Chapter 28
It had been a cool autumn night. November had come early on the back of a short rainy season followed by a parade of colorful leaves. Henry had bundled himself into a coat and cap, and I’d wrapped up in my favorite blue scarf.
“I want to show you something,” Henry had said, leading us away from the sidewalk and down a short grassy hill.
Dew coated the squared toes of my ankle boots, and the damp air seeped through the meager protection of my stockings.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “Julien was nervous this morning. He said he has something to tell us.”
“I know. I’m a little afraid to hear what he has to say. But this will only take a moment, and then we’ll meet up with him,” Henry insisted. As we crested another small hill, he pointed at a massive southern oak. “Isn’t that tree magnificent? It must be three hundred years old.”
The old oak seemed to peer down at the cluster of buildings nestled in the valley below it.
Its branches spread wide as if competing with the undulating land that stretched out on either side of it.
Golden leaves clung stubbornly to its branches, though the brisk wind jostled them playfully, carrying with it a promise of early winter.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “It’s amazing how quiet and distant the field feels, even with the city so close.”
He grabbed my hand, tugging me forward until we stood beneath the tree’s webbed branches on a carpet of colorful leaves, the smell of must and damp vegetation permeating the air.
“Elisabeth.” He cupped my cheek with his hand. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something. About us.”
“Us?” I felt my cheeks flame beneath his touch, but I didn’t look away lest the moment dissipate and I was left there alone, wishing, dreaming, when none of it was real.
Henry smiled. “Us,” he said. His beautiful face was dappled with moonlight, his breath sweet. And as he leaned toward me, my heart skipped a beat.
“Us,” I breathed, tilting my face to his.
When his lips met mine, something inside me unlocked—something my body had always known, even if I hadn’t been able to admit it to myself.
I loved Henry Cooper. I’d loved him since we were children.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned into his warmth.
The world melted into the night around us.
We stayed together that way for what felt like time immeasurable.
Eventually, our noses grew cold, and we laughed quietly in our shared intimacy. And everything in the world felt right for a moment.
When Henry glanced at his watch, the spell was broken. “Damn, we’re nearly half an hour late meeting him. We’d better go.”
We locked hands, giddy with this new sensation, the new realization that we could be together, and not only as friends. We were in love.
Laughing, joyous, we dashed across the lawn, down the hill to the sidewalk. I didn’t know where we’d go from here, but in that moment, I was the happiest woman alive. The kiss, that perfect night, had pushed away all the dread I’d felt about the evening ahead.
Julien had been so busy lately and acting so unusual that I was relieved when he promised to tell us everything over dinner that night.
He’d chose an out-of-the-way restaurant on the edge of town.
Normally I would have complained, questioned his odd choice, but I was too happy to be meeting Henry, too.
Too happy to spend an evening with my favorite men in all the world.
As Henry and I raced to the bottom of the hill and down the street, turning the corner, the restaurant came into view. Julien paced the edge of the sidewalk, peering at the occasional cars that passed.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
Henry squeezed my hand. “I don’t know, but I can’t imagine why he’d be waiting outside for us, though…we are late. Maybe he’s just impatient.”
I shook my head. “No, he told me he might bring a friend, whatever that means. Perhaps he’s waiting for him.”
“He must be as late as we are,” Henry said, peering into the dark.
Even from several paces away, I could see Julien’s features in the lamplight, his acute disappointment, his longing. We’d always been able to feel each other’s pain as if it were our own. That was the way of twins.
Emotion caught in my throat as I realized the friend he’d mentioned might not be a man but a woman. Someone he was courting perhaps? And she hadn’t come.
“Do you think it’s a woman?” I said as we walked more quickly. We were almost there.
Henry squeezed my hand. “I don’t know, but given how bizarre he’s been acting, I have my suspicions for sure.”
“Julien!” I called, waving to him, my arm stretched overhead.
He turned at the sound of his name.
In that moment, a woman wearing a headscarf stepped out from the shadows in the parking lot—just as a car raced around the corner, swerving dangerously, driving too fast. Oblivious to the car, Julien beamed at the woman, and I knew we’d guessed right.
He had a new girlfriend, and he wanted us to meet her.
But why hadn’t he introduced us sooner, and why had he been acting so strangely about it all?
And then time collapsed and all moved as if in slow motion.
The sound of a roaring engine. The driver narrowly missing a fire hydrant. The squealing of tires as they hit a puddle and skidded.
In less than an instant—a hundredth of a second—Julien’s face changed to one of surprise. His eyes went wide.
Henry’s voice echoed in my memory. Shouting my brother’s name.
The car sped away as my mind grappled with the scene before me, trying to understand what I was seeing. Julien was on the ground. Had the car hit him? What was happening? The woman bent over him a moment and then fled, the wind tearing away the headscarf that covered her hair. Her red hair.
Screams drowned out every thought, the sound of sirens in the distance, until at last, Henry took me in his arms, and I realized then they were my screams. I screamed and shook and lay in the street, calling his name like a siren, covering his body with mine.
My beloved, ebullient, ambitious, perfectly imperfect brother was dead.