Part 26 (1/2)

I heard my question, Do you love him?

Then her answer, No.

Again, I started to speak, but again my brother stopped me.

”I've made up my mind, Cal.” His eyes sparkled with antic.i.p.ation. ”But first I want to show her how much better I am. That I can drive, walk, that I'm almost like new.” He tossed the cane aside, wobbling slightly, his arms outstretched.

I reached for him. ”Be careful.”

He waved me away. ”Watch,” he commanded. Then he turned and walked from one side of the room to the other, an arduous, painful journey carried out by love and will alone. ”Pretty good, huh?” he asked breathlessly as he lowered himself into a chair.

”Very good,” I replied, my voice oddly brittle.

He seemed to rise on a wave of victory. ”Dora saved me, Cal. I was drowning. I could feel it. I couldn't breathe. Something in my mind couldn't breathe. But she saved me.”

He struggled to his feet again. ”I need a favor, Cal. A big favor.”

The word came from me emptily. ”Anything,” I said.

He wanted you to drive him out to Fox Creek?

Yes.

And you did that?

Yes, I did.

Why didn't he drive himself? His car had been repaired by then, hadn't it?

Yes, it had. But he wanted me to go with him. We'd done it many times before. Gone to Fox Creek together.

Why did he want to go to Fox Creek in particular?

Because he'd picked it.

Picked it for what?

Picked it as the place he intended to bring Dora. The place where he intended to ask her to marry him. He was going to bring her there, walk along the creek, the way our father had done with our mother. He wanted to practice that walk. So he wouldn't stumble.

And he needed you to help him?

Yes.

It was just after ten in the morning when we arrived at Fox Creek. Billy had managed to drive us there himself, hunched behind the wheel of my car. He'd placed his cane in the backseat, but he didn't reach for it when we arrived. Instead, he pulled himself from the car without its aid, then stood, clearly pleased with himself, looking first at our mother's abandoned cottage, then toward the water.

”That's the place to do it. Don't you think so, Cal?”

”I suppose,” I answered dryly.

He looked at me with a brother's care. ”Are you all right?”

”I'm fine.”

”You're very quiet.”

”I get that way sometimes.”

”Anything wrong?”

”No.”

He glanced back toward the cottage, briefly lost in thought, then returned his attention to me and said, ”Two children. I'd like us to have two children. Dora and me. Two boys. Like us, Cal. Brothers.”

With that, he headed toward the coursing stream of Fox Creek, shuffling slowly, but with ever-increasing confidence, across the cool, leaf-strewn ground.

I followed behind him, watching as he struggled forward, a gusty wind whipping around, but not in the least deterring Billy from the goal he had in mind. He was going for the bridge that arched over the creek, and as I moved silently behind him, my hands deep in my coat pockets, my head bent against the wind, I knew that it was precisely at that spot he intended to pour out his heart to Dora, ask her to marry him as our father had once asked our mother.

He reached the bridge, then mounted it far more easily than I had expected. As he grasped the wooden railing and stared out over the swirling water, he seemed incontestably renewed and invigorated, a figure strong and resolute, thrillingly bold, enn.o.bled by romance.

”She won't say no to me, Cal,” he declared.

I said nothing, but simply held my place at the end of the bridge, leaning against its weaving, unsteady rail.

”Come up here,” he said, almost playfully. ”Stand with me. Like when we were boys.”

I hesitated, but he waved again.

”Stand with me, Cal,” he repeated. ”My best man.”

The old timbers creaked as I reluctantly mounted the bridge, then stood, just behind my brother, the two of us poised over the dark current, watching a vortex of sodden leaves swirl madly beneath us.

”I'll never let her go,” he said. ”I'll never give up. No matter what she says tomorrow.”

A blast of wind struck suddenly, and Billy staggered forward, as if pushed from behind, the wind pressing him against the old wooden railing which, as I noticed, yielded dangerously to his weight, so that it seemed to make a slow, deliberate bow toward the black water, urging him into its turbulent depths.

”Good G.o.d,” he said with a quick, nervous laugh as he straightened himself. He let go of the rail, grabbed my hand, held it tightly. ”I thought I was going into the drink.”

A second gust battered us, but by then he'd regained his footing. He stepped away from the railing, lifted his face toward the clouds. ”They say a storm's coming in this afternoon. Could be rain. Could be snow.”

I seized a final opportunity. ”Either way, you might have to wait until it's over to bring Dora out here,” I told him.

Billy heaved himself forward, now moving off the bridge with surprising speed and agility. ”No. I'm not going to wait. I've waited long enough.” He'd already returned to the car and pulled himself behind the wheel when he added, ”No matter what, Cal, I'm going to do it tomorrow.”

We drove back to Port Alma, and now, elated with how well he'd maneuvered himself during the previous hour, Billy refused to allow me to accompany him into the house.

”I don't think I'm going to be needing all that much help anymore,” he said confidently. He smiled. ”Thanks for everything you've done,” he added. ”I know I've been pretty difficult lately.”

I didn't bother waiting until he got to the door, but simply moved behind the wheel and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I could see him struggling up the walkway, the wind whipping at his coat. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and drew in a long, restorative breath. Then, with that courage he had always shown toward life, he bore himself upward once again.

So that's all you know about William's last day?