Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,76

“This wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

I tried to choke out a response, a word, anything, but nothing came.

Mark steered me toward the back door, a move my father had made countless times during my childhood. A moment later, we were sitting on the back step, the warm spring air caressing our cheeks.

“I wasn’t ready for this before,” he said. “I’m sorry--”

But I squeezed his hand, stopping him short.

It had taken me five years to face Emma’s room. Mark had faced Dad’s closet in only seven months.

“No.” I forced the word through my throat. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. So very, very wrong.”

He hooked an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d sat like this. Hell, I couldn’t remember ever sitting like this.

“We were both wrong.” The soothing tone of his voice washed over me, calming any tinge of anxiety I’d still held inside. “I think losing a father will do that to people.”

“Make them crazy?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He chuckled lightly. “Make them crazy.”

“Nice jacket.” I pulled at the hem.

“A little something I picked up.” He teased.

“He’d be proud of you.

Mark’s voice tightened then. “Think so?”

“Know so,” I answered.

He gave my shoulders a squeeze.

“What do you think he’d say about your hair?” he asked.

I reached up to self-consciously smooth a strand. My hair had grown long enough now for the uncontrollable wave to become...well...uncontrollable. Let’s just say the effect left a lot to be desired.

And then we spoke the words together. “I don’t care what anybody says, I’d wear it anyway.”

We were still laughing as we stepped back inside, but just before we left the mudroom, he grasped my arm again, pulling me to a stop.

I turned to face him, my eyes widening.

“You’ve been through a lot, Bernie.”

I shook my head. “No more than anyone else.”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing. “I’m proud of you.”

We stared at each other for a few moments, the silence comfortable, a bit like coming home.

“I cried for days when Emma died.” Mark spoke the words so softly I thought for a moment I might be imagining them. Moisture glistened in his eyes.

I’d never seen my brother cry.

Never.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My throat tightened again, relief and sadness and grief washing over me all at once.

He sighed, the sound more shudder than exhale. “Because big brothers aren’t supposed to cry.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, tears stinging behind my lids. “Yes they are,” I whispered the words in his ear.

“A bebe.” A shrill little voice sounded just before a tiny pair of arms locked around my knees.

I pushed away from Mark, holding his gaze long enough to read the truce in his eyes.

I turned and hoisted Elizabeth into my arms.

“A bebe,” she repeated as I pressed a kiss to her chubby cheek. My heart ached wondering how much she’d look like her cousin Emma might have looked.

“She’s been practicing your name all week,” Mark said, smiling proudly.

“And it sounds perfect.” I gave Elizabeth a squeeze and reached my open hand for Mark’s, sliding my fingers inside his. “Perfect,” I repeated as the three of us headed back toward the rest of our family.

o0o

“We were at the mall,” Diane said as she and Ashley let themselves in my front door later that evening.

I wondered briefly if the day would ever come that Diane didn’t feel she could walk in without knocking.

I hoped not.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on bed rest?”

Weeks had passed since the pre-term labor scare, and, with the exception of mild cramping, Diane’s pregnancy had continued along smoothly.

“We’re close enough to term that I’m allowed to do light activities.”

“Like going to the mall,” Ashley chimed in, rolling her eyes.

Ashley’s forehead captured my attention as I nodded in response to her statement. Her eyebrows were...perfect. I mean, truly perfect.

“Rediscover You?” I asked. She and I had never gotten back to the makeup kiosk but she’d obviously found a solution to the smearing issue.

Diane shook her head. “We bought some things at the drugstore and did them ourselves in the parking lot. They look great, don’t they?”

I stepped more closely to Ashley and reached out a finger to lightly trace her brows. I smiled. Her stubbles had almost grown in. Someday soon, the kid would have her brows back.

“Nice.” I gave her a hug.

Ashley took a backward step and hoisted a paper bag into my arms. “Open it,” she commanded.

I scrutinized the bag and frowned. “What is it?”

“Open it.” Diane repeated Ashley’s words.

So I did.

I unfolded the