Swelter Read online

  “Fine. Fine. He can stay.”

  “Thank you,” Rory said, placing a soft kiss on my shoulder before heading back out to resume playing catch-up with his prodigal brother.

  I stared at my foggy reflection in the mirror as I ran the shower. Finally alone, the overwhelming reality of Bobby's return began to sink in. While I fully intended on taking the shower, my main goal was the privacy the bathroom afforded me as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet for something to ease my nerves. My shaky hands slipped as I opened the bottle of Miltown and it tumbled, letting the only two pills left fall into the drain. Those pills were what got me through particularly rough days. Lately, I had been taking them more frequently.

  Suddenly, I found myself throwing the empty bottle across the bathroom. Covering my mouth with my forearm as I let out a desperate scream. I ripped off my dress, flung the shower curtain open and stepped in, but the water was no relief from the heat that seared me from the inside out.

  Bobby was alive.

  The reality of those words sunk in. All the implications of his return flooded me. All the things Bobby did and didn't do and what that meant. I finally allowed myself to feel it all, and I collapsed onto the floor of the shower and wept with a mixture of joy and regret.

  Against my will, I listened to the men converse at the table as I prepared dinner.

  Bobby had been shot in the shoulder while in Korea and honorably discharged. Then he traveled the world, using his skills in carpentry and mechanics, along with money he had stowed away before being deployed, to support himself. Stories of adventure, food, and travel filled the hours since the brothers reunited. And yet, Bobby never offered why. Rory never demanded it. He wanted to hear his younger brother speak, that was good enough for now.

  I put the meatloaf and potatoes down on the table, which was my cost of admission into the conversation.

  “This is delicious, Lil,” Bobby declared after taking the first bite.

  I nodded robotically. Just because I would step out of the way for Rory, didn't mean I would do so for myself.

  “So, Ro, I feel like I've been talking about myself non-stop. What about you two? I don't see any little Rories and Lils crawling around yet.”

  I gripped my fork a little tighter.

  “Yeah, well, we're taking our time. I'm really busy with work at Generate. Climbing that ladder. I'm up for a promotion soon so I've been putting in some long hours. This heatwave has generator sales booming like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I scoffed at his comment, not even realizing how loud I was.

  The table went silent as both men looked at me, surprised by my reaction. Since I had already made my feelings apparent and was feeling particularly raw, I went full speed ahead.

  “Can't we be honest with Bobby? After all, he is family,” I stated sardonically. I directed my next words at Bobby, shifting to an emotionless tone. “We've been trying for years and it hasn't happened. It will, but it hasn't.”

  “Oh,” Bobby replied, realizing he had hit a sore spot.

  “What is this?” Rory interjected, fussing with the brown square on this plate. “Didn't I ask for anything but this goddamned meatloaf? This tastes like shit.”

  “Woah, come on now,” Bobby butted in. “It's fine. It's very good.”

  “No, let's go.” Rory stood up sharply. “Let's get some real food and some drinks. Just us fellas. We should be celebrating.”

  Bobby looked at me apologetically, but I avoided his pity by bringing my plate to the sink. The last thing I wanted Bobby to see me as was pathetic.

  “Thanks for dinner,” Bobby said, nodding at me. “It really was good. You relax tonight and I'll watch Rory for ya.”

  I gazed at the table, topped with one uneaten plate of food, and one nearly finished—Bobby's of course.

  It was just past eleven at night when Rory came in through the front door, his shirt nearly transparent with sweat, his hair stringy and in disarray. I was sitting in the living room, flipping through a magazine. I waited a few seconds for Bobby to follow but he didn't.

  “Where's Bobby?” I asked from behind the glossy pages.

  “He's outside. Talking to a few of the neighbors.” I could tell by the look in his eyes that Rory had plenty to drink. He made a beeline straight for the bedroom followed by him making a fuss in the closet.

  Despite my aversion to interacting with Rory in this state, I followed him in.

  “What are you looking for, honey?” I asked, pretending to be helpful.

  “Got it,” Rory stood up with a pistol in his hand.

  “What are you doing with that?” I questioned.

  “I want to show the fellas.”

  “I don't think that's a good idea,” I suggested. “You've been drinking.”

  “I'm fine,” he answered.

  “Please don't.”

  “Oh for Pete's sake, Lilly. Can you not try to mother me for once?”

  “I'm not trying to mother you. I'm simply stating you've had too much to drink and it's not wise to bring a firearm outside like that.” I clenched my jaw tightly as I spoke, trying not let my words sound confrontational.

  “Why don't you just take my balls? Keep them in a case so you can just carry them around?” He gestured toward them with the gun in his hand.

  “Watch that thing!”

  “It's not loaded!” he pointed the gun towards the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A shot rung out and we both ducked away from it. Dust and plaster puffed down from the ceiling. “Aww shit!” he said, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the hole in the ceiling.

  The sound of running footsteps halted at the door beside me.

  “What the—? Is everything okay?” Bobby looked around frantically, his eyes full of deep panic.

  “I told him he was too drunk to handle that thing,” I pointed over. “Please put the gun down, Rory,” I pleaded in frustration.

  “Ro, what are you doing brother?” Bobby walked slowly towards Rory and gently pulled the gun out of his hand. I knew Rory wanted to impress his little brother, who had been around the world and blazed his guns in glorious battles. Now he was embarrassed and somehow this would be my fault.

  “It was fine until she came in here, getting on my case. She started hassling me and I forgot to unload the gun.”

  “This is my fault?” I asked in disbelief.

  “When'd you get to be such a fuckin' drag, Lilly?” Rory asked through gritted teeth before exiting the bedroom.

  “Where are you going?” Bobby asked.

  “To get some air. Have fun with the nag!”

  Now I was embarrassed. I didn't want Bobby to see how far we had fallen. I didn't want his looks of pity. It wasn't just Bobby who had died years ago. No one was the same since he had left. Bobby must have wondered if he walked into the right house. He left us years ago, a newly wed couple, sitting side by side, so much promise before us. But that promise was empty, and beneath the perfect smiles, behind the pale blue siding and the manicured front lawn, there was despair. I looked down at the floor, using every bit of focus I had not to let the tears flow.

  “Lil, you okay?” he asked gently.

  “You don't get to come here and think you can fix things,” I sniped. Anger was the only way to keep the tears in. If I told Bobby the truth, at that moment, the levy would burst and the tears would flow. “And you can't come back and expect things to be the way they were. You did a fine job watching him for me, by the way.”

  I stepped past the threshold into the bedroom and waited until I felt Bobby leave.

  I pretended to be sleeping when Rory came back home. Sleep would diffuse the tension until the next morning. Rory was always better the next day. This night's scene was particularly bad. Rory usually gave a couple of days between nights out. He really tried to keep sober and make it up to me. But Bobby returned and Rory felt the need to be out with the boys. Bobby was already making things worse.

  I lay awake in bed, listening to the taunting c
adence of the grandfather clock, already feeling a twinge of guilt for snapping at Bobby. This is why people forgave him so easily. He had a way of making you feel like you were his only care in the world when he spoke to you. Anyone watching the past day would look at me and think I was the cruel bitch. Bobby took the verbal jabs without a single swing back, and it made me feel like the bully. But it was Bobby who was truly the most vicious and I tried to remind myself of that. His kind words and smile didn't change the choices he made. Someone smiling at you while they rip your heart out doesn't make it any less painful.

  Once the clock read past three, I knew it would be another night with just a couple of hours of sleep. Rory's snores had stirred me out of my light slumber. The heat and tension clawed at me unrelentingly. I rose out of bed and headed for the backyard, which was a nice quiet place to sit on a night like this and often cooler than the house. I opened the door and was shocked to find Bobby sitting on the porch swing, nursing a beer.

  “Oh—I—I didn't know you were out here. I'll leave you be,” I said, stepping back to close the door.

  Bobby sat up tall. “No. Lil. Come out here. Can't we just—can't we just talk? Not about anything, but just be in the same space together?”

  My internal debate raged. I was already exhausted by the constant offense I was running against Bobby, and I had cooled off a bit from the gunshot incident.

  “Fine,” I relented, stepping outside and leaning noncommittally against a pillar just a few feet away from him.

  The dim porch light spotlighted Bobby. I tried not to look, but it only took seconds to fall in. He took a swig out of the long-necked bottle. His sandy brown hair was knotted back carelessly, most of it not long enough to reach the ponytail, so that the locks collapsed in reckless waves. Until his return, I had never seen him like that. The Lightlys always kept their boys clean-cut. He was almost twenty when I saw him last and in those few years he had transformed into a man. His stubble framed a sharp jawline, and only made his roguish smile more mischievous. No one around here dressed or kept their hair like Bobby. And like his fits of quiet, it added to his mystery. Outwardly he would be silent, but quiet Bobby was always the loudest to me. I could almost hear his mind racing with thoughts, a tension that swirled around him like a silent storm. So while he didn’t say a word, I always felt like he was tearing the space apart. I could feel the air pressure change as Bobby raged internally. For all of his yapping growing up, during these silent “fits” was when I felt closest to him.

  We didn't say anything for a minute or so. We used to do this sometimes, when we were teenagers. When Bobby and I weren't fighting over something, or sometimes just after we did and had exhausted each other, we would just sit together. Sometimes we would talk, other times we wouldn't.

  It seemed Bobby didn't want to pressure me to talk and so it was me who spoke the first words.

  “So is it the heat?”

  “Hmm?” he asked.

  “Why you can't sleep.”

  “Oh,” he replied, the steady creaking of the porch swing a backtrack to his words. “No, I don't mind it. I just sleep in the raw.” He winked.

  I fought a smile and shook my head at him.

  Bobby leaned forward, stopping the swing. The silence this created punctuated his next words. “It's um . . . before the war I used to sleep like a rock every night. After, well sometimes I do, other nights I don't.”

  “Oh,” I replied, my arms crossed as I kicked at a dry leaf on the floor.

  “Want some?” Bobby tipped his beer towards me.

  “Oh no, I'm fine.”

  “Come on, you've always loved some beer.”

  “Things change.”

  “Oh yes they do,” he leaned back and got to rocking, “but the taste for beer. That never does.” He raised an eyebrow playfully.

  I glanced up at the little bugs dancing around the porch light, reminding myself not to become like them.

  “You don't smile anymore?” Bobby remarked. It took me a second to focus my train of thoughts on his question. My initial instinct was to deny it, but even a cursory examination of the issue proved he was right. I hadn't smiled since he arrived, and even before that, I didn't know how long. I always found myself fighting back my smiles.

  “You know why,” I replied.

  He nodded. “You had the best laugh,” he said as his mouth curved into a smile.

  You had the best smile, Bobby.

  “It was so loud, and even when I didn't find whatever it was funny, your laugh made me laugh. And it would get us into trouble all the time. When we were supposed to be in bed sleeping and you would sneak into our room in the summer, and then giggle so loud.”

  It was odd to hear Bobby reminisce about me almost as if I had died.

  I hadn't thought back that far in a long time. It hurt to think of Bobby at all when I thought he was dead.

  “Ah, there it is,” he pointed the bottle at me. “That smile. Maybe I'll get to hear that laugh soon.”

  I snatched the beer away from him. “Don't get carried away now.” I took a swig from the beer that had gone lukewarm from the humid night air, but a chill ran down my chest as my lips touched the same spot that Bobby's had.

  “When we went out tonight, Lil, I didn't know. He used to be just fine on his own. Never someone I needed to watch. It was usually the other way around. Big brother watching me.”

  “Hmm,” I huffed sarcastically into the bottle. Bobby got up halfway and snatched it back. He didn’t care for the final sip of beer, it was his way of being playful.

  “How long has he been like this?”

  “I don't know. You don't just wake up to an alcoholic. It happened so slowly, I didn't even know I was losing him until he was gone.”

  Bobby's brow furrowed. “Has he ever—?”

  I felt security in knowing if I told Bobby that Rory hit me, despite his deep love for his brother, I didn't doubt he would wake him up in the middle of the night and kick his ass.

  “No, it's not like that.” At times, it had felt like it could get there, but usually Rory would leave to cool off. I redirected the conversation away from my failures back to Bobby’s. “While you were off chatting with Rory, Julia called. I had to tell her and my mother you were alive. Thanks for that fun conversation.”

  “Mama Jules,” he recited, his nickname for my rigid sister.

  “Needless to say, they don’t know what to make of it. They were in total disbelief. But they seemed pretty upset with you,” I sniped.

  “Figured,” his fingertip ran up and down the sweaty bottle as he studied it intensely. “I’ll call once they’ve had some time to absorb the news. Smooth everything over.”

  “Ha,” I barked wryly. “Of course you think it’s that easy.”

  He leaned forward. “Lil. It’s all I can do,” Bobby appealed earnestly.

  Even that response seemed genuine enough to make me regret my previous jab. I didn’t know how long he’d be around, but I wondered briefly if it would always be like this. How many verbal barbs would suffice as punishment for Bobby? When would I feel satisfied? Because so far, none of it felt good. And would it become punishment for me after a while as the constant display of bitterness began to eat me from the inside?

  “Rory filled me in on your family. I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He’s a good man.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s life.”

  “I sure hope there’s more to life than that.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t convinced there was.

  “Hey um, could I ask you something?” Bobby placed the empty beer bottle beside him on the ground.

  “You've been asking questions,” I reminded him.

  “No, this one is different.”

  My gut clenched at what he might say next. I wasn't ready to broach the unspoken. The things we never got to say to each other. Not now. Not like this.

  I nodded.

  “Well, I've been on the road a bit and neglected to groom myself pro
perly.” He pulled his hair tie and shook his head like a glamour model, his waves crashing side to side just past his ears and flirting with his neck. “Could you cut my hair?”

  I was grateful for a lighter topic of conversation. I stifled a giggle at his luxurious locks and nodded. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

  “Cool, I'll get the beers, you get the scissors.”

  By the time I made it back out, Bobby was standing outside with our beers in his hand.

  “Here you go.”

  “Are you sure you want me drinking while cutting your hair?” I jested.

  “What can I say? I'm a risk-taker.” He flashed a dangerous grin.

  I pulled a small table close to the porch steps to rest my utensils and drink.

  “Ready?” I asked. Of all the things I thought I'd be doing when I woke up that morning, I never thought I'd be cutting the hair of a dead man.

  Bobby nodded and grabbed the hem of his shirt. I held my breath as he pulled it over his head. How was I here, standing with Bobby shirtless in front of me, when I had just vowed to myself to never even have a conversation with him?

  At this point, to acknowledge that his shirtless body fazed me was worse than to stop, so I gestured to the steps in front of me and he sat.

  I grabbed the comb and gently swept through his locks. That's when I got the up-close view of his scar from the bullet. I reached out to touch the circular indentation and stopped myself just short of making contact. I couldn't touch his hot skin. I couldn't let myself go there. The reality of what he had been through came through like lightning, and I realized that these last few years had been cruel to him too.

  He must have noticed my stillness. “I'm sorry, I should have warned you,” he said, tilting his head to the side of the scar.

  “No, there's no need to apologize for that.” I sighed and wiped my sweaty brow as I continued combing Bobby's hair. Our conversation had distracted me from the heat, but my body went along sweating so that my white cotton night gown stuck to me. I wondered if he could see through it with the light shining on us like it was.