Thirty
Peter
Islammed the door of the truck, resisting the urge to yell in frustration.
I fumbled for my seat belt as warm air hit my face, drawing sweat beads to my forehead.
The last place on earth I wanted to go was Austin, but, once again, I had no choice.
Cooper needed someone to go with him, and since Jesse, Rudy, and Tag were going to be out of town and Harlan and Cody had actual duties, I was the chosen one.
Day three of hell on earth and I was being dragged all the way to Austin with Cooper, of all people. A deep sigh made my chest ache as I waited for him to finish loading the trailer.
To make things worse, we had to share a tent.
A tent.
The driver’s door swung open and Cooper hopped inside, the stale scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. I wrinkled my nose in disgust and turned my face toward the window.
“You ready?”
Wordlessly, I waved down at the seat belt buckled around my waist. Duh.
Cooper snorted and the gear stick gave a few low knocks as he pulled it down and into reverse. His chuckle sounded more like resentment than humor. “You’re gonna be loads of fun, aren’t you?”
“Depends on what you consider fun.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
I rolled my eyes. “No shit.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to share a tent with your cranky, prissy ass either. But they’re making me take you.”
Ignoring the insult, I asked, “Why? I tried asking Tag earlier when he called, but no one tells me anything anymore.”
Cooper groaned with annoyance. “Because you need to be babysat.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re handling everything as well as a newborn, and your sisters want you out of their hair.”
My skin prickled with embarrassment. “It’s not easy being—”
“Nope. You pull the blind card, and I swear you’ll hitchhike.” The truck rumbled over the gravel, and in my opinion, he was taking the driveway way too fast. “Everyone around here is sick of hearing you bellyache about being blind. No one cares.”
I pressed my lips together, agitated because I had not been bellyaching. I hadn’t said a thing out loud. All I’d done is work my butt off and worry to death over Sarah. And I hadn’t said a thing to anyone. “Good. I don’t want anyone to care.”
“Good. Because I sure as hell don’t.”
We drove in icy silence for a few minutes as his comments rolled around in my head.
Everything in me told me to ignore Cooper and not let him get to me, but the term bellyache had shoved a dagger straight into the heart of my pride.
I had handled this change in my life with as much dignity as I could possibly muster.
But everything I tried to do wasn’t enough.
No one would be satisfied with my progress unless I switched back into the old Peter.
My fists balled in my lap.
The silence stretched for miles and Cooper eventually turned on the radio. For the hundredth time, I checked my phone for another list notification. When I found nothing, I put in my airpods and drifted off to sleep.
“Rise and shine, sugar plum.”
My head jerked upward as a muscle in my neck tangled. Wincing, I rubbed it, bracing myself against the truck’s bumpy lefthand turn.
“Did you get your beauty sleep?” I turned toward Cooper, trying to blink the sting from my eyes.
He chuckled, “Yikes. I guess not.” The truck’s blinker flipped off as he continued, “So, here’s how it all works.
I’m taking the sheep up to the stables. I’ve got to unload them and get all our gear set up.
While I’m doing that, you’re gonna set up camp.
The rodeo starts at six o’clock and I’ll be down there until after the mutton busting which should end around eight-thirty or so. ”
It was about three o’clock now. “What should I do during the rodeo?”
“Sit there and look pretty, I guess.” He snapped his fingers. “Or, considering you love being in bed so much, you could warm up my sleeping bag. That’d be nice.”
I sneered at him as he chuckled.
“Do what you want. Grab a bite to eat, go pick up more chicks, or find a spot on the bleachers and watch the show.”
“Watch the show.” I gave a single nod. “Got it.”
Ten minutes later, Cooper ejected me from the vehicle and tossed a few bags at my feet with a too chipper “Have fun, buddy!” then spun gravel as he drove off to the stables. I gave the bags a gentle kick with my tennis shoe, noting the sounds they made.
Clanging—like tent poles. Crinkling—like a plastic trash bag.
Standing in the campground, I listened to my surroundings. Our campsite was smack in the middle of half a dozen others, all of which were inhabited. Soft voices and laughter traveled over the air in six directions and the scent of grilling burgers reached my nose.
My heart pumped with anxiety as I realized I’d be setting up a tent while people looked on.
Using my cane, I moved around our site until I found a picnic table, a gravel drive, and a raised dirt platform to set the tent on.
I moved the bag there and unzipped it, a cold sweat breaking over the back of my neck.
I had set up a tent a hundred times. I could do it again.
But holding on to my confidence in the pitch black was no small feat, and as I expanded the poles and unfolded the canvas, my competency slipped away.
My skin grew hot with humiliation and I wanted to hide.
How big was this tent? A four person? Or a six person? It felt huge.
The poles were different lengths and there were multiple entry points with hooks, loops, and sleeves.
My palms grew slick as I tried poking the longest pole diagonally through the hooks, and then used the shorter poles to lift the sides, but it wasn’t working right.
It was too long or going the wrong direction or something.
Thirty minutes stretched into an hour and I still hadn’t figured it out.
A few people from neighboring sites offered to help, but I turned them down, which made my cheeks burn all the hotter as time kept ticking by.
Cooper thought I could do this, and my masculine pride wanted to prove that I could.
All by myself. Without a random stranger coming to hold my hand.
But, no sooner had my stubborn pride reared its head, than reality settled deep into my core.
I couldn’t set up a tent.
Sarah loved to backpack. We had gone on multi-day hikes and backpacked in the woods more times than I could count. We loved having campfires under the stars and waking up damp and tangled in each other’s arms. Those late mornings on the trail were nothing short of magic.
And I had always set up our tent.
The first time we backpacked together flitted across my memory like bitter herbs on my tongue.
She crawled on her hands and knees into the tent, flopping down on the bare canvas like a starfish. “It’s so tiny. Are you sure we can sleep comfortably in here?”
“Considering you basically sleep on top of me, I think we will be fine.”
She pursed her lips, playing with me. “I’m not convinced.”
I reached down, scooping her into my arms as my shoulder hit the ground. Like programmed robots, we folded into our default—her back to my chest, my knees behind hers, her curls tickling my nose, and the crook of my elbow squeezing beneath her chin.
Her voice muffled against my arm as a contented sigh lifted from her lips. “You win. We fit.”
The stark contrast between my then and now weighed on me until I thought I would collapse. And, running out of options, I picked up the phone and asked Siri to Facetime the one person who could do this in his sleep. My brother.
“No freaking way, man!” Ben answered the phone practically roaring. “I haven’t seen that face in ages. Bro, you look so pale!”
“Hey, Ben.” I tried to smile, wondering if his face had changed or aged at all. He’d be a decrepit old man yet immortalized in my memory as a Greek god with rippling muscles, bright white teeth, and commercial-worthy hair. “How are you?”
“No, no. No questions yet. I need to relish in the fact that my big brother called me.”
Ben wasn’t one to send people on a guilt trip, but shame niggled at the back of my mind.
I had gone too long without acknowledging the fact that I had a little brother.
It was easier to isolate than draw people into my darkness.
It was easier to shut people out than try to find a new normal with them.
I didn’t know how to be real when everything felt so heavy and dark. And pretending had never been my forte.
Ben was ten years younger than me, but we’d been good friends.
We biked, boxed, hiked, and played racquetball.
When our siblings met at my parents’ house for our traditional Sunday lunch, we would shoot baskets in the driveway.
He said Sarah and I had the perfect relationship, and I offered advice as he cycled through girlfriends.
When he dropped out of college the fall before my accident, I talked him through it and helped him move all his stuff from his dorm to home then eventually to the Fire Academy.
He was one hell of a guy. And I missed him.
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“A while? Dude, it’s been months. You must be allergic to your phone.”
I huffed a fake laugh. “There’s just been a lot going on.”
“Well, update me. How are you?”
“Well…” I took a deep breath, dreading to reveal the fact that I called because I needed something. “I’m trying to put up a tent right now, and I can’t figure it out.”
“Oh.” The animation in his voice dropped. “I guess you need me to help?”
“Do you mind?”
Whatever negative feelings he had, he threw off, infusing the usual humor back into his voice. “Of course not. Tents just happen to be my speciality.”
“I know.” I flipped the camera around and Ben clicked his tongue a few times. I gave him a quick tour, showing him where I got hung up and he gave me a few ideas to try. Twenty minutes later, the tent was standing and I drove the pegs into the ground.
We made small talk, but it felt strained and empty.
Like two strangers trying to keep conversation going at a party.
Not brothers catching up on life. Bitterness swirled in my chest as I remembered the day of the accident.
How had one day stolen everything from me?
Even my relationships. There wasn't one single person on earth who felt like home anymore. Not my siblings. Not my parents.
Not even my own wife.
After long minutes of stilted conversation, I finally had the tarp on.
And we were both relieved to say goodbye.