Page 76 of Shame

“Life is chaos, maybe we can teach them to survive it better than I was taught.”

That trips a soft, soothing sound out of her.

Was that a dirty trick? I don’t want to play games with her heart.

“And maybe we’d have two boys? Brothers? And we could teach them…”

She rises again, launching herself right up to my face. “Maybe,” she says. “Ask me again in six…” Her eyes are sparkling. “No, seven days.”

“A week?” That’s New Year’s Eve.

Alex’s annual house party, which Sam will be attending.

“Hazel and I have something planned. Up to you if you want to use that opportunity to talk to your brother.”

* * *

A week later,Grace and I show up at Alex’s place early, because she’s bringing art with her. Two pieces, both wall-mounted. They’re boxed up, and she’s being mysterious about them, but I’m clear on the fact that this is part of the surprise she’s worked on with Hazel.

But Sam and Hazel don’t arrive until much later, and when they do come in, he’s the one who looks reluctant.

I recognize that expression. That was me last year. And that was part of what is causing him this discomfort right now.

Grace swoops over to them, welcoming them both, and getting right to the point. Hazel nods, and then Alex—clearly in on it—turns down the music and gets everyone’s attention before handing the floor to Hazel, explaining that he was thrilled to host an impromptu art moment.

Impromptu my ass.

“I’m going to be reading two poems for you.From Broken to WholeandA Full Exploration of the Aftermath. They are pieces I developed as part of a project with my dear friend, Grace Dunn, inspired by her very first art show.”

Grace stepped forward. “Thank you to Alex for allowing us this brief indulgence. We’re grateful for the opportunity to share with friends and family this intimate project, inspired as Hazel mentioned by a show I did in university called The Art/Lit Project. It was a joy to work collaboratively with Hazel on these pieces. My sculptures hang on Alex’s wall behind Hazel. On the left isFrom Broken to Whole, and on the right isA Full Exploration of the Aftermath.”

My heart pounds in my chest as Hazel reads her poems. They’re beautiful and raw and vague enough they could be about anything. They’re in keeping with the style of Grace’s work in general, but I know what this really is.

It’s an opening for two stubborn brothers to share a little something.

Fucking hell.

When they finish, Sam and I both approach them, because of course we’re fucking proud. Of them. Not each other. Not anymore.

So I clap him on the shoulder, as we do, Preston style, and I jerk my head to the kitchen. “Let’s grab a beer.”

He clears his throat and follows. We each grab a bottle, then I head upstairs, looking for some quiet. I find it in a spare room.

“I owe you an apology—” I start, at the same time as he says, “Look, Grace really wants—”

He stops.

I start again.

“I’ve handled the firm stuff not that well, and it’s because of some relationship stuff Grace and I have been going through. I think tonight’s performance was their way of pushing us to talk.”

“Hazel sort of nudged me in that direction, yeah.” He frowns. “Is it addiction? Alex thought—we weren’t gossiping, but—”

“No. Not really.”

“It’s okay, you know. Grace once told me that recovering from trauma means that you need to come to terms with the ways you coped with the pain.”

A hot, searing pain slices across my chest. “This is different.”

---