He's the only other sibling of Pops's first marriage besides me and Grace. "Damn, sis."
"Shiv."
"You look like Mom."
"Don't say that."
"Sorry, Dak. You do though. The dress doesn't help."
"It's her mom's dress."
"I know. I remember you at six years old digging in the cedar chest at Grandma's looking at it."
He climbs the porch steps, stops in front of me, and looks at me for a long moment.
Then pulls me into his chest.
Quick, hard, both arms.
He smells like the cigarettes he doesn't quite hide, the leather of his cut, and the soap he's used since we were kids.
"I'm proud of you, Dak."
"Thank you, Shiv."
He pulls back and looks toward the pasture.
The string lights are coming on now as the sun drops. The crowd is seated under Earl's oak.
Pops at the arch in his cut. Spur beside him in a clean white shirt, Banshee at his shoulder.
Shiver puts my arm through his and we start to walk.
We don't speak for the first twenty feet.
Then I say, quietly, "Shiv."
"Yeah, Dak?"
"Have you heard from Mom? At all?"
He doesn't break stride. His jaw works once. "No, sis. I haven't. Wish I had."
"In how long?"
"I don’t know, Kota. It’s been a while now. Over a year, at least."
"Doesn't that feel weird to you?"
There’s a long moment of silence between us.
"Yeah. It does."
"I sent her a text this morning. Before the sun was up. Told her I was getting married. Told her about the dress."
"Kid, you know you won’t get a response. Her phone was shut off."
"Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe… I just feel like it’s some way for me to get my feelings out."
