal, oblivious to the crowd weaving around us.

  “I love you, little brother,” he whispered.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “I love you, too, Micah.”