by Nicole Casey
“You’re a hero,” I said.
He smiled and shook his head. “No, Ruffy was the hero. The number of times he saved us from danger, I can’t even begin to count them.”
The way Owen spoke, the rhythm and the melody of his speech, was hypnotizing. I could listen to him narrate the tax code.
I looked at Owen, then Ryker, then back at Owen. If they’re not related, I will be dumbfounded.
Owen caught me staring. He smiled and said, “There’s quite a similarity, isn’t there?”
“Quite,” I said emphatically.
The closeness in their physical appearances had a strange effect on me. I found myself sitting across from a man I didn’t know, though I felt like I knew him intimately. He looked like Ryker might look in five or six years. And the more I looked at Owen, the more I felt like I was with Ryker but six years in the future. We had traveled the world together; we had celebrated successes, argued over trivial things, and had had sincere and passionate make-up sessions. And we were now back at the quaint country diner where we’d had our first proper meal together, six years ago.
“Looks like you’ve got something on your mind,” he said.
I exhaled a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. It’s been an eventful day.”
After dinner, Will called his friend on the force and told him he’d be by to give him a DNA sample to run. The four of us stood outside the diner, none of us knowing how to say goodbye.
“Where are you guys staying?” asked Owen.
I told him about the motel, and both Owen and Will protested.
“Oh, no,” said Will, “out of the question.”
“What? It’s a perfectly fine motel,” I said.
Will shook his head. “We’ve got a big beautiful cabin out by Alarka.”
“Where’s Alarka?” asked Ryker.
“Not far.” Will pointed toward the mountains. “About a thirty-minute drive.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Owen. “You guys should stay there. It’s big. It’s comfortable.”
I put my hands up, open palms out, and shook my head. “No, no, no. We couldn’t impose.”
“Impose?” said Will with disbelief. “Nonsense, we’d love to have you.” He tapped Ryker on the arm. “You can meet the others.”
“That’s awfully kind of you,” said Ryker, “but maybe…” he looked at me, and I was imploring him with my eyes to say yes; we were out on an adventure; not the time to play it safe.
“Actually, if it’s not an imposition,” said Ryker.
“Not an imposition at all,” said Will. “You’ll meet the whole gang. This is going to be great.”
As we walked to their car, I felt a soft touch on my cheek. I stuck out my hand, palm up. “Looks like we’re going to get another snowfall.” I winked at Ryker, and he winked back.
14
Ryker
I was riding in the backseat of a car, my hot new girlfriend at my side and my two older brothers in the front seats—we still needed to wait a couple of days for the DNA result to confirm, but I was already convinced they were my siblings. If not my brothers, they were at least close cousins. In any event, I had no doubt we were related.
By the time we arrived at their cabin, the snow was coming down quite hard. The cabin stood at the end of a long, winding dirt driveway cut through a sloping forest. Its slanted roof already held a layer of fluffy white snow. A stream of smoke rose from the chimney and was immediately lost amidst the snow flurry. The windows were already frosted, and the whole scene looked like an image from a winter fairy tale.
“You were right,” Holly said to Owen. “It is big. And beautiful.”
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “We’ve got a big family.”
“And you all live together?” she asked.
“No. Everyone has their own place now, but this’s the cabin where we can all be together.”
As we were still getting out of the car, everyone came rushing out of the cabin to greet us despite the heavy snow. The fraternal resemblance was obvious on every one of them, including on me.
I shook hands and repeated names when Will pushed his brothers back and tried to lead us inside. I felt like a rock star being ushered through a line of adoring fans.
Once inside, we shook off the snow and began the introductions anew.
Gannon and Brock, the other set of identical twins, stood a head taller than the rest. Though their facial features matched with eerie exactness, Gannon had a shaved head, whereas Brock sported short, though somewhat unruly, black hair.
Miles, the fifth in succession, looked beyond his twenty-seven years, perhaps due to his thick mustache, or perhaps it was the scythe tattoo on his forearm that made him look deceivingly like the oldest of the clan.
Shaun, only a year younger than Miles, also sported a mustache, but he set himself apart with his broad shoulders and thick arms. When he told us he worked as a lumberjack, it was easy enough to believe. His imposing, muscular physique would confirm this. He was accompanied by his wife, Doris, a bubbling blond with big hair and bracelets that rattled when she waved her hands excitedly as she talked.
I thought there were three sets of twins when I met Carson and Ted. They were both twenty-four, though Carson told me he was actually ten months older than Ted. I looked from one to the other, bewildered. “You might look more like twins than Will and Owen do,” I said.
“Yeah, we get that a lot,” said Carson.
More so than their other brothers, they looked like Will and Owen, only seven or eight years younger. Ted was slightly taller, and I made a mental note: Ted begins with T like “tall.” Ted is the taller one.
Lawson was the youngest of the bunch at twenty-three, though he looked far younger. I would have given him eighteen or nineteen at the most. He had the same wide dark eyes and straight dark hair as all of us. But instead of the rigid jawline and chiseled cheeks of the rest of the family, his face was softer and rounder, accentuated by the retro mop-top haircut he was sporting.
“My goodness,” Holly uttered as she looked in awe from one to the other.
A warm wave of energy swept through me at seeing how happy she was just then. An image flashed in my mind, an image of her going to each of them and embracing them with long, sloppy kisses on the mouth as if she were embracing several iterations of me and losing herself in both the variety and the similarities offered to her.
I blinked away the image, but even then, I knew I would call it back later when I was alone, so hot and arousing the image was.
We settled in the spacious living area. Wide windows looked out to a forest whose trees were already coated white with snow. It must be great here at Christmas.
The room was sparsely furnished, favoring floor cushions to sofas and a pair of acoustic guitars and an assortment of hand percussion to a stereo or a TV. A stone fireplace jutted out from one wall. Above it hung a wooden plaque engraved with the family name, Chandler. On the opposite side of the room, a door opened to a corridor that, I was told, led to a bathroom and four bedrooms.
I had a thousand questions to ask each of the Chandlers, but it was all a bit overwhelming to take in at once. Holly seemed to be doing okay with it. She had Gannon on one side of her, Brock on the other, and Miles in front. And she engaged with them all, the excitement brimming on her face increasing as she turned from one to the other lookalike.
Again, the image of her embracing them came to mind. This time I didn’t blink it away, preferring instead to linger on it a moment. Details became clearer in the image. I saw her hand running along the inside of Gannon’s long, stout leg. Her other hand slipped in under Brock’s shirt to run up his chest.
“It must be a lot for you to take in.”
I snapped myself from my reverie and turned to see Shaun at my side. “Um, yeah, it sure is.”
“Do you want to learn our secret family recipe?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He motioned with his head for me to follow, and we left the living area for the kitchen.
The kitchen was equally as large as the living area. A table, fit for a king’s court, occupied the far back of the room while the cooking area dominated the near part, with two stoves, separated by a wide double sink, and long wood countertops stretching along the wall all the way to a door in the back. Pots and pans hung from hooks in wooden rafters above.
“Man, you could cook for like fifty people here!” I exclaimed.
Shaun smiled at me. “Sometimes, we do.”
A strong scent of apples permeated the air. When I followed Shaun to the countertop, I could see why: a series of wicker baskets were full of them.
“Picked from the apple trees just out back,” said Shaun. “And this”—he held up an index finger, walked to the back of the room to a pantry where he retrieved a glass jug and brought it over to the counter. He grinned and lifted up the jug— “Locally distilled.”
He poured half the jug into a silver pot. It smelled like polish remover, and I couldn’t help but wince.
“Yeah,” said Shaun. “It’ll make you tear up. But don’t worry, that’s just the first ingredient.”
Together we cut up apples and oranges and tossed them into the pot.
Someone called out from the living area, “Hey, is that Chandler Cider I’m smelling?”
Shaun called back. “You know it.”
We added cloves and maple syrup. “Trick is,” said Shaun, “you got to keep stirrin’. Can’t let up even for a minute, or it’ll get clumpy.”
“Can I do it?” I asked, reaching for the wooden ladle he was stirring with.
“By all means.”
As I stirred, the syrup and apples’ aroma mixed with that of the strong alcohol base into something sweet and biting.
“She’s just about there,” said Shaun. He pulled ceramic mugs from the cupboard—twelve, in all—and lined them up on the counter. “You ladle, and I’ll serve.”
“Teamwork,” I said.
“The best kind of work,” Shaun replied, and he gave me a wink and a nod.
We joined the others, steaming mugs of homemade cider in hand. Before even taking a sip, I was disoriented. Doris, who I’d known to be Shaun’s wife, was sitting on Brock’s lap, arms around his neck, head leaning against his. Brock had his hand on her ass. Shaun handed Brock his drink, and they clinked mugs as if that were the most normal, happy sight to see: your wife sitting on your brother’s lap, draped on him, while he groped her, the room laughing and carrying on.
I began to lose the thread of who was who. Is Brock really Shaun, and Shaun is Brock? And is Owen actually Gannon? And which one’s Carson, again?
Shaun must have seen the incomprehension on my face. “Is everything all right?” he asked me.
“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s great.”
Brock took Doris by her collar. He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth. She welcomed his kiss. Ran her hands lustily up his shirt, grabbed him by the jaw, and turned his simple peck into a full-on tongue wrestle.
I pointed at the couple. “I thought Doris was your wife.”
“She is,” he said matter-of-factly, then he raised his mug.
I raised mine, and we clinked mugs. I was even more confused.
I looked for Holly and found her seated against the wall with Owen and Gannon. Miles had the guitar and was strumming, trying to remember a song he wanted to sing for them.
“We’re a family,” said Shaun, and my attention drifted back to him. “We. Share. We share everything.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “You mean.…”
He nodded, took a sip from his mug, and inhaled a sharp hissing breath, either from the heat or from the alcohol. He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Everything.” He blew on his drink then continued, “What I have is yours, what you have is mine. That’s the way we grew up. We grew up poor, but because we shared, we never lacked.”
“Wow,” was all I managed to say in response.
“It does us right.” He looked at me, fluttered his eyebrows, and gave me a jab in the side with his elbow. “Does the girls right, too.”
I felt a certain and sudden sense of panic and glanced back at Holly, fearing maybe she was on somebody’s lap with her arms wrapped around his neck, the two engaged in a passionate embrace. Then I chuckled to myself. Isn’t that precisely what I’ve been fantasizing about?
“Come on.” Shaun motioned for me to follow. “Miles can play a mean guitar, but he sure can’t sing worth a lick.”
He headed over to where Lawson, Gannon, Owen, and Holly sat listening to Miles play. “Do you sing?” Shaun asked me.
“Only in the shower.”
My attention was split between Miles and Holly. I kept looking from one to the other, checking to see if Holly was okay and if she was enjoying herself. I also feared she would turn around and catch Doris and Brock making out. I didn’t know if that would freak her out as much as it had me.
Miles finished his song to a round of applause. He tried to pass the guitar to Lawson, but Lawson refused to take it.
Holly, on her knees, reached for the instrument. “Pass it over here.”
I was almost as surprised at seeing that as I was at seeing Brock and Doris making out. Miles got up from his stool. He helped Holly up and invited her to take his place. Shaun looked at me, expectantly. I merely shrugged. “I didn’t know she could play a guitar.”
Holly tucked her hair behind her ears, settled on the stool, and wiped the giddy expression from her face to take on a very serious, focused demeanor. Then she wound up her arm, struck a chord, and went into a loud rockin’ rendition of Elvis Presley's “Blue Suede Shoes.”
By the time she’d finished, everyone had come over to our side of the room and stood or sat in a semicircle around her. The applause was thunderous—and well deserved. She stood and did an Elvis hip thrust, then took a bow. Laughing, she tried to pass me the guitar. “Your turn, Ryker.”
“No, no, no.” I waved my hands emphatically in refusal. “No way. I couldn’t follow that.”
Lawson took the guitar and immediately went into a fast-tempo bluegrass ditty.
“Impressive,” I said to Holly.
In classic Elvis impersonator fashion, she replied, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
I took her hands. “Wanna dance?”
It was clearly apparent that we were both out of our element trying to dance to bluegrass. But that didn’t make either of us shy about it. We kicked and stomped, laughed, and tried to keep up with the fast-paced music. Everyone clapped the rhythm.
Brock and Doris joined us then we just imitated what they did. Gannon came and took Doris from Brock. Will came and took Holly from me.
They kicked and stomped and turned and clapped.
Gannon gave Doris to me. Will gave Holly to Miles. We shuffled and slid and slapped our knees, kicked up our feet, and slapped our heels.
I gave Doris to Carson. Miles gave Holly to me. We twirled and dipped, laughed, and held on as best we could.
15
Holly
A few nights ago, I was in the mountains caught in a snowstorm in a tent with my gorgeous brown-eyed lover. Now, I had come down from the mountains and was again caught in a snowstorm. My gorgeous lover was still with me, but he seemed to have multiplied. Everywhere I looked, I saw a different iteration of him: an older version to my left, a younger version to my right; a leaner one, or a more muscle-bound one; one clean-shaven, the other bearded.
As the snow fell in sheets outside, inside, we danced by the fire and sipped on warm cider. Ryker held me in his arms, his chin rested on my shoulder. His voice was starting to fade, his words coming out more slowly, soft and slurred.
“Are you getting drunk, Ryker?”
He shook his head; his eyes were half-closed. “I think ten days of hiking on little sleep is starting to catch up with me.”
I took his hand and led him
to the back of the room where a quilt had been spread out and cushions lined the wall. “Why don’t we lie down?”
“If I put my head down, I’ll be out, and I’ll be no use to you. Lay me down, and you can forget about me.”
I kissed him on the cheek. “Ah, I would never forget about you.”
Ryker took a seat against the wall. I lay on the quilt, my head on a cushion on his lap while he gently brushed my hair with his fingers. Miles played a slow blues on the guitar, which went perfectly with the snow dotting the window in specks of white. Lawson tended to the fire. Shaun and Ted went to and fro from the kitchen to the living area, bringing in drinks and snacks.
Unlike Ryker, I wasn’t sleepy, though I did curl up on the quilt and let myself be lulled into a sort of calm, domestic bliss. Outside, the weather looked bitingly cold, while I was inside safe and warm. Before me, I watched the many iterations of my lover carry out household chores, making the place and the people in it more comfortable and at ease.
“We’re missing Brock and Owen,” I said when I realized I hadn’t seen them in a while.
“And Doris,” said Ryker.
It was true. I hadn’t seen her in a while, either, though I was too absorbed in my fantasy to notice her absence. Plus, I’d barely talked with her all night.
Ryker massaged my scalp then the back of my neck. “Did you notice?”
“Notice what?”
Ryker lifted my head and the pillow it was on off his lap and eased me onto the quilt. Then he laid himself down beside me.
“Uh, oh. If you lie down, you’re going to pass out. Isn’t that what you told me?”
He snuggled up close against me. “You’ll keep me up if I start to fade.”
I could feel his stiff member against the small of my back and knew he wasn’t that tired.
“Did I notice what?” I repeated.
He rested his chin against the top of his head. When he spoke, his breath blew through my hair and tickled my scalp. “Doris.”