Page 85 of Coming Home

“It’s a casualty of having a big brother.” Clayton shrugged. “Are you still stopping by the brewery tonight?” He turned to Noah.

Noah nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to help Todd with closing. I should get going.”

“Good night, Noah,” Nat said.

How she wanted to stand up and wrap her arms around him. To kiss him goodnight and beg him to come back after closing. But the sweatshirt draped on her lap stopped her as if it was an anchor holding her down.

“Night.” Noah tipped his head to Nat and then to Clayton.

As Noah walked away, Clayton crossed the dock taking the chair opposite of her. “It’s been a while since I sat out here. It’s been such a busy summer that Elle and I haven’t spent much time out here.”

“Yeah. I come out here at least once or twice a week to sit after dinner.”

“I noticed.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched his long legs in front of him. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out too. I know since Elle and I got engaged, we’ve been busy. I’m sorry about that. Maybe we can schedule a weekly thing.”

Nat arched a brow. “What’s causing this brotherly guilt?”

“I mentioned to Noah I hadn’t seen much of you this summer, and he asked if I’d scheduled anything with you. I realized that I hadn’t asked you to hang out in a while. I don’t know…I don’t like that you live on the same property as me, and I never see you unless it’s at family dinners at Mom and Dad’s.”

It had been a while since they’d spent any brother/sister time. Since coming home, Nat had been focused on the clinic and building her new life back home, while Clayton had been focused on his engagement to Elle. They’d not intentionally pulled back from each other. It was just the casual result of life taking over.

“Yeah.” She sighed a heavy breath. “I’ve missed hanging out with you too. I agree…let’s set up weekly dinner dates.”

He grinned. “Great. As long as you’re not cooking, I’m game.”

She flipped him off.

Teasing laughter glinted in his gray eyes. “Manners.”

Affection swirled with her tipsy exhaustion. “Do you remember when you’d come home on weekends when you were at Cornell, and you’d take Evan and me to Daryl’s for pizza and pinball?”

Clayton nodded, his gaze staring into the inky darkness. “Evan always got the high score.”

Nat could almost hear the ding of the pinball machine and Evan’s cheering as he crushed Clayton’s score. Her once-girlish hoots of, “Go Evan!” filled her ears. The image of the three of them huddled around the flashing and pinging pinball machine broke loose a tiny tear that rolled down her cheek.

She dashed the tear away. “Dad and I talked about Evan today.”

Clayton’s head turned. “Wh…wh…what?” he stuttered.

Nat bit her lip, trying not to react. Clayton’s childhood stutter came out when he was tired or too many emotions tripped his words as he tried to speak around them. The last time she’d heard him stutter was at Evan’s funeral. He’d stumbled over his words as people approached the family in the church to offer their condolences. It was why she’d turned to Noah, mouthing a request for help and to deliver the eulogy instead of Clayton.

“We talked about how we need to well…talk. None of us can move on if we don’t. We talked about Mom. I’m worried about her,” she admitted.

“I am, too,” he murmured.

The truth settled between them.

“I think we need to talk to Mom, and I think we need to talk to a professional about our grief…and I think I need to talk to someone on my own, as well.” The unrestrained tears fell from her eyes. “I miss him so much. I feel so guilty that he’s not here. That he’s not at the clinic. That he’s not here with us now. That he’s not going to be at your wedding.”

Clayton stood and dropped to his haunches in front of her. “Why do you feel guilty?”

“I was supposed to go running with him that night, and I didn’t because we got into a fight over Duncan.”

Clayton closed his eyes, seeming to take in her words. “We only ever ran with you at the park.”

She nodded. Falling tears fuzzed her vision.

“Evan’s accident was not your fault.” Each word came with a deliberate slowness, as if he wanted her to not just hear each syllable, but to let the truth absolve her.

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