Read Online Where You'll Find Me by Erin Fletcher - Free Book Online Page B

flinging a little soapy water in his direction. “Don’t make me splash it out of you.”
    He smiles, and I hand him a glass. He’s quiet for another minute while he dries it. I wash the pan, but when I try to hand it to him, he’s staring out the window over the sink. Following his gaze, I don’t see anything other than tiny paw prints in the snow.
    “I had a brother,” he says. “A twin brother.”
    The past tense jumps out at me. I stand still as water droplets roll off the pan and back into the sink. “What happened?”
    “He got sick.”
    I want to see Nate’s eyes. To see if the pain there is as significant as I imagine it must be, but he stares straight ahead. I get the feeling he’s seeing something other than the snow. “When…how long…” There’s not a good way to talk about things like this. Though I know that more than anyone, I’m surprised to find it’s just as difficult on this side of the conversation.
    “He was sick for a few years. Died in December.”
    It’s only been a month at most. It’s still fresh. Still raw. “I’m sorry.” The words fall flat compared to the sympathy I want to convey. I hated when people said that to me, but what else is there to say? When it comes to death, the list of things that can ease the pain is very short, and words aren’t on that list.
    Nate snaps his attention away from the window. He gives me a tight-lipped smile as he says, “Thanks,” and takes the dripping pan from my hands. He clears his throat and asks, “So, best omelet you ever ate, right? I miss cooking.”
    I should make some sarcastic comment about cooking in my garage, but it’s impossible to pull my thoughts away from Nate’s brother and the memories of my own loss that threaten to surface. Instead, I stare at the soapy water and ask, “Nate? Your brother… Did you get to say good-bye?”
    There’s a long enough pause that I think I shouldn’t have asked, but he answers before I can take the question back. “Yeah. I had weeks to say good-bye. I got to say everything I needed to say.”
    I nod and close my eyes. Jealousy, sadness, and relief fight for my attention, but I swallow them down. When I open my eyes, Nate is studying me. “That’s good,” I say, the words catching in my throat.
    We stand there for a few seconds. The faucet drips into the silence. “You okay?”
    It makes me feel awful because I’m the one who should be asking him that question. “Yeah.” But I don’t sound okay at all.
    Without warning, Nate reaches out and pulls me in for a hug. At first I stiffen, not sure how to react. Then, ever so slowly, I relax into his soft white T-shirt. My head doesn’t reach his shoulder, just falls against his chest. He smells like cucumber melon and comfort. I wrap my arms around him, even though my soapy hands are soaking his shirt. I feel safe. Warm. It doesn’t take long before the tightness in my throat eases, and I think the memories might not knock me to the ground.
    “Thanks, Hanley,” he says when he finally lets me go. “I needed that.”
    He’s giving me an out. An opportunity to step away without acknowledging the comfort or admitting to why I was the one who needed it. He’s got his secrets, and he’s letting me have mine. The acceptance and understanding in his eyes makes me think those secrets might not be very different. “You’re welcome.”
    We turn back to the sink to finish washing, rinsing, and drying.
    “So, really,” he says. “Be honest. Best omelet ever?”
    “Yeah.” I force a smile. Back to the status quo. “Best omelet ever.”
    …
    Once the dishes are washed and put away—evidence of me cooking anything more complex than a bowl of cereal would raise immediate parental red flags—Nate and I head into the living room. Even though there are two couches and a recliner up for grabs, Nate sits directly next to me, close enough that contact is inevitable. Not that I’m about to complain. We watch stupid daytime television