the cars.
I shrugged, hands in my pockets and the collar of my black suit turned up against the drizzle.
âGo on with our lives, like Mom and Dad would have wanted. Concentrate on the good things.â I donât pretend that was any deep piece of wisdom, but Nathan stopped and turned toward me like Iâd spit on the headstone.
âPerhaps you could point out to me the good in whatâs happened,â he said.
I took a breath, not wanting to get into anything but wanting to offer something.
âThey were happily married for nearly forty years, Nathan. They genuinely loved each other, which is more than a lot of people have. They raised two sons whom they also loved. They lived to see their first grandchildren. So far as I know, they were happy all the days of their lives. When their time came, they went together and they didnât suffer. That may not seem like much and Iâll grant itâs less than they deserved, but right now Iâll take that over nothing.â
Nathan didnât argue. In fact, he didnât say anything at all. He just stared at me like Iâd lost my mind and there wasnât any use trying to reach me with reason. He walked on to his car and I believe thatâs the last time we spoke. I get a letter from his wife Marie every so often, letting me know how the familyâs doing, and I get a Christmas card every year, but thatâs about it. Not that Nathan and I had been all that close before, really.
I walked into my apartment, threw my hat on the kitchen table, draped my jacket over a chair, then loosened my tie as I went over to the refrigerator. I wasnât feeling especially ambitious; dinner was a sandwich made from cold, leftover pot roast, a slice of cheese, and an apple. I sat at the table and ate slowly, my mind still wandering around haphazardly through my youth.
Nathan Edward Caine. You never called him Nate and you damned sure didnât call him Nat, not if you wanted your presence acknowledged in any way. Then again, he never used his full first name, Nathaniel, rebellious sort that he was. We were somewhat close as kids but grew out of it fairly early on. We didnât even look like brothers, not really. Nathan took after our father, slender with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. I got Momâs dark brown hair and eyes and darker skin. I also have a stockier build than Nathan, who eventually made it to our fatherâs height of six-foot-one, beating me by three inches.
Nathan had always been serious-minded even as a boy. He did well in school and rarely caused any trouble at home. I did okay with the books myself, but as for causing trouble, I was often accused of trying to carry Nathanâs load as well as mine. I wasnât a bad kid, really, but when you have a perfect older brother, even your small sins tend to stand out in sharp relief. Nathan was no saint, of course, though as a boy he had briefly considered entering the priesthood. When he was told that the most important attributes for a priest were faith, fidelity, and compassion â attributes that were impossible to quantify and therefore easily fudged to Nathanâs way of thinking â the job lost its appeal. Or was it that priests were expected to spend a significant portion of their time listening to people confess to wrongdoing without laying into them for their weakness and stupidity? Either way, the Church dodged a bullet there if you ask me.
It wasnât like I grew up jealous of Nathan. Far from it. I certainly never wanted to be like him. Nathan knew from a young age what kind of life he wanted. He knew before he started high school where he wanted to go to college, what kind of girl he wanted to marry, what trade he wanted to work in. He seemed to have his future all worked out, which was great for him but would have put me in a rubber room. I think moving around to different homes and different schools, seeing the parade of Mom and
I shrugged, hands in my pockets and the collar of my black suit turned up against the drizzle.
âGo on with our lives, like Mom and Dad would have wanted. Concentrate on the good things.â I donât pretend that was any deep piece of wisdom, but Nathan stopped and turned toward me like Iâd spit on the headstone.
âPerhaps you could point out to me the good in whatâs happened,â he said.
I took a breath, not wanting to get into anything but wanting to offer something.
âThey were happily married for nearly forty years, Nathan. They genuinely loved each other, which is more than a lot of people have. They raised two sons whom they also loved. They lived to see their first grandchildren. So far as I know, they were happy all the days of their lives. When their time came, they went together and they didnât suffer. That may not seem like much and Iâll grant itâs less than they deserved, but right now Iâll take that over nothing.â
Nathan didnât argue. In fact, he didnât say anything at all. He just stared at me like Iâd lost my mind and there wasnât any use trying to reach me with reason. He walked on to his car and I believe thatâs the last time we spoke. I get a letter from his wife Marie every so often, letting me know how the familyâs doing, and I get a Christmas card every year, but thatâs about it. Not that Nathan and I had been all that close before, really.
I walked into my apartment, threw my hat on the kitchen table, draped my jacket over a chair, then loosened my tie as I went over to the refrigerator. I wasnât feeling especially ambitious; dinner was a sandwich made from cold, leftover pot roast, a slice of cheese, and an apple. I sat at the table and ate slowly, my mind still wandering around haphazardly through my youth.
Nathan Edward Caine. You never called him Nate and you damned sure didnât call him Nat, not if you wanted your presence acknowledged in any way. Then again, he never used his full first name, Nathaniel, rebellious sort that he was. We were somewhat close as kids but grew out of it fairly early on. We didnât even look like brothers, not really. Nathan took after our father, slender with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. I got Momâs dark brown hair and eyes and darker skin. I also have a stockier build than Nathan, who eventually made it to our fatherâs height of six-foot-one, beating me by three inches.
Nathan had always been serious-minded even as a boy. He did well in school and rarely caused any trouble at home. I did okay with the books myself, but as for causing trouble, I was often accused of trying to carry Nathanâs load as well as mine. I wasnât a bad kid, really, but when you have a perfect older brother, even your small sins tend to stand out in sharp relief. Nathan was no saint, of course, though as a boy he had briefly considered entering the priesthood. When he was told that the most important attributes for a priest were faith, fidelity, and compassion â attributes that were impossible to quantify and therefore easily fudged to Nathanâs way of thinking â the job lost its appeal. Or was it that priests were expected to spend a significant portion of their time listening to people confess to wrongdoing without laying into them for their weakness and stupidity? Either way, the Church dodged a bullet there if you ask me.
It wasnât like I grew up jealous of Nathan. Far from it. I certainly never wanted to be like him. Nathan knew from a young age what kind of life he wanted. He knew before he started high school where he wanted to go to college, what kind of girl he wanted to marry, what trade he wanted to work in. He seemed to have his future all worked out, which was great for him but would have put me in a rubber room. I think moving around to different homes and different schools, seeing the parade of Mom and
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