by Kelly Moore
I think about him being my twin, and I laugh. I’m not sure of my background, but I know I’m part Indian. My high cheekbones, olive skin, black silky hair, and dark cinnamon-colored eyes are a dead giveaway.
As far as I know, I have no family to ask. My accident left me without a lot of memories. Memories I used to spend hours chasing but could never find or even touch. Pure blackness is all I see when I try to look back. It’s like walking into a dark room. You know where things are, but you can’t make them out no matter how hard you try.
Chapter 2
Keegan
“Emmalyn, turn the music down! You’re going to run off all the customers.” She barely lowers the volume as she rolls her dark eyes at me. I don’t even bother getting on her about it anymore. It’s an everyday occurrence. I think it’s a preteen thing.
“When are you ever going to let me stay home by myself? You always drag me into work with you on Saturday mornings.”
“What? You don’t like coming into the sporting goods store with me?” I feign hurt. “It’s the only time I can get you to spend time with me. Besides, I’m hoping one day you will want to work here.”
“I’ve told you a million times, I want to be a rock star.” She acts like she’s playing the air guitar.
“What happened to wanting to be Princess Jasmine? I miss those days.” I stroke her long black silky hair.
“That’s when I was ten. I’m twelve now, Dad.” Her eyes roll again, and I laugh.
“I need to go check the mail out front.” I stop before I make it out of my office door. “Better yet, why don’t you go get it for me? It will give you something to do.”
“Okay, but I’m going to stop and get some candy.” I dig a couple of dollars out of my wallet and hand them to her. “She’ll be a rock star eating candy at thirty years old,” I whisper to myself as she disappears down the stairs.
I walk around my big oak desk and sit. My gaze always lands on two pictures sitting on the corner. One of Wolfe and me dressed in uniform a week before he was killed. The other, my wife Timber. She and her best friend wanted to go to their ten-year high school reunion back in Utah. Emmalyn was only a couple months old, and she was reluctant to leave her. I thought the trip would be good for her, so I encouraged her to go. She never made it to her reunion. The car they were driving was hit by a fuel tanker, causing a major explosion shortly after impact. It was in the middle of the night on a back road, and the first responders weren’t able to get the fire out until the next morning. Everything was completely charred from the heat of the flames. There was nothing but ashes left in the car, no remains to send home and bury.
After the accident was investigated, it was determined that the driver of the truck must have fallen asleep at the wheel from the direction of the impact. He crossed the yellow line and plowed into the driver’s side. From the reports that I read, they believed the girls were killed on impact.
To say I was completely devastated is not even a strong enough word for what I felt. Not only had I lost the woman I loved since the day I’d laid eyes on her, I was left with an infant daughter to raise. I didn’t know the first thing about raising a baby. Two weeks earlier, I’d enlisted in the army. I tried to get out of my contract, but it was too late.
My mom and dad stepped in to help raise Emmalyn in the house I knew as home. I grew up in Jackson. It’s a winter town full of adventure for the outdoor enthusiast. Everything from skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling, to snowshoeing. In the summer it’s slower, but we still get a lot of campers and hikers. My dad opened the store years ago, and it has grown tenfold. It is the number one outdoor store in New Hampshire. He’d always wanted me to take over the business, but I wanted to travel and see the world. Funny thing is, my world is right here, and I wouldn’t have it any other way now.
“How’s your leg today, Son?” Dad hangs his jacket on the coat rack coming into my office.
“It’s always a little worse when it’s raining.” I massage the ache out of my thigh.
“Our little angel downstairs in the candy department is stocking up.” He laughs. “She has enough energy. She doesn’t need to be hopped up on sugar.”
“I wish I could bottle that energy. If I could, we’d be rich.”
“You know, Son, with the money I’ve made off this store, you will never have to worry about money for raising your daughter.”
“I want to earn my own way to teach Emmalyn some lessons like you’ve taught me. She’s been catered to all her life, and I want her to grow up and be independent. I’d like to say she’s had a rough life losing her mother, but she never knew her to know what she lost. She’s had three parents who adore her.”
He sits in the well-worn leather chair across from my desk. “She is the spitting image of her mother.”
“She is. Sometimes when I look at her it slices my heart, like I lost Timber yesterday. She even has her mother’s mannerisms.” My eyes well up with tears as I glance over at the picture of Timber.
“I loved Timber too, but you need to move on. You haven’t been on a date since she died.”
“I’ve been afraid to bring a woman into Emmalyn’s life. She’s happy, well-adjusted. Why complicate the matter?” I shrug, leaning back and propping my feet on the desk. I know it’s more than just that; I’ve had no interest in any woman. I could never replace Timber in my heart, and it wouldn’t be fair to another woman to even try.
“Are you happy, Son?”
I contemplate his question, tapping my finger to my chin. “I’m content and in the quiet moments…lonely.”
“You could find you a lady friend.” He grins and raises his gray eyebrows a few times.
A chuckle rumbles through my chest. “That’s not something I expected to hear from you.”
“You need to relieve some pent-up…energy, too.” He slaps his hand on the desk and stands.
“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m fine.” Emmalyn comes running into the office with a lump in her cheek the size of a golf ball. “Jawbreaker?”
It takes up so much room she can’t speak. She nods and throws the mail on the desk, then she follows my dad out the door.
Bills, advertisement, more bills…a letter. I swing my feet off the desk and place them on the thick carpet. The return address is from Shay Fox in California. I don’t bother with a letter opener; I rip the top open. The first thing that falls out is the picture that I had sent with my letter.
She has beautiful handwriting. As I read her note, her words tug at my heart. I write her to console her, even though she is the wrong person, yet she finds a way to soothe my spirit. She’s right. Wolfe would have given his life for me so that I could be with my family. Why did I need a therapist when the words of this stranger feel healing?
Damn it. Wolfe would be so disappointed. I mailed out the box of his belongings yesterday. I open the desk drawer, scanning for the file from his father’s house. I pull it out and lay it open on my desk. “The address is right.” I flip through the pages. There is a shaky handwritten note on the last page.
This is where you will find your sister.
It’s dated a month before he died. So, how could the address be wrong?
I take out a piece of paper and a pen and write her back.
* * *
Dear Shay,
I sent you the box of Wolfe’s belongings. You can mail them back to me at the return address. I’m not understanding how your address got in his files, but I apologize for the inconvenience. I’ll put a check in with this letter to cover your shipping costs.
If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you lived in California? I hear it’s a beautiful place and warm. The town I live in bustles in the winter with outdoor activity. My family owns an outdoor store in the middle of the small town. In the summer, it slows down, and we can enjoy the weather here without the crowds. Lots of hiking, fishing, bike paths, and streams to wade in. It’s the best time of year. My favorite place to go hang out is Honeymoon Bridge.
It’s a covered bridge at the entrance of town. The story behind it is, if lovers kissed under it, they would have good luck in their marriage. I guess that only worked a few years for my wife and me. She was killed in a car accident right after our daughter was born.
I’m sorry for rambling. Even though you’re not Wolfe’s sister, you’re my only connection to him at this point, and I miss him. Thank you for your words of encouragement. I needed to hear how Wolfe might have felt. Funny, it came from a complete stranger. Your childhood sounds as difficult as his was. I’m thinking the two of you could have been kindred spirits. I’m really disappointed that you’re not his sister.
Thanks and sorry for the trouble.
Keegan
“She’s probably going to think I’m some loser looking for attention,” I say as I stick the letter in an envelope, sealing it.
My stomach grows in knots looking at Wolfe’s picture. “I’m sorry, buddy. I wanted to find her for you. Too bad your old man didn’t tell you about her before he died.”
I met Wolfe my first week in the Army. I was struggling with the loss of my wife and leaving Emmalyn behind. One hot night when it was raining pellets, I sneaked out of my barracks and walked out into the middle of the field where we did our workouts. I kneeled on the ground, overcome with pain. At first, I screamed out, trying to release the pain inside me before crying like a baby until I was lying face first in the muck. Waves of nausea rolled through me as a sour taste entered my mouth. My body was racked with pure agony. It had shown in my features for weeks through dark, sunken eyes. I don’t know why it chose that moment to hit me. Maybe because I felt utterly alone.
I lay there for hours letting the rain pelt down on my quaking body. I curled my legs up into my core, trying to be small enough to disappear. I finally stilled, lying motionless, listening to the sound of my broken heart being drowned out by the rain.
I remember a light shining in my eyes. I blinked but didn’t move, not sure if it was the train at the end of the tunnel ready to run me over, or if it was an angel coming to save me.
I hadn’t officially met Wolfe yet, but I recognized his voice from being our leader. He leaned over, shining the slender beam in my eyes and spoke to me, but I had no understanding of what he was saying. It was noise drowned out by the rain and silenced by my pain. I remained still. Other than the motion of my eyes blinking, I think he thought I was dead. I very distinctly remember him kneeling beside me and placing his hand on my shoulder, saying, “Let me help you.” He was a big guy and easily picked me up off the ground and cradled me like a child. He took me to his barracks, dried me off, and fixed me a drink. Then over the next hour, he listened to me talk about my life. He never once interrupted me. He just let me talk. When I finally stopped speaking, he asked me if I was done.
My words were all dried up, and I responded only with a nod. Then he stood in front of me and shook my hand. He told me if I ever needed to talk again, to come find him. We became best friends after that. I never cried again, but I was able to tell him stories and laugh, and that felt damn good.
I shake off my thoughts and head downstairs to see what my little princess is up to.
The store is filled with shoppers as I look down from the long wooden staircase. It wraps around in a C shape overlooking the store. My dad has Emmalyn running the cash register. I’m glad he’s able to get her to do something. She’s usually bouncing around here with some song dancing in her head as her long black hair sways behind her. It’s when she reminds me the most of her mother.
Chapter 3
Shay
“I’ve been gone for two weeks, and I come back to find you in the same spot I left you,” Paul says as he stands in front of my desk, his hands filled with a box and stacks of mail.
I get up and kiss him on the cheek. “Haha. I’ve been up. I’ve gone downstairs, made twelve dozen pots of coffee, and ate nothing but junk food.” I sit back down, smiling at him. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“I’m sure you are so I can cook a real meal for you.” He laughs and lays the box on my desk. “You haven’t even been outside to check the mail, have you?” He points at it.
“It’s a big scary world out there, and there are spiders that live in that mailbox,” I tease him.
“You need some time away. Even the musicians you write the music for get more of a break than you do.”
“You know I have to keep my head busy.”
“Are you still having headaches?” He leans his elbows on the desk.
“Only when I try to sleep,” I snicker.
“That’s what the sleeping pills are for, cupcake.”
“I know, but they make me so groggy in the morning. Hence the twelve dozen pots of coffee.”
“You’ve been out running at night again, haven’t you?”
“You know that’s when I do my best work.”
“I checked the fridge on my way up, and there is nothing here to eat. I’m going to run to the store and pick up something to make for dinner. I’ll pick up a bottle of wine while I’m there. When I come back, you are going to come downstairs and help me.” He crooks a finger at me.
“You know I can’t cook,” I whine.
“No, but you can chop vegetables and sip on wine to keep me company while I make something good for you to eat.” He gets up out of his chair.
“Thanks for giving a shit about me,” I say.
He leans over my desk and kisses the top of my head. “You have one hour, and I expect you to be out of those pajamas when I come back. Put on a top that shows a little cleavage, so I have something to stare at every now and then.” Affection glows in his eyes, and he winks as he walks out the door.
I pick up the box he laid down, putting it in my lap. The return address says New Hampshire. Keegan must not have gotten my letter in time. It has to be Wolfe’s belongings.
I could send it back without opening it, but my curiosity about Wolfe wins out. I carefully remove the tape from the box so that I don’t rip it. As I unfold the top, the first thing I see is Wolfe’s Purple Heart. I open the plastic lid, and my fingers involuntarily trace the medal. Keegan should have kept this regardless if I was Wolfe’s sister or not. I lay it on the desk. Next are his dog tags. Underneath is a folder. I pour its contents onto my desk. There are a couple of pictures of a man and an older gray-haired gentleman. I flip one over and on the back in faded pen are the words Wolfe and Dad. He looks like a much older version of Wolfe, only shorter. They look awkward, standing about three feet apart. Their expressions are taut. It even looks like Wolfe’s jaw is clenched. His dad has an open bottle of liquor in one hand. I’m not sure why whoever was holding the camera chose to snap this picture. They are standing on the porch of a rundown white wooden house. I can see little flecks of paint peeling off.
I flip through more pictures that are all very similar. They look despondent in every one of them. Wolfe would be so nice looking if he was smiling. I wonder what happened between the two of them. He doesn’t resemble the man that Keegan described at all. He made him sound happy, and a larger-than-life hero.
There are a set of keys and a few other trinkets. At the bottom is his green army jacket. I pull it out and hold it to my nose. It’s a mixture of musk and lavender. The smell is familiar, but I’m not sure why. I can’t help but touch the patch with his name on it before I fold it neatly and place everything back in the box.
I rummage through the rest of the mail and stop when I see another letter from Keegan. I anxiously rip it open this time and read it out loud.
At this point, I wish I was his sister because I’d really like to get to know Keegan; he’s piqued my interest. I haven’t felt that way about a man in a long time. Figures it would be someone on the other side of the world from me. There is something about his kindness and dedication to his friend that draws me to him.
I don’t know why, but I feel the need to write him back. I think part of me longs to connect with this stranger.
* * *
Dear Keegan,
* * *
I received the box of Wolfe’s belongings you sent me. I will get it sent back to you. Don’t worry about the cost of shipping, I’ll be tearing up the check.
I’ve lived in California for almost twelve years now. The coast is beautiful but way too busy for my liking. I live here because it was the best place for me to get my business started. I write music for some of the more successful singers and bands in the business. I only write the music, not the lyrics. I got bored with them when the words couldn’t even be heard over the music. I’m not sure why I needed to tell you that. Even though I have gotten used to the hustle and bustle of city life, I long for the outdoors. My escape is running, which I do in the middle of the night for various reasons, but primarily for the quiet. It’s the only time this city isn’t booming. Unless of course, you like the bars. I’m not into that sort of thing. I’m not sure if I ever have been.
The town of Jackson sounds absolutely charming. I will have to look up Honeymoon Bridge. The outdoor adventures that you describe seem like they would be fun. I love being outside, but my work keeps me so busy, I don’t get much time to enjoy it.
I’m truly sorry to hear about the loss of your wife. I can’t imagine the pain you must have gone through and having to raise a daughter alone. I’d say you’re a brave man. A survivor. This is yet another reason for you to live. Your daughter could not have endured losing another parent at such a young age. I bet she worships the ground you walk on. Her very own life-size hero.
I wish I could help you find Wolfe’s sister. I do have a question about the pictures in his box. Why do they both look so sad? He’s quite the contrast from the man you described.