Page 10 of Silent Is The Heart

“No, I’m good,” I mumble back, feeling drained just from lifting my hands to sign to my brother in case he can’t see my lips, since I’m still staring at my new residence rather than him.

I should take him up on the offer of furniture, but my pride can’t handle accepting it after what he’s already doing for me. This cottage isn’t glamorous by any means, but it’s a lakeside property. He could get a decent rental rate out of it. Certainly more than the agreement that I just pay utilities.

Mustering a smile, I break the awkward silence between us. I hate how he keeps looking at me like I’m… damaged.

I feel damaged. Damaged beyond repair. I’m sure I do look it. Nothing like adding ‘dramatic’ to my image of pathetic and broke. Moving back home was supposed to be a saving grace both financially and emotionally, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it yet.

“Thanks again for this. I really appreciate it,” I say, signing along emphatically, hoping George knows just how much it means to me that he’s helping me get out from under Mom and Dad’s roof.

The last few weeks have been a fatal blow to my self-esteem. I don’t know how much more I can take. In a way, I knew coming home meant that Mom and Dad would see past all my reassuring phone conversations from the past year and a half. The ones where I told them I was managing everything fine.

When I got the call that Hampton Hills accepted my application to take Dr. Norton’s old job, I really thought it meant there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m grateful to my parents for letting me bunk in my old room, but I can’t take another minute of seeing their worried looks, their disappointment.

How the mighty have fallen.

Why did I think crawling back to Maine on fumes would be better than staying in Seattle? God, I’m so stupid.

I left Hampton happier than a pageant winner, but the return has proven to be far less glamorous. The caseload and disorganization at Hampton Hills make me regret any time I judged my predecessor harshly. I’ve only been back there for two weeks. I know things will improve once I wade through the mess, but I’m not the same motivated me I used to be in my professional career. I’ve lost something, and when you lose enough of yourself, everything seems daunting. I hate myself for it. If only everyone else didn’t look at me like they know it, too.

Mom and Dad would never claim to be disappointed in me, but I can see it in their eyes—those looks that shout they know I’ve changed and will never be the same. The bitch of it is, I know they’re right. And I can’t do anything about it.

George nods at me soberly and steps closer like he knows it’s bad form to leave his nearly homeless zombie of a brotheralone in the woods, but is trying to figure out how to make his exit. I flash him a flicker of a smile, sparing him further discomfort. A silent message to tell him it’s all right. That I’ll be fine. I know I’m not fine, but I can’t stand for him or anyone to see me like this a minute longer. I just want to be alone and miserable in peace.

Raising his hand, he slowly claps it down on my shoulder momentarily and nods. I lean into the brief touch instinctively, possibly something in my body or soul, yearning for any kind of physical touch. What I’d give for a hug right now, not a mom hug that will make me feel like a teenager who didn’t make the football team. But George and I have never been huggers—not with each other. He doesn’t like to be touched, at least by anyone other than his wife. He and Rachel are cuddlier than any couple can be. It still baffles me to see him like that with someone after being so serious when we were kids.

I miss him. I didn’t realize how much until I came home. Our texts to each other became so infrequent after I moved to Seattle eight years ago, and I know I’m to blame. I was so… caught up in my own little world that I can see now that, in some regards, I lost my brother. Maybe I’m imagining things and had already lost him a long time ago. We were close when we were kids—until we hit our teens. He’s three years older than me, so I suppose it isn’t cool for any guy to have his little brother in high school with him.

Watching him walk to his truck, his profile has me wistful. Thirty-three and thirty-five. We’re no longer kids. We can never get that window of time back when we used to shootNERFguns at each other in the backyard. This is as close as we’ll ever be. Politely obliging each other simply because we’re family. He has his own family now, after all. It feels immatureand selfish after remaining oblivious for so long about the growing distance between us to wish that I could make him laugh and smile the way he does with his daughter and Rachel.

I’m being stupid again. This is what people do; they grow up and live their lives. It’s not George’s fault if mine didn’t work out the way I had hoped. He shouldn’t have to rewind because I’m stuck.

Making my way up to the little porch that wraps around two sides of the cottage, I smile thoughtfully at the new planks, a stark contrast to some of the weathered ones. George is a hard worker. Did he replace those for me or simply because he wanted to keep one of his rental properties maintained and takes pride in doing a good job?

The sound of my phone chirping has me sighing, knowing it’s probably Mom calling to see if I got settled in. She really needs to stop feeling like she has to hold my hand. I haven’t even had time to hang up my clothes in the closet or unpack the box of dishes I brought with me from Seattle.

Except, it’s not Mom. It’s a Seattle number, making my heart skip a beat.

Seattle seems so far away now, regardless of the fact it’s on the other side of the country. It might as well be another planet. All the friends I made out there were Jason’s friends, save for a few co-workers at the hospital where I worked. These days the only reason I’d get a call from a Seattle number is because of bad news. It’s the only news I seem to get.

“Hello?”

“Aaron?” Jason’s mother’s voice comes over the line.

“Grace? I didn’t recognize the number. How…how are you?”

“I got a new one,” she says dismissively, as though I could forget how much she hates me. Jason always assured me shedidn’t, but Jason’s not around to interject those comforting reassurances any longer. At the very least, I’m convinced my existence is somehow an annoyance to her. I can do nothing right by this woman, no matter how hard I try, and it sets my stomach to churning. She’s never reached out to me just to chat, so I doubt that’s changed since I left.

“Oh. Okay, so the other one isn’t active any—”

“A creditor keeps calling me to collect on one of your credit card debts,” she cuts me off sharply. “I’ve given him your number, but I’d appreciate it if you’d get your affairs in order and not give out mine or Jason’s information in the future. I thought you’d taken care of all of that already?”

“I…a credit card?” I only have myVisa, but it’s a debit card linked to my meager checking account. I had to close myMastercardand put it on a payment plan, but I’m not scheduled to make another payment until next month.

“Yes, that’s what I said. He was quite rude, to be honest. He called when I was in the middle of a luncheon, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the people next to me overheard. How embarrassing!”

“Grace, I’m so sorry. I had one, but I closed it. I don’t have any others and never have.”

“Well, apparently you did, and I think it’s highly inappropriate that you listed Jason’s office as the mailing address,” she scoffs, but for once, her agitation doesn’t have me flustered. I’m too boggled by what I’m hearing. Jason’s office? How would they have Jason’s surgical office listed as the mailing address? My first instinct is that someone in his practice opened one falsely or that my information was stolen. The wave of nausea creeping up my throat tells me that instinct is the foolhardy love a husband feels to protect thename of his spouse. Too much has happened for me to have faith in that need to protect his name any longer.

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