“I couldn’t bear for them to change one thing. I asked that they keep it, just the way he had it.”
Standing on shaking legs, I went to Elliott’s closet and retrieved the wrapped package. I held it out for Brando.
“For you.” I pushed the package even closer when he made no move to take it. “Please. Take it.”
He seemed almost unsure, no doubt hesitant. Overwhelmed. Finally, he did.
He slid a slow-moving finger under the wrapper on three sides. The paper fell with a soft whoosh to the floor. When he saw the gift, a war seemed to break out—the heartbreak he felt versus the euphoria at the memories.
I had spent countless hours in Elliott’s room after he died. Violet had been right—you could tell so much from someone’s private room, from all of their things. I found myself learning more and more about my brother during those times. I could feel his presence there with me, as though he tried to communicate, but my heart never felt he was close enough.
I’d stare at all of the pictures he collected and listen to all of his music. Certain things he had placed around his room allowed me to connect the pieces to the memories.
Every memory I found with Brando in it, I compiled into a framed memory board for him to keep. He only had the one picture in his room.
Two fishing hooks that they had used when they went fishing at my father’s cabin I had placed next to the picture. Ray-Bans had been on their faces. Brando ran his finger over the area, traced the shape of the metal, like he could still remember the feel of the snare in his hand.
“We caught so many fish. We called those our lucky hooks.” He tapped the glass. His eyes jumped from one picture to another, one tangible memory to the next, only to go over the board more slowly the next time around.
I set my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed down the sadness. “I’m sorry that my mother didn’t give you these things. I’m sorry that she kept you away. Can you tell me…how did you and Elliott meet? Why can’t I remember you? Why did my mother stop you from coming around?”
His eyes were fixed on the gift in his hands. “We met at the playground,” he said quietly. “Elliott wasn’t playing. Some of the other kids were laughing at him. I wouldn’t allow it. He seemed bright, a good kid. I was determined to get him to stick with me. We were inseparable after that. Your mother taught me sign language. We were brothers.”
He stretched his shoulders as though the suit was suddenly too tight.
“Elliott told me all about your dancing and that it had taken you from home. You were a little kid filled with all of these adult obligations.” He hesitated for a moment, a light crossing his face for a brief second. “You wouldn’t eat if someone didn’t force you to.”
“I’d forget?”
He grinned, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “You’re a picky eater, Scarlett.” He tapped his temple. “It worried me.”
Even back then, I worried him. I had to clear the emotion from my throat. “What made her keep you from me, Brando?”
“I did what I wanted, when I wanted. That doesn’t suit some parents.”
“It didn’t suit Pnina, therefore Everett.”
“She made the right call.”
The way he said the words, I knew that part of the conversation was over. A quiet descended; if one of us didn’t break it soon, it would become hard and ruin our night. That hadn’t been my intent.
“Where will you hang it?” I asked. “Or will you? I mean, I don’t want to be presumptuous— ”
He turned to me then, and the intensity radiating from him caused me to quiet. “Yeah.” His voice caught in his throat. He cleared it before speaking again. “It already has a space.”
I nodded, not sure what else to say. “I should—”
He caught me before I made it out the door. He held me in place, staring at me, until he leaned in close, his warmth spreading over me like a satin blanket against naked skin. A trembling breath left my mouth at his nearness.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and then placed a soft kiss on my cheek. “Now pack your things, Ballerina Girl. It’s time to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scarlett
I had always been with him, even if my body had not.
Brando’s old Chevy idled in the driveway of my parents’ house. The leather seats beneath the thin dress felt like ice. But after he put my things, and his gift, behind the seat, I scooted over next to him, thankful for his natural heat.
