That tall, broad, hard frame.
The messy chocolate locks that I used to love running my fingers through.
The eyes...God, the eyes that told me everything I needed to know about what he was seeing, feeling...how much he loved me.
I remember so much about his body, his touch, like how his skin always felt warmer than mine. How he was constantly playing sports or working with his hands, yet, when they touched me, they were the most gentle.
How much I needed those hands, those arms wrapped around me when I lost my brother, but how they were the last hands on earth that could be there.
As I’m staring blankly ahead at the door to Lou’s, contemplating my own demise, a tap on my window makes me jump. I slap my hand to my chest as I see Derrick standing outside my driver’s side door. I roll down my window and swallow back my shame.
Busted.
“He’s in there,” he says with a shrug, almost like a friendly warning. At first, I want to deny that I was looking for him in the first place, but I think we both know that’s a load of bullshit. I nod slowly.
“Look, I was just about to go up the road a bit to grab some pie at the diner. If you’re hungry, but want to, ah, avoid...whatever. You’re welcome to join me,” he says. I smile.
“Shirley’s?” I ask. He smiles and nods.
“Shirley’s.”
Man, I haven’t had a slice of Shirley’s pie in years.
I smile and nod.
“That sounds great,” I say. He smiles and taps on the roof of my car.
I get out of my car and hop into his truck.
We drive a few miles down the quiet highway that gets more and more sparse with people and cars the further out of town we go.
Shirley’s is the only building for about a mile either way on the highway now. It’s perched right on the side of the water, small waves lapping against the docks outside as we walk in.
“Hey there, Derrick, honey,” a woman says as we head in. “Who’s your friend?”
“Hey, Mabel,” Derrick says. “This is Mila. She’s a friend of Ryder’s. He’s over at Lou’s tonight, so I’m showing her around. She hasn’t been back to Meade Lake in a while.”
Mabel smiles.
“Well, that’s real nice. I know you want two slices of apple pie,” she says, nodding in Derrick’s direction, “but I can get you a menu, honey.”
“Oh, you know what,” I say, “two pieces of apple pie sounds like a good dinner to me.”
Mable nods and walks back toward the kitchen as Derrick and I grab a booth. The shiny red seats glitter under the bright diner lighting, and the material sticks to my legs as I slide across it.
“So,” he says after a few moments of awkward silence, “he told me you went by yesterday.”
I nod.
I’m bracing for him to ask me about the letter or about why I came in the first place. I’m bracing for him to ask me for the juicy details that I’m not ready to give him.
But he doesn’t.
“How did it feel, seeing him again?” he asks. My eyes grow wide, and my lips part a little. I wasn’t expecting that.
Mabel puts down two waters and two plates of pie in front of us. We thank her, and Derrick digs in.
“It felt...heavy,” I say after a few beats of silence. He nods, putting his fork down after another bite and sits back.
“That makes sense,” he says. I give Derrick a quick once-over. He’s a very handsome man, one of those people whose looks sort of stop you where you’re standing. His skin is dark, but his eyes are this light shade of speckled brown.
“So you two are still as tight as ever?” I ask, slipping a forkful of pie into my own mouth. He nods.
“Closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had,” he says. “Well, besides my real one.”
He smiles, and I chuckle.
Then, my eyes drop to the table.
A brother.
I think Derrick can sense the weight of the word.
“Look, Mila,” he says, leaning back against the red leather. “I’m not sure what exactly brought you back here to Meade Lake, or to Ryder. But I want you to know that whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it. I just hope that you don’t…”
His voice trails off a little bit as his eyes drop. I see him swallow, then he looks back to me.
“I know what happened destroyed you,” he says so matter-of-factly that it makes me twitch in my seat. “Trust me, I won’t ever forget that night. But I know you know that it destroyed him, too. But please, whatever goes on while you’re here, don’t...don’t… He’s been through a lot. I know you have too; I’m not trying to take away from that. I’m just saying, he...please, just don’t…”
And then I realize he’s trying to tell me not to hurt his best friend.
I stare at him, mouth agape. Half of me is shocked he has the balls to say it to me. The other half feels my heart turning to mush. In some ways, Ryder is still the same person I once knew, the same guy who made people fall for him, who loved and was loved back so fiercely.
Finally, I nod.
“I’m not here to hurt him,” I finally say. Because it’s true. He nods.
We finish up our pie, and then he drives me back to my car.
I drive back to my B&B, trudge up the stairs, and collapse on my bed.
He’s been through a lot.
Derrick’s words echo in my ears. And I need to know what it is that Ryder has been through.
6
I wake up in my tiny room at the bed and breakfast, blinking in the bright sunlight. I left the curtains open, so I’m quite literally waking up with the sun this morning. Not that I slept well anyway. I was up all night, picturing him. Thinking about him. Almost letting my guard down enough to smile at the thought of his smile. But I don’t. Because I still hate him.
I think.
I stop in town at a small cafe I find, order a cup of coffee and a muffin, and sit down in a big chair at the very back of the restaurant. There’s a cozy fireplace in the corner, and I can see the water out the front windows. I forgot how serene this place is, how much it can make you forget. I brush the crumbs off my lap and hop to my feet.
Day two, letter two. Let’s do this.
I drive a few miles down the road till I reach Big Moon Drive, but when I pull up to the cabin, I see something taped to the front door, and the Tahoe is gone. I make my way up the few porch steps and see that the piece of paper has my name on it.
Mila,
Had to work at the store today. Feel free to come by.
1134 Lakeside Hwy
I hope you come.
Ryder
I reread the “I hope you come” line a few times, and it gives my stomach this little flip feeling. I take a breath, plug the address into my phone, and get back in my car. I only drive for about seven or eight minutes until I pull up to the store.
A big sign above the door reads BIG MOON WATER & SKI SHOP. It didn’t occur to me which store he was talking about in the note. Does he own this? I park my car and pull my notebook out of my bag. I flip to letter number two.
Ryder,
I’m starting college today. Mom got me all this awesome stuff for my dorm room, my classes are all set, and I really like my roommate. But all I can think about is how my brother should be here with me. About how much easier it would be for me if he were here. And about how excited he was to go to UMD with me.
Mila
I haven’t reread some of these older ones in years, and the pain is fresh and raw, like a scab reopening.
When I finally make my way inside the store, I realize how jam-packed it is. There are ski clothes on racks in the back of the store and bathing suits at the front. There are boogie boards and water skis on racks on the ceiling and skis and snowboards in the corners. There’s a huge line of people that’s wrapping around the front of the store. At the front counter, I see Derrick handing people forms and entering things into the register. Then, in some sort of majestic entranc
e, Ryder appears down the large wooden staircase at the corner of the shop. He’s carrying a big stack of papers and has a few life vests looped around his muscular arm. He smiles at a few of the customers and hands the vests off to a group of them at the front. Then he makes his way behind the counter with Derrick and starts handing out the forms himself.
“Yep, just sign right here, and then you can head down the path across the street to the lake, and they will get you set up with a kayak. Yep, no problem,” I hear him say. His smile is just as dazzling as I remember. And as I catch myself staring at those pearly whites, I realize how dangerous that thought is. I shake my head as I continue watching him and Derrick operating so seamlessly despite the snake of a line that awaits them. Finally, as the crowd dwindles down, he looks up from the counter, and our eyes meet.
A slow smile spreads across his lips, and I fight hard against my body not to let my stomach flip.
I lose the battle.
“You came,” he says quietly, making his way out from behind the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Derrick watching us. But I can’t focus on that because Ryder Casey is making his way to me. And as he gets to me, he reaches a hand out to my arm. I stand back, but not before his fingertips brush my forearm. My eyes dart up to his, and his eyebrows shoot up. This is the first time we’ve actually come in physical contact with each other in over a decade. I feel my heart racing, and I know he can sense it. His eyes drop in shame.
I’m glad he realized there are still boundaries between us. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel a little bit of relief in realizing how happy he was to see me.
“Hey, um, I think we’re good here for a bit if you guys wanted to catch up,” Derrick mutters just in the nick of awkward time.
“Oh, yeah, thanks, D,” Ryder says, holding a hand out toward the door. I nod and thank Derrick as I step outside, thankful for the fresh air. I wonder if he mentioned to Ryder that we got together last night, but I decide against bringing it up.
The lake is as big and blue as I remember, filled with buzzing boats and trails in the water.
I follow Ryder around the side of the building to a path that leads through some tall pines. There’s a bench a few feet ahead, and he stops when he reaches it, plopping down and taking a deep breath.
I sit down next to him, careful to leave a lot of space between us.
“I’m really glad you came by,” he says. “I was worried I wasn’t going to see you again.”
His bluntness takes me by surprise.
“Do you own that store?” I ask him, desperate to change the subject.
“I do. Well, I co-own it, with Derrick. We opened it about two years ago,” he says.
“Wow, that’s great. It looks like business is good,” I say. He smiles.
“It is,” he says, “but there’s a lot of work that goes into it.”
I smile and lean back against the bench. The water is so blue it almost looks fake. It’s choppy because of the wind and the boats, but it’s still so calming to just watch it, listen to it lap against the shoreline.
“So,” he finally says, clearing his throat and turning more to face me. “Do I get another letter today?” His mouth forms into this half-smile that fades just as quickly as it appears. I quickly smile back, reaching for my notebook in my bag. I take in a deep breath. I know this one is going to hurt him.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling the piece of paper out of the notebook and handing it to him slowly. He takes a breath, too, like he’s waiting for the blow.
I look back out at the water while he reads it, my breath shallow in my throat. When he’s done, he folds it in half and puts it on his knee, patting it.
“I’m sorry, Mila,” he whispers, and I feel this searing pain through my chest. He should be sorry. He should be so, so sorry. But I am the one feeling sorry right now, and I don’t know exactly why.
I give him another quick, painfully fake half-smile before putting the notebook away.
“I think about that a lot,” he says, looking out over the lake.
“About what?”
“College. Just what he would have done. If he would have gone on to play in the NFL. And if we would have made it long-distance,” he says, still looking out over the water. My eyes flash to him.
I remember that pain so clearly—not the pain of losing my brother, but the pain of wondering whether or not I was going to lose Ryder. You know, before I actually lost him. Before I lost them both.
I follow his gaze out over the lake.
“I think about it a lot, too,” I say.
He turns back to me.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks. I nod. “Why now? Why, after all this time, did you come back now?”
I look out over the water now, as if the answer is going to pop up on a wake or something.
“I’m...I’m going through some things. And I just felt like it was time to put this all behind me,” I say. I flick my eyes to his, and he narrows his at me.
“And to put us behind you?” he asks. I swallow. In theory, “us” should have been behind me a long time ago. I look back out over the water.
“There is no ‘us,’ Ryder,” I say.
“Aw, Mila, there’s always been ‘us.’ And there always will be,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine and staring into them so deeply that I blush. His radio buzzes on his hip, and he presses a button and tells Derrick he’ll be right up.
I sit on the bench a little while longer, looking out over the water.
There’s always been us. And there always will be.
Damnit.
He’s probably right.
7
Later that evening, I’m sitting on the back deck of the B&B, flipping through some pages of the book that I’m convinced I’m never going to be focused enough to read. I look out across the lake, which is turning a deep-navy color as the sun slips away behind the mountains, when my phone buzzes on the arm of my Adirondack chair.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
“Did you find him yet?” I hear my dad ask in the background. I scoff.
“Well, Dad just gets right to it, doesn’t he?” I ask.
I can practically hear Mom shrug through the phone.
“No sense beating around the bush,” she says. “Well, have you?”
“Yeah, I have,” I say. I hear Mom let out a little gasp.
“And?”
“How did it go?” Dad asks. “Do you feel better?”
I pause for a minute, recounting the few run-ins I’ve had with him.
I think when I saw him again after all these years, I was expecting some sort of huge, life-altering halt, like a ton of bricks crushing me. Like I was being smothered, drowned, unable to breathe.
Except, when I first laid eyes on Ryder again after twelve years, I didn’t feel like I was sinking. I felt sadness, sure. Anger? Maybe a little bit. But for the first time in more than a decade, I felt a little bit of that bitterness that’s been protecting my heart melt away some. And I’m not sure what to do with that yet.
“I feel...I feel...I don’t know yet. Give me a little more time,” I say. Mom chuckles.
“Take your time, kiddo,” she says.
“Listen,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s taken the phone, “do you need money?”
Ugh. That question weighs down on me.
Because, technically, I don’t need money. I’m still getting money, making money, off my ex-husband. And there’s such a dirty undertone to that.
I remember reading once that one of Paul McCartney’s ex-wives fought for a shit-ton of his hard-earned Beatles money when they split up. And I remember feeling so disgusted. That was his money. She didn’t earn it. He did.
And now, here I am.
Skating off of my ex-husband’s hard-earned money like a teenager with an allowance.
I need to figure something out.
“Nah, I’m okay for now. I’m going to apply for a f
ew jobs this week,” I tell him.
“There, or here?” he asks. I swallow.
There. Definitely there. I think.
“I’m not sure yet,” I tell him.
“Okay, hon, call us later this week,” Dad says. I say my goodbyes and hang up.
I take in a deep breath and lean back in the chair.
“Ya know, we could always use some extra help at the store,” I hear his silky voice say as he rounds the corner of the porch and walks up the steps. I clear my throat and sit straight up.
“Uh, wh-what?” I ask.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I just overheard the tail-end there,” Ryder says, handing me a to-go coffee cup and a small paper bag. He sits on the rail directly in front of me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Ah, stopped by Shirley’s earlier today. She mentioned my ‘friend’ that was in town and told me to bring you this slice of pie,” he says with a suspicious smile. I manage not to smile back and set the bag down on the arm of my chair.
“That’s so nice,” I say. “Thanks for bringing it.”
“No problem,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shrugs and looks out over the water.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I just didn’t like the thought of you being up here alone.”
I let out a sarcastic chuckle.
“I’ve been alone a lot over the last twelve years, and I’ve been just fine,” I tell him. His head drops, then he slowly lifts his eyes to me.
“I missed a lot,” he whispers, and my heart jumps an extra beat in my chest. I don’t know what to say, so I just look down at the ground. “Do you...do you want to come by my house for dinner tomorrow? I make a mean pork barbeque, and I have a big roast thawing that I can’t possibly eat by myself.”
I look up at him, and I feel a little tug at the corner of my lips.
“Tomorrow sounds good,” I say, still avoiding fully smiling at him. Not on purpose, it’s just this sinking, guilty feeling I get anytime I feel myself warming up to him.
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