One Month Later
TRIGGER
I waited after her father's accident, but she never returned to school. When it was time to go home, I let hope build in my chest. Bardstown was small, and my property butted right up against hers. I'd see her again.
I should have known better.
Walking into my house for the first time in four years, I found a kid my age standing in the living room. Same eyes. Same dark hair. My father wasted no time: "This is your brother."
The words seemed as much news to the kid as they were to me. The grandfather clock ticked five full seconds before I broke the silence. "Where are you from?"
"Texas."
"Welcome to the family, Dallas." I instantly gave him a nickname like we were old friends. We weren't, but it didn't change the fact that I wanted him to be.
I’d always wanted a brother. Only, when I thought of having one, the schematics worked out differently. My mother hid her pregnancy from my father, then she put me up for adoption without his knowledge and ran off to marry his brother only to turn around and leave them too.
I never knew my father had a brother. But that day, years of silence ended with a police escort and a broken boy in my living room. My uncle's son. My blood. My brother.
He needed me, so I stayed. Weeks passed, and I kept hoping I'd run into Asha in town, but it never happened.
Which is why I'm now standing on her porch, staring at the door knocker, trying to recall the words I'd planned on giving her.
I've thought about what I would say countless times, but now that I'm standing here, I can’t remember any of them.
"Fuck it," I say as I ring the doorbell.
Heels click across the foyer, filling the silence. But they're all wrong, and then the door opens.
"Deliveries go around back," a maid says, mistaking me for someone I'm not.
"Oh, I'm not here to deliver anything. I'm here to see Asha."
Her brows tug together before she says, "Miss Asha is staying in Louisville with her father. Do you want me to give her a message for you?"
"No, that's alright. I'll give it to her myself. Thank you."
The door closes with a soft click that sounds like finality.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the brass knocker again.
Four weeks. Four weeks of waiting for her to appear, only to find out she's not even here.
Of course she's not. Nothing about coming home has gone the way I thought it would.
I have a brother I never knew existed. A mother who's worse than I imagined.
A father who won't speak about what happened. And now this.
I turn and walk down the porch steps, my boots heavy against the stone.
She's in Louisville with her father. Part of me wants to get in my truck and drive there right now, but I know that's desperation talking.
I've already waited one month. I can wait a little longer.
As I reach my truck, I glance back at the house one more time.
The maid has probably already forgotten about me, the nobody who came to the front door asking for Asha.
I'll give it to her myself, I'd said like a promise.
I climb into the truck and slam the door harder than I need to. The engine roars to life, and I pull away from the circular driveway and watch as the house shrinks in my rearview mirror.
Four weeks down and who knows how many more to go. But I'll wait. I've gotten good at waiting.