“You know it,” he replied. I climbed from the car, and bent down to look through the open passenger side window. “Love ya, kid,” Cillian said. “Always remember that.”
“Love you, too,” I said and waved goodbye. I hated it when he had to go back to college. But I’d see him again in few weeks. Then in no time at all, I’d be seeing him every day. Playing beside him at Harvard. All our dreams finally coming true …
I blinked against the bright sun that was blinding me, ripping me from that memory. I’d thought of that night over and over again. Because in hindsight, I had seen signs there was something wrong with Cill then too.
I exhaled a long breath—it was stuttered. I barely felt anger when I thought of Cillian anymore. Now, there was just a deep ache in my chest that never went away. I looked to Jacob, who was still nervously playing with his hands beside me. I couldn’t believe my own ears when I found myself saying, “I had an older brother too. Cillian.” My voice was rough and strained as I spoke his name aloud. But the words were coming, and that in itself was a goddamn miracle.
I caught Jacob’s hands still in my periphery. “He was my best friend,” I said and cast my gaze to Savannah, who was tying up a young girl’s hair back into a ponytail that must have fallen out. I smiled seeing her this way. She wanted to work with kids and was worried she wasn’t good enough. She was. She was perfect. Feeling my stare, she looked up. She blushed under my attention, then awarded me with a wide smile.
Some of the aching in my chest eased a little. I turned to Jacob, who met my stare. And this time he didn’t look away. I cleared my throat and said, “He …” I coughed again. “He died not too long ago.”
Jacob’s eyes softened a fraction. In that moment, I could tell he knew we were the same. Scarred by fraternal loss. Jacob shuffled in his seat and said, “Did your brother save you too?”
Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my jaw and blinked fast to keep them from falling. His question robbed me of breath. But when I thought back to Cillian, a movie reel of old memories cycled through my head. Showing all the laughter and fun we used to share—the hours and hours spent on the frozen pond, birthdays and holidays. Vacations in Mexico, just laughing. And all the times I’d had a bad game and he would crush me to his chest, kiss my head, and tell me it would all be okay. To shrug it off and refocus.
To move on …
“Yeah,” I said, barely audible. “He … he saved me too,” I said, because it was true. He’d saved me in all the ways that counted. Right up until the end, he was the best big brother anyone could wish for.
Jacob turned his head to the busy yard when someone shrieked in laughter. “Do you miss him too?” Jacob asked, then turned back to me. His brown eyes were wide and sorrowful as he waited for my answer.
“Every minute of every day,” I whispered.
“He was teaching me how to play football—soccer,” Jacob said. “Daniel, my brother. He had started teaching me, just before …”
I saw the sports shed off to the side of the yard. “You want to play now?”
Jacob followed my line of sight. “You play football?” he asked.
I smirked. “I’m okay at it,” I said. “Hockey is my sport.”
Jacob gave a tiny smile. “On ice?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
“We don’t get much ice here,” he said. But then he got to his feet and beelined for the sports shed. I got up and followed him. When he opened the door, I froze. Because staring back at me were a stack of unbranded wooden hockey sticks and a bucket of practice balls.
“We had someone come here who was from Canada. He liked ice hockey too and made these from some spare wood that wasn’t being used on the houses,” Jacob said. He ducked his head. “He taught some people how to play a little on land. I wanted to join in, but I just …”
He couldn’t make himself join in. I understood that.
The sticks practically glowed as they sat against the wall of the shed gathering dust. My hands flexed with the need to hold one. Memory after memory barreled into my mind. Of Cillian teaching me to play. Teaching me how to hold a stick …
“One hand on the top,” he said. The stick felt huge in my hands, but Cill had recently started to play hockey and I wanted to play too. “Now put a hand down here,” he said, placing my other hand farther down the stick. “How does it feel?” he asked, coming to stand in front of me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He was proud.
“Good,” I said, smiling so wide my cheeks ached. “It feels wicked good.”
Reaching into the shed, I pulled out a stick and blew the cobwebs from the wood. I ran my hand down the smoothed surface and gripped it in my hands. The sense of rightness was immediate. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to catch a moment of peace. It had been too long since I’d held a stick and not thrown it away or smashed it to pieces. I stayed in the moment, breathing in the warm air, feeling relaxed. I thought of Cillian. For a moment, I almost believed I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder again. Proud of me once more.
When I opened them again, I turned to Jacob. “You wanna know how to hold it?”
Excitement flickered in Jacob’s eyes. I handed him the stick, bending down in front of him. He was a small kid, but right then I saw a hint of life flicker back into his sad eyes. “Put one hand on the top,” I said, mimicking how Cillian had taught me all those years ago. “And this one here,” I said, hearing emotion clogging my voice as I directed his hand. “How does that feel?” I asked, just trying to sit within this surreal moment and not let it break me.
“Good,” Jacob said, and I felt the air around us shimmer. It really did feel like Cillian was right here with me. I really wanted to believe he was.
“Good,” I said and ruffled Jacob’s hair. I grabbed the bucket of balls and the makeshift nets that had been thrown together too. I set them up and helped Jacob learn how to maneuver the stick, how to keep control, how to sink the ball into the net. It wasn’t ice hockey, didn’t really resemble it in any way, but it was something.
It wasn’t until Jacob scored and threw his hands up in the air that I realized everyone had stopped to watch us. Dylan went to the shed and pulled out the rest of the hockey sticks. Before he did, he met my eyes as if to silently ask,
“Is this okay?” I nodded, feeling like it truly was, and Dylan handed out the sticks to the other kids. They waited with bated breath for my instruction. Looking to the side, I saw Savannah watching me with watery eyes.
“Peaches,” I said and waved. “Get over here.” Her cheeks blazed as she walked over, hating being under any kind of attention. I took a stick from Dylan. I steered Savannah in front of me and stood behind her. I showed the kids how to hold the stick, using Savannah as my example. I kept my chest to her back, moving her hands, sneaking soft kisses to her cheeks when the kids weren’t looking.
When the kids were off practicing, monitored by the rest of our friends, Savannah’s hand rested on my arm.
“You okay?” she asked. “That must have been hard for you.”
“Yeah,” I said, and I knew she could hear the rawness in my voice. “But it also felt good.” I gripped the stick tighter. I opened my mouth to say something but then stopped.
“What?” Savannah said, refusing to let me close in on myself.
“It felt …” I took a deep breath. “It felt like he was with me. Just now.” I kept my eyes cast down, feeling stupid. Savannah’s hand landed on my cheek. She guided my face up until I met her eyes.
“Then he was,” she said with absolute conviction. “I believe it with my whole heart. We’re all part of the world, our own energies. Even when we pass, that energy remains.” She shrugged. “I think that’s why we feel them with us at times. Maybe their energy stays close by. It remembers us.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.