Page 93 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

Okay, that makes it sound like he’s rubbing it in. It’s not like that —he’snot like that — even though that’s exactly how it feels.

Andrew is the good son, the one the whole family’s so damn proud of.

I’m the loser. The dumbass who honored his father’s dying wish that Deadwood Cemetery stay in the family while Andrew headed for the hills as soon as he could.

Now he’s back for his seasonal visit. As usual, he’s got only great things to share.

About himself.

Like how he just got that promotion he’s been angling for at his construction job and now he’s making double the money with half the physical labor.

And how Anya, his wife, is pregnant — and not just pregnant, but knocked up with twins. He says he hopes the twins are a boy and girl, that they get one of each. And that’s probably exactly what will happen because Andrew always gets everything he wants.

Oh, and don’t let me forget his dog, who got a commendation from the mayor in the North Dakota town Andrew and Anya live in because the dog hauled a drowning kid out of the river this past summer.

Yeah. Andrew’s dog is doing better than me.

My brother’s out there living his best life because he left home, left when Dad was dying of cancer and Mom quietly cried her way through each day until he did. Andrew came back for the funeral but escaped the agony of watching our father’s body turn on him.

I stayed because Mom and Dad needed me. Because Dad asked me to keep the cemetery going, to not let our family’s legacy die with him.

And I did. Because it felt like the decent thing to do.

But all anyone can ever talk about is Andrew. All my many aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews always ask after him when I run into them out and about in Deadwood.

Even Mom can’t stop waxing poetic about the guy.

It makes me sick.

And angry.

Although not angry at Andrew, really.

More like angry at myself.

If I feel trapped here, it’s my own damned fault. I didn’t have to do what Dad asked. I could have left too.

But I felt like I had to stay. Dad needed me to. The cemetery needed me to.

And to be honest, I love this damned graveyard. It’s been in the family for almost as long as European settlers occupied Deadwood land. It feels ancient and quiet and like home. I grew up here, playing hide and seek with Andrew amongst the grave markers when Dad wasn’t watching, reading my comic books in the fragrant shade of the ponderosas.

I couldn’t let this place go.

I just wish it didn’t feel like such a damned weight on my shoulders. I wish I could have someone to share the cemetery with — someone to stand shoulder to shoulder with as we soothe the aching hearts of Deadwood’s bereft, someone who will love this place as much as I do and see all the beauty here.

The sound of my name snaps me out of my reverie. I pivot my head to look at my brother, brain catching up to the words he’s speaking.

“Look at you, man,” he says, punching me playfully in the shoulder. “You’re built like a male model. How the heck hasn’t some lady snapped you up?”

“Because nobody swipes right on cemetery caretakers,” I grumble, taking a swig of the beer that’s warming me against the biting chill of the October evening.

“Yeah, dating apps are a shitshow. Glad I’m done with all that. But,” his brown eyes that are the same color as mine dance, “are you saying that nobody tries to hit on you when you’re out at a bar?”

I fix my brother with a single peaked eyebrow. “You know that’s not my scene.”

“Then what is your scene?” he asks, honestly interested.

I shrug. “What’s it to you, anyway? Why all these questions about my love life?”Or lack thereof, I add silently.

---