Ten Million Fireflies (Band of Sisters)

by Marianne Rice

  “And salad. You need to eat your vegetables. Dining on M&Ms will not keep your mind fresh.” She tapped his temple and spun out of his arms.

  Together they set the table and made a salad. When they sat down to eat, Drew took her hand before she could pick up her fork.

  “Thank you for staying here with me.”

  “Shouldn’t I be thanking you for giving up half your bed?”

  “Half?” He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You’re like Saran Wrap. Stuck to my side all night. You take over my half of the bed.”

  “Your half, huh?” She yanked her hand away and did her best to fake a pissed off glare at him. “I’ll remember to stay on my own side tonight.”

  “No, you won’t.” Drew picked up his fork and stabbed a roasted potato, bringing it to his mouth and biting into it.

  “Confident, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You sleep like the dead after we make love. I have to practically push you off me.”

  Brooke gasped and would have swatted at him had he not burst out in laughter.

  “I’m kidding. Sort of. You are a sound sleeper.”

  “Maybe I’ll sleep in the guest bedrooms tonight.” She picked up her fork and knife and cut off a big piece of chicken, cramming it into her mouth.

  “You do that, and you’ll find me taking over your space. I’ll follow you wherever you go. You’re not only my inspiration, you’re good for my soul.” Drew sliced into his chicken as if he hadn’t just said the sweetest thing to her.

  Those warm fuzzies took over her body again. They did that a lot when she was around Drew. He brought out a sensitive side in her she didn’t think she had. Rough and gruff, blunt and to the point, somewhat emotionless was how she’d been described over the years. Decades, really.

  And he was the exact opposite. She couldn’t imagine Drew hurting a fly. Not the way he treated his sister, or his niece and nephew. And not with how sensitive he was to her.

  “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to a girlfriend?”

  “Searching for dirt, are you?”

  “In a way.” She took a bite of a potato, enjoying the savory essence of rosemary and garlic.

  Drew took a sip of his wine before he answered, “My biggest fault, I’d have to say, is neglect. I get so caught up in my work, I forget to take care of myself and anyone I’m with.”

  “You were awfully thoughtful today, bringing me and my crew bagels, and then recording the news.”

  “That’s because I care about you more than my book.”

  Shit. Her heart just exploded in her chest.

  Any minute now she’d be professing her undying love to him. And it wouldn’t be because of the heat of the moment. She did. She loved him. Not that she had anything to compare love to, but the warmth he brought to her face, the smile to her lips, her palpitating heart, the butterflies in her belly were all because of Drew.

  Normally, she was all about speaking her mind. Holding back her thoughts and feelings was not how she rolled. But telling Drew she loved him? So soon?

  She often made rash decisions. Enlisting in the military the day after her high school graduation, buying the camp without a lot of research, thinking Drew could be guilty of setting the fire.

  At least two of her three decisions were good ones. Falling in love with him wasn’t exactly a decision. It was out of her control, yet she felt completely in control.

  They’d barely known each other for a couple of months and had only started dating a few weeks ago. And during those weeks they’d had quite a few days where she’d doubted him. Still, she didn’t doubt her love.

  It was real. Unsure if Drew felt the same way, she tucked those feelings close to her heart, saving them for another day.

  FOR DAYS, BROOKE ANSWERED a constant stream of calls. From the Shermans, who also stopped by with cookies and hugs, from her sisters, from numerous businesses, and even families asking where to donate.

  Since Skye was unreachable, she called Fish and asked if she could work on the website, which would include information for donations.

  “We need a name for the camp before we set up a website.” Fish had told her on the phone earlier in the day. Brooke had wracked her brain for weeks but couldn’t come up with a name that would do her camp justice.

  Full from another romantic and fun dinner with Drew, she propped her feet up on the stone ring that circled the fire pit in his backyard.

  “I’m no good with the little details... or the big ones like naming the camp. The Shermans called it Camp Sunrise. Think we could use it as well?” she asked Drew and sipped her spiked iced tea.

  He kissed her temple before sitting in the Adirondack chair next to her. “I think you should come up with something new. You’re starting fresh and have an original vision for your camp.”

  “You’re right.” She sighed and went back to staring into the night. The crickets were out, and all was dark except for the flames from the fire and the burst of light from the fireflies hovering where the woods met the lawn.

  The story Rose told came back to her. Fireflies. They were a symbol of hope, of figurative and literal light illuminating one’s way. Wasn’t that what she wanted children to experience at her camp?

  “Fireflies. Something about fireflies.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, an excitement in her chest. “Camp Firefly?”

  “Firefly Wishes,” Drew said. “Camp Firefly Wishes. Or call it Camp Illumination and the campers can be called fireflies.”

  “Oh! That’s perfect. Camp Illumination. And little fireflies!” She lurched out of her seat and clapped her hands, dancing around the fire pit, and pulled Drew to his feet. “Thank you.” She jumped up and down and tried to kiss him at the same time. “I love it. I need to call Fish so she can start working on the website.”

  Brooke jogged off and was halfway up the deck stairs when she stopped, looking out over the lawn at Drew sitting by himself. Calling Fish could wait until morning. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy some much-needed quiet time with Drew.

  She turned around and made her way back to his chair. Standing behind him, she slid her hands down his chest and rested her chin on his head.

  “Hey.” He took her hands in his and tilted his head up toward her. “I thought you were going to call Gina.”

  “I can do that later.” She moved around his chair and sat sideways in his lap, her legs hanging over an arm. Her body wasn’t meant for cuddling in a wooden Adirondack chair. Between Drew’s six feet and her five feet ten inches, there wasn’t much wiggle room. “Am I squishing you?”

  “Yeah, but I like it.”

  She lowered her mouth to his, and they sat there in contentment, kissing each other in front of the fire.

  “You’re too good to me,” she finally said.

  “I’m barely good enough.”

  “Don’t say that. I don’t like how you think so little of yourself.” She stroked his chest, tracing a heart over his. “You give so much, and I feel like I have nothing to offer. You’ve put a roof over my head, food in my mouth, you’re sharing your bed, and have come up with the perfect name for my camp.”

  “Those are all material things. What you’ve given me is so much more. Friendship, companionship, laughter, inspiration, forgiveness.” He paused, his green eyes connecting with hers with an intensity so deep, so strong, she practically melted in his arms. “Love.”

  Brooke blinked as if it would help her hear his words again. Her heart raced and a warming sensation flowed through her veins. Slowly, she opened her mouth. “I love you, Drew. I haven’t said those words in twenty years... not since my mother’s funeral.”

  A lone tear escaped her eye, falling down her cheek. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb and caressed her face in his hands.

  “I love you, too, Brooke. I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

  Goosebumps tickled her body, not from the air—which was quite warm—but from awareness. From love. From r
omance. It was all so new, so unexpected.

  “You mean the world to me.” She placed her hands on his chest, aware of the rapid beat of his heart. “No one has ever made me feel so... special. Loved. You’re an amazing man with an enormous heart. Please, never doubt yourself again. It makes me sad.”

  “Making you sad is not my intent.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” She kissed him slowly, hoping she could show him how much his love meant to her. “I want you to be as happy as I am. Tell me how I can make you happy.”

  “You’re doing it, sweetheart.” Drew wrapped her in a tight embrace and stroked her hair. “Let me love you. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Brooke’s work gloves were nearly worn after a week of hard labor. Her heart cried at what they had lost as she looked around the gutted-out rec hall. She’d shed more tears over the past few weeks than in her entire life. Most of them were angry, sad tears, but lately, they had a new meaning. One of hope. Of a future. Not only with the camp, but with Drew as well.

  The tears hadn’t stopped, especially when he did sweet things like bring her snacks or send her cute texts during a quick break. When he told her he loved her and talked of their future, she couldn’t help the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

  Maybe her sisters were wearing off on her. Pretty soon she’d be crying at movies and commercials. Nah, not her. Picking up the push broom, she swept the kitchen area. The new appliances were a total loss, as were the new pipes and wires she’d just paid to update. Thankfully, her insurance would cover it all.

  She and Owen’s crew had nearly cleared the debris and were almost ready to frame out the new addition.

  “You’ve got company,” Owen hollered from across the room.

  Propping the broom against the wall, she wiped her hands on her thighs and stepped around what used to be a wall. They’d torn down the sheetrock and only the studs remained. Some were charred, others a little damaged from fire and smoke. They’d all need to be replaced, though.

  “Are you Brooke Ross?” A lady in a baggy T-shirt and loose shorts stood in the building's doorway. She fiddled with the end of her long braid that fell across her shoulder.

  “I am. How can I help you?” She’d had a lot of traffic since the news report a few days ago. Many people who said they’d been campers here a long time ago wanted to check out the damage. Most wished her well and went on their way.

  A few reporters from smaller local papers stopped by for interviews as well. While she wanted to tell them to back off so she could work, Charlie had told her it was good publicity. Brooke would suck it up if that meant she could get more donors and volunteers.

  “Do you,” the woman looked around, “have a minute?”

  She didn’t seem like a reporter. The woman was timid, almost scared.

  “Sure. Let’s go outside.” The air inside was thick between the smoke and dust she’d swept up. Even with the open windows and the breeze, she felt like she was covered in stink—which she was.

  The woman followed Brooke outside. She led them to a circle of camp chairs where Owen’s crew had made a makeshift rest and lunch spot.

  “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” The woman sat, still fiddling with her braid. “I... I don’t even know where to start.”

  “How about you tell me your name?”

  “I’m Diane.” She let out a long sigh, as if saying her name was a burden in itself. “Diane Westleigh. I’m Ryan’s mom,” she let out another sigh, “and Michael’s.”

  Shit. This was unexpected. She didn’t know if she had the energy to deal with a grieving mom. If she went ballistic on her for ruining her son’s life or for bringing back memories of her deceased son, Brooke would lose it.

  Now that she’d learned how to cry, it came much too easy for her. And crying in front of this woman who’d lost it all didn’t sound like a good idea.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Westleigh. In bringing life back to this camp, I hope to give memories to children who will cherish their time here forever. I’m sorry if it’s difficult for you.” She wouldn’t apologize for her loser son who was in jail, though.

  “Oh, no.” Diane blinked rapidly and wiped at her eyes with a tissue she’d hidden in her clutches. “I was never upset about the camp opening. I was sad when the Shermans closed. I’ve never blamed them or Camp Sunrise for Ryan’s death. I went through months of second-guessing every decision I’d ever made and soon realized none of that would bring back Ryan.” She shredded her tissue in her lap. “I saw your interview on the news. You’re really going to dedicate a week for grieving children?”

  “Yes. And for children with different medical needs, those who have a family in the military, and for burn victims.”

  “You’re a very special woman,” Diane choked out, the tears interrupting her. “I... My apology won’t erase what Michael has done.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology, Mrs. Westleigh.”

  “But I do.” She sniffed. “I didn’t see the signs. Last month he quit his job, although I just learned about that a few days ago. He was furious about Camp Sunrise opening again. But I never thought...”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” Brooke placed a hand on Diane’s knee. Affection didn’t come naturally for her, but the poor woman looked to be on the verge of collapse. “You’re not responsible for other people’s mistakes, even your son’s.”

  “Michael never got over Ryan’s death. I think he blamed me and himself. It’s been a... hard time. Their father left. I don’t have much. If it wasn’t for Andrew Beckett, we wouldn’t even have Christmas each year. Not that I cared to celebrate it after losing Ryan.”

  “Drew?”

  “He lives around here,” Diane said, as if Brooke didn’t know. “He was the counselor assigned to Ryan’s cabin. The poor boy has blamed himself as well. Our first Christmas after Ryan died, Andrew sent me a Christmas card with $373 in it. He was only eighteen and had saved his money to buy us something. In his card he said he didn’t know what we needed, so he gave us money.”

  Her heart, already so much in love and in awe of Drew, burst out of her chest with love. Those damned tears she had no control over lately leaked from the corner of her eyes.

  “Every year, for the past seventeen years, he’s mailed me a Christmas card and presents—practical things for me and the house. He even has a Christmas tree delivered. And every summer he has hanging flower baskets delivered from the same nursery. He stops by periodically but not nearly enough. Quiet, he is. Full of guilt and sadness. I don’t want that for him, and I don’t want it for Michael.”

  Drew would do that—take care of others and do so quietly. “I’m glad Drew’s been looking out for you. I’m sure it makes him happy to do so.”

  “The two men, only boys when Ryan died, grieved in different ways. I don’t want to see Andrew end up angry at the world like Michael is. I’m getting him the help he needs. I’m so sorry he destroyed the camp. I’ll forgive him because he’s my son and I love him, and I hope someday you’ll be able to forgive him as well. I don’t want you living in a state of sadness and anger like my son.”

  Brooke was pretty sure the sadness in Drew had dissipated some over the past few weeks, especially over the past few days.

  “I won’t lie to you about how angry I am about the fire, but I promise you, I’m moving forward. I’m surrounded by amazing friends, and the crew I’ve hired is letting me put in sweat equity to save some money.”

  “It’s not much.” Diane shifted and reached in her back pocket. “But I have a little bit to help with the rebuilding.” She held out an envelope.

  “Absolutely not.” Brooke gently pushed the envelope back to Diane. “This isn’t your wrong to right. Besides, my insurance company will cover most of it. You use that money to get your son the help he needs.”

  “Oh.” Diane clutched the money to her chest and lowered her head.

  Brooke stroked he
r knee as Diane wept. They sat like that for a few minutes until she gained her composure again.

  “You’re a wonderful woman, Miss Ross. Please don’t let what’s happened destroy your happiness. There aren’t enough people like you in the world.” She covered Brooke’s hand with hers and squeezed. “I’m going to leave before I make a fool of myself with my tears.”

  “You’re not a fool.” They both stood and Brooke reached for Diane and drew her into a hug. “You’re a good mom. Please come back in the spring when we have our grand opening. Come as my personal guest, okay?”

  “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”

  She walked Diane to her car and gave her one more hug before she slipped behind the wheel.

  A feeling of contentment settled in her chest as she watched the taillights disappear around the bend. The fury she had toward Michael Westleigh had disappeared, replaced by sorrow for him and his family.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket, interrupting her thoughts. Taking it out, she answered, “Hello?”

  “Miss Ross? This is Suzanne Whitman from County Credit Union.”

  “Hi, Suzanne.” Brooke had set up an account with them a month ago and had been in touch recently to set up a place for donations. Just this morning, Fish had updated the website so those wishing to contribute just had to click on a link.

  “I wanted to call to let you know about the success your fund is already having.”

  “Already? The links haven’t been live for more than a few hours.”

  “I know... which is why I’m calling. Someone has covered the cost of the repairs to the damage caused by the fire.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The individual would like to remain anonymous.”

  “Wow.” She had a hefty security blanket with the five million, but she wanted that money to fund the children. Dipping into it to rebuild seemed wrong. Brooke had already figured out a budget once she started school and would set aside a good chunk of each check to pay for damages not covered by the insurance.