by Nia Arthurs
When I’m done, I scribble a note for Tricia, the maid that cleans the apartment every week, letting her know I’ve gone on a trip. She’ll keep it quiet if Dad asks. Tricia’s loyal like that.
It’s only four a.m. but I head to the airport anyway. If I spend one more hour in my cold apartment, I’ll go crazy.
While I wait in the airport, memories pop into my head. Me and Harry building sandcastles on the beach with Mom. Me and Harry sipping hot cocoa on Christmas Eve while Mom tried to distract us from Dad’s absence. As she always did.
The day she died a part of us broke, but I got the sense that a part of Dad was set free.
Even as a young child, I knew something was wrong with my parents’ relationship. Dad was rarely home, busy as he was with the hospital our family owned and ran.
When he was physically with us, he was distracted. On his phone. On his laptop. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad without a device glued to his palm.
Mom did her best to hide her pain but, looking back as an adult, I recognize the sorrow in her eyes. Dad drained her soul. Her happiness. She was completely undone by him. Death was her ticket out of that marriage.
I shake my head, dismayed by how depressed my thoughts are getting.
Tonight started out promising. Carl and the guys dragged me to their new spot for drinks. I met Red Dress. Asked her to dance. Took her to my place. Showed her a good time with plans to have a repeat before she left my bed.
Now here I am, wallowing in nostalgia and anxiety in the middle of a busy airport with a ticket to a small Caribbean country tucked into my pocket. My hands are shaking like a bum on crack and every nerve in my body is on edge.
The hours drag by, but I board soon enough. After the plane takes off, I doze for a bit. What feels like a second later, a stewardess announces we’re about to descend in Belize City.
I rub the grit from my eyes, stunned by the rays of sunlight slicing through the plane. It was dark when I left home.
My fingers wrestle with the window shade. I glance outside, my jaw falling when I notice the cerulean blue expanse of the water and the sprawling green marsh below.
Beautiful…
Since it’s an early flight, there aren’t many passengers. I breeze through immigration and head outside. The humidity slaps me in the face. My zipper protests loudly as I pull it down and slip out of my hoodie.
A man with dark brown skin dressed in a blue shirt and shorts waves me over and asks if I need a taxi.
At least that’s what I’m assuming he says. ‘Taxi’ is the only word I understand amidst his flurry of Kriol.
I shake my head and walk over to the side, pulling my cellphone out to redial Lydia Stuart’s number and get directions to Harry’s hospital.
As the phone rings in my ear, I run my gaze over the stretch in front of the airport. The sky is a perfect blue, not a cloud in sight. The parking lot is filled with vehicles, their metal hoods glinting in the sunlight. Coconut trees sprawl in clusters, their leaves shaking like excited hula dancers.
At last, Lydia picks up. I drag my gaze away and focus on my scuffed tennis shoes. “Lydia, this is Benjamin Duncan. I’m here.”
“You… are?”
“Can you give me the address of the hospital? And let my brother know I’ll be there soon.”
“Mr. Duncan…”
“The address, Lydia.”
“It’s 105 Princess Margaret Drive. It’s the Medical Center. All the taxi men will know it.”
“Thank you.” I wave down the man who first addressed me and follow him to his car.
“Need help with yuh bag?” he asks, pointing to my duffel.
“I’m good.”
He slips into the driver’s seat. I settle down in the back and glance outside the window as we take off.
The Belizean terrain is a stark difference from what I’m used to. Beyond the stretches of forests that grow unhindered on the roadside and the strip of the Belize River that flows beside the highway, there’s something in the air.
It’s calming. To the point that I begin to wonder if I’ve stepped into a different universe altogether.
No one seems to be in a hurry. The sun shines brightly on houses and buildings that are painted in every shade available to man. The river glitters beyond the boundaries of a thick, concrete wall. Nature is protecting this country. Or maybe they’re protecting each other.
I almost smile.
Almost.
Then my phone rings and my thoughts crash to a halt. Lydia Stuart. Something tells me not to answer, but I do.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan,” Lydia says.
I shoot to the edge of my seat. “What happened?”
There’s a long beat of silence.
“Lydia!” My voice is hoarse. Unfamiliar. “Is he…?”
“Your brother just passed away.”
Chapter 2
Ben
The taxi slows in front of a boxy brick building. Apart from the glass double doors sprawled open and the driveway wide enough to let an ambulance through, it doesn’t look like a hospital.
I jump out of the car after paying the driver and take the steps two at a time. The security at the door gives me the side-eye, but I barely notice. Harry is the only thing on my mind.
Lydia Stuart’s words crash through my head like a relentless wave. Your brother passed away.
My sneakers skate against the glossy tiles as I turn the corner and head into the main room. I slam against the counter where a pretty nurse with dark skin and black hair shrinks back. My fingers dig into the rim of the table.
I breathe hard. “My name is Benjamin Duncan. I’m looking for my brother, Harry Duncan.”
“Give me a minute.” She turns to a computer and starts typing.
I use the counter to keep myself upright. My chest heaves. Every breath is a struggle. Harry’s pale blue eyes float through my head. Full of life. Energy. Maturity. Of the two of us, he was the better man.
Your brother passed away.
I refuse to believe that. Harry has to be alive. He promised he’d visit this fall. We were supposed to go skiing. I had plans to set him up with one of my friends. Force him out of his confirmed bachelorhood.
“Mr. Duncan?”
I whirl around. Swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes?”
She gives me directions. I don’t take the time to smile charmingly at her or flirt the way I usually would. Instead, I race down the halls and slip into the correct ward.
It’s ten a.m. Belizean time on a Sunday, so I’m taken aback by how full the waiting room is. Locals fill the chairs. Their faces are crunched with worry. The mood is somber. I fly past them, trying not to mow anyone down in my hurry.
I scramble down the corridor and stop short when I see a little girl bawling her eyes out in the middle of the hallway. She’s tall and lean with tawny skin and long braids down her back. Another woman holds her tight, struggling to calm her.
I step closer, unwilling to interrupt them but desperate to find my brother’s room. As I draw near, I realize they’re standing right in front of Harry’s door.
My stomach churns. Who are these people? Harry’s friends?
The little girl notices me first. Her grey eyes shake me to my core. They look like the marbles Harry and I used to fight over when we were younger. She steps away from the woman—I assume her mother—and focuses on me.
I look away, my hand going for the door to Harry’s room.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
I glance behind me. Rake my gaze from the bottom of her rhinestone-studded shoes to the crown of her braided hair. She can’t be more than nine years old, but she’s got enough attitude to stretch around the world and back.
“Me?” I poke a finger in my chest.
“That’s my dad’s room. You can’t go in there.”
My gaze slips to the woman beside her. She’s got cocoa-colored skin. Big brown eyes. Bee-stung lips. The kind that l
ook bought. Or maybe they’re natural. It would be easy to find out…
The little girl’s statement registers. My jaw falls. “Your dad?”
She nods sharply.
I glance at the door on the other side of the hall. Maybe I have the wrong room. “Sorry.” I start to walk away and then turn back because I feel compelled to say, “My name is Benjamin Duncan. I’m looking for my brother.”
“Duncan?” A little bit of her defensiveness leaks away and she blinks. “That’s my last name too.”
The older woman straightens. Her brown eyes scan my face with such intensity I start to squirm. “I’m Logan, Reece’s friend.” She swings the little girl’s hand to indicate who she’s referring to. “I didn’t know Harry had a brother.”
“I didn’t know Harry had a daughter.” The words pour out of my mouth without thought. They feel foreign as they hang in the air.
“That man looks like him,” Reece says to Logan. Then she turns to me, those grey eyes flashing. “You look like my daddy.”
The words are quiet, but we’re all so confused and out-of-sorts that it’s easy to hear.
The door to my brother’s room opens and an elderly woman steps out. She’s got long grey hair with streaks of black. Lines carve a map around her eyes and mouth. Despite her age, or maybe because of it, she seems regal. Queenly.
“Ben?” she says.
“Lydia,” Logan’s brown gaze darts between the two of us, “do you know this man?”
“He’s Harry’s brother.” Lydia swipes at a tear that courses down her paper thin cheek. “Mr. Duncan, would you like to say your goodbyes?”
Reece sobs.
Logan bends to comfort her. “It’s okay.”
I nod although what I want to do is shake my head and beg her to tell me that my brother isn’t dead. Instead, she takes me into the hospital room where his body lies. Still. Pale. Unmoving.
The moment my gaze lands on Harry, my knees go weak and I stumble. There’s no one to catch me. I end up slamming my hand against the edge of his cot to stable myself. My vision goes blurry.
I grab ahold of Harry’s hands and bawl my eyes out. “Wake up, man.”
My pleas fall on deaf ears. He’s gone.
My grief overwhelms me. I shed a storm of tears. Sobs wrack my body, producing deep convulses. My face crumples, falling into itself. I look a mess, but I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back even if I had an audience.
My brother will never smile at me again. Or scold me about settling down. Or laugh sheepishly when I argue he has to take his own advice and find a girlfriend first.
He’ll never challenge me to go my own path instead of the one Dad thrust me on. Never tease me about my drawings or my obsession with webtoons. Never lecture me on becoming better. Doing better.
I cover my face with my hands. Not once in my quest to put off my future, did I think that Harry wouldn’t be a part of it.
By the time I’ve run out of tears, my head is throbbing like someone rammed me with a pick ax. I slowly compose myself and slip out of the room. The door closes, the lock clicking into place with a note of finality.
I find Logan leaning against the wall. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Downcast. She’s clutching trembling arms to her chest. It’s clear she was crying too. I wonder how she knew my brother. Given how shaken she looks, they must have been close.
“Hey,” she says, pushing herself off the wall. I notice she’s wearing an old, baggy T-shirt and shorts. The blouse falls straight down her chest like a curtain draping a window. I can tell there’s not much on top.
Are you seriously sizing her breasts right now? Get yourself together, Ben.
I shake my head, glad she can’t hear my thoughts. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
She said that already.
I glance down the hallway. “Where is everybody?”
“Lydia took Reece to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She hasn’t had anything since the accident last night.”
“The accident. What happened?”
Logan pulls her plump bottom lip in, capturing it between her teeth. “Harry lost control of the wheel. Ran off the road. It was raining hard last night and…” She sniffed. “I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah.” I clench my fingers into fists, trying not to cry in front of her. “How did you know him? My brother, I mean.”
A soft smile climbs her face. One that makes me wonder if Logan and Harry really were involved. “We met about five years ago. Harry had to attend a party, but he didn’t know what to do with his daughter’s hair. She was only four at the time.”
“Reece?”
Logan nods. “He brought her to me, desperate and begging for help. I did Reece’s hair that day and I’ve been doing it ever since.”
Talking like this, I realize Logan probably knows more about Harry than I did. Hell, in all our e-mails, calls and visits my brother didn’t feel like mentioning he had a daughter once.
A little, ‘Hey, Benji. I impregnated a local and now we’re expecting. Crack a beer, would you?’ would have gone a long way.
But it explains why he refused to let me visit Belize. Whenever I’d mention bringing my friends for spring break, Harry would immediately turn the conversation into planning his next trip out to my place.
Last year, I insisted on booking a ticket. I missed my brother and a few weeks in a Caribbean paradise sounded like a dream. Unfortunately, a hurricane swept the country and threw a wrench in my travelling plans.
At least I know now why Harry was so happy about that.
“Are you okay?” I glance up and find that Logan has migrated closer to me. She leans in, drawing my gaze to her sleek black ponytail.
Despite her clothes that were obviously meant for comfortable sleepwear, there’s something elegant about her. Sophisticated. It’s unnerving and intriguing at the same time.
“I’m fine.” Realizing my brother’s body is a few feet away and I have a niece I never knew about, I rescind the statement. “You know what? That’s a lie.”
Logan nods sympathetically. “I’ll go find Lydia and take Reece home while you two talk.”
“Logan?”
She stops. Turns around. Fixes her brown eyes on me.
I take in a breath. “Thank you. For being there for my brother.”
“I was just a hairdresser.” Her smile warbles as she walks away. “But thanks.”
Suddenly exhausted, I back up until I’m against the wall. I feel myself sinking and realize I’m on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest.
A doctor passes by with a group of nurses. They enter Harry’s room. A moment later, they leave with a cot holding a corpse draped by a white sheet. The room spins. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
In my head, it’s clear that they’re taking Harry away. Probably to hold him in the morgue until we make his funeral arrangements. But in my heart, that’s some other poor schmuck who lost his life today.
Not my brother.
Not Harry.
Footsteps patter through my hazy mind. A pair of wrinkly knees appears in front of me. Soon enough, those knees bend—cracking and popping like that cereal Harry used to like when we were younger.
“Ben?” Lydia Stuart leans over. Places a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “We need to talk.”
One half of my lips curve up in a smirk. I’ve heard that phrase a time or two. Mostly from ex-lovers. Some from my dad. Looking at Lydia now, I can tell she’s probably said that to a few men in her day.
“Can you stand?” she asks.
I wave my hand. “Just talk to me here.”
Lydia looks uncertain, but I’m—quite frankly—dangling on the edge of insanity and the prospect of engaging my muscles to push myself up is the most daunting task I’ve ever faced in my life.
I’m relieved when Lydia doesn’t push the issue. “Before he died, Harry had a few instructions. His first was to get your number and call you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The kid. Harry’s kid.” My head feels heavy. Like my neck isn’t thick enough to hold it. I bob around, struggling to focus on Lydia’s words when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.
“Yes. Ben, are you listening?”
I nod enthusiastically.
“Harry wanted you to take care of her.”
My body seizes. I slam back to reality like a man dropping from a plane and splattering to earth. “What?”
Lydia digs her fingers into my shoulders. “As of tonight, you’re Reece Duncan’s official guardian.”
Chapter 3
Logan
I look over at the little girl sleeping next to me. Reece’s small chest rises and falls rhythmically. She’s clutching her stuffed dog close, slender fingers digging into the cotton of the toy’s black tail.
Tear tracks are still drying on her light brown cheeks. The princess nightlight plugged into the wall near her queen-sized bed throws a golden shade on her braids—the ones I painstakingly installed last week.
I wish I could put her life in order the way I part and tame her hair. There’s no dragon I wouldn’t slay for her, but my hands are tied. Loneliness and grief are not monsters I can fight with my fists or my cutting scissors.
How can anyone ever replace her father?
My heart hurts for Reece. For everything she’s been through and everything she will have to face in the future.
“God, please take care of this precious girl,” I whisper.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen and wince. This isn’t a call I can take near Reece. Especially since she just managed to cry herself to sleep.
I sit up and scoot carefully to the edge of the bed. The steady cadence of Reece’s breathing eggs me on. I set one foot on the ground. Point my toe. Set the other.
She snorts.
I freeze. Glance back. Check to make sure her long, black eyelashes aren’t fluttering, catching me in the act. But she’s still sleeping. Her nose slightly flares. Her jaw slackens. A bit of drool slides down the side of her mouth.