plans didn’t include looking after two kids. He had to quit assuming she’d drop everything anytime he needed her, even though that was exactly what she did. She wasn’t just a schoolteacher and grieving friend, he reminded himself. Maybe she slept in on a Saturday morning or went to the beach. Hell, maybe she was seeing someone, not that it was any of his business.
He found the TV remote right where Derek would have left it, on a table to the right of the lounge chair, and when he turned it on, the Golf Channel came up.
Sean handed the remote over to Charlie, who quickly switched to cartoons. Because she wanted to help, he gave her a box and two bags and told her to empty the TV console in the living room.
“Everything?” she asked.
“Everything. If you think we should keep it, put it in the box. If not, in the trash bag or the Salvation Army bag. You decide.”
“What if I can’t decide?”
He kissed her head. “Then keep it, honey, just in case.”
He turned away then, because the anguish hit him hard. Here in this house, with its beige walls and furniture, he could still sense his brother’s presence, could imagine him here, never knowing it was his last day alive.
He hoped it had been a good day. He hoped Derek had hugged his kids, had a laugh, found joy in something that day.
“I’m going to get to work,” he said to the girls. “You tell me if you need anything.” He brought a stack of empty moving boxes into the bedroom. Jane was late, but that didn’t surprise him. She had weathered the tragedy poorly, vacillating between rage and uncontrollable tears. What Sean sensed from her most of all was bitterness, that she hadn’t held Derek’s heart longer or shared enough of his life. Sean had invited her to visit the kids anytime she wanted, but she claimed it made her too sad to be around them. Whenever she saw them, she cried so hard that the baby cried, too. She’d managed to compose herself enough to do an interview for some cheesy entertainment magazine, though.
“She’s a real prize,” he muttered to the open door of the walk-in closet. The air smelled of shoe leather and expensive after-shave, as real as if Derek were standing right behind him. Damn it, thought Sean. You’re not supposed to be dead. He tried to remember their last conversation. Golf, women, small talk. He tried to remember the last time he’d told his brother he loved him. “That would be never,” he muttered. “I sure as hell hope you knew.”
Jane had evidently already stopped by to remove her own things soon after the funeral. There was an empty space on the rack and adjacent shelves. That pissed him off, and when he heard her arrive, he was ready to unload on her.
But it wasn’t Jane standing in the bedroom doorway, and the bitter words dissolved on his tongue. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, Maura walked toward him. She looked tired, he noticed, tired and sad. “I got your message.”
He jerked a shirt off a hanger, folded it awkwardly, put it in one of the boxes for the Salvation Army. Some of Derek’s fans had suggested holding an eBay auction with his memorabilia, but Sean couldn’t stomach the idea of his brother’s things being picked over like meat from a carcass. He’d rather see some homeless guy in Derek’s still-new Tommy Bahama golf shirts.
“Jane was supposed to meet me here to get rid of this stuff,” he said to Maura. “She’s a no-show.”
“I’d offer to help, but I need to turn in a project this morning,” she said. “And Sean…”
Her voice trailed off, but he knew what was coming next. It was the we-need-to-talk part of the conversation. The one he’d seen coming ever since the accident.
From the moment it became clear he was in charge of three kids, he and Maura had been heading in different directions. Sean understood that. Still, it hurt to look at her, to imagine the way they used to be together, unencumbered, living from day to day. He yanked another shirt from the closet, folded it.
“I’m twenty-five years old, Sean,” Maura said in a breaking voice. “I get my MD this summer and I have no idea where I’ll wind up for an internship. I’m sorry, I…”
“Don’t apologize for that,” he said. “The world needs doctors.” He pulled out a pair of FootJoy