Travis

The lake sparkled beyond the trees as I pushed open my brother’s gate, the squeak from the rusty hinges breaking the silence of the still summer evening. Noise that was quickly and boisterously joined by the front door banging open and my nephews—and several mongrels—rushing from inside, racing up the sloping yard to greet me.

“Uncle Travis! Uncle Travis!” the boys yelled in unison, their short legs carrying them swiftly uphill, the dogs barking and dancing around, tails wagging in a way that would have let any knife-wielding burglar or serial killer entering the property know they were more than welcome to join the family.

I laughed as Connor and Charlie reached me, bending, and scooping them up, one in each arm. “I have two stomachs!” Connor declared. “My daddy says.”

“It’s a Hale trait,” I explained. “It’s how we grow big and—”

“I prolly have three stomachs!” Charlie stated, not to be outdone by his twin.

I peered down curiously at his stomach, using my fingers to tickle his side. Charlie shrieked with laughter. The dogs wove in and out of my legs and I sidestepped the brown one who seemed to always be grinning. I didn’t trust it. Anything that grinned that constantly was obviously insane.

“Did you ever see an elephant, Uncle Trav?” Charlie asked.

“Not in person—”

“What about a bear?” Connor inquired.

“Too many to—”

“Elephants weigh more than cars!”

“Bears sleep all winter! It’s called hide your nation.”

“Hide your nation? What’s a nation?” I asked.

Connor leaned in, cupping his hand over his mouth as he “whispered” loudly, “It’s prolly his hairy butt!”

Then both boys howled with laughter, their little bodies shaking with hilarity. I laughed too, because if you were a guy, the phrase hairy butt was funny, whether you were five or over thirty. Or a hundred fifty, I was going to assume.

“Boys,” Bree called, stepping outside, six-month-old Averie in her arms. “Let your uncle catch his breath.” She smiled. “Hi, Travis.”

“Bree.” I set the boys down, just catching the slight nod Charlie gave Connor before Charlie stumbled. I reached forward, catching him before he hit the wood floor of the porch.

“Aha!” Connor yelled triumphantly from just next to me, holding up the pack of gum he’d slipped from my pocket while I was rescuing his brother from his fake fall.

“My God, you boys are Ninjas,” I said, proud of their stealth, high-fiving them both.

They laughed and Bree eyed them disapprovingly, putting her one available hand on her hip. “Don’t pick pockets, you two.” She turned her gaze on me. “I thought you were supposed to be the law.”

“Who said?”

“The citizens of Pelion, apparently.”

“Ah, that’s right. Now I remember. Your mother’s right. Pickpocketing will eventually lead to the slammer.”

Connor looked mildly intrigued, an expression that melted into innocence as he turned to his mother. “Can we have some gum?” he asked very seriously, holding up the evidence of his crime.

The corner of Bree’s mouth twitched. “May we,” she corrected. “One each,” she said and the boys lit up with matching grins, Connor quickly doling out the gum and then with a nod of their mother’s head, they scampered inside, yelling, “Thanks, Uncle Travis,” behind them, chatting exuberantly about what sounded like a Lego castle. Those two definitely made up for my half-brother’s silence.

The baby eyed me warily, laying her head on Bree’s shoulder, her chubby hand gripping her mother’s shirt as though she saw in my eyes that I intended to kidnap her at any moment. I felt mildly offended. It was me who had led the rescue charge when the kid had made the poor choice to be born during one of the worst snowstorms in years, only six months before, causing her parents to have to deliver her themselves. It was like she’d already forgotten.

“Looking for Archer?” Bree asked.

“Yeah. I brought the police department’s data he asked for,” I said, pulling the folded printouts from my back pocket. Archer had asked that I pull together crime statistics for the town’s annual meeting coming up in July.

Bree nodded. “Lie down,” she said to the dogs who were still milling around my legs.

“That’s not a good idea, Bree. You’re married to my brother and I’m attached to someone. You really have to get over me once and for all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Funny.”

She focused her attention on the dogs—her serious mom look—and I grinned as they lay down on the porch, the larger black dog and the small, curly-haired white one flopping onto their sides, the brown one still grinning up at me like some furry demented clown. I glared at it, letting it know that it should save its furry deranged clown business for someone who couldn’t fight it off. Its grin stretched, widened. Jesus. I gave it an extensive berth as Bree stepped inside the house and motioned me to follow her. “Archer texted a few minutes ago. He’s running a little late but he should be home shortly.”

The house was small but homey. It smelled like vanilla and something savory cooking in the kitchen. The boys argued genially, their animated voices rising and falling as they played in their room at the back of the house. The windows were open wide and the curtains fluttered in the breeze coming off the lake. The hardwood floor creaked under Bree’s bare feet as she walked to the kitchen, chubby baby perched on her hip. Would this be so bad? A home like this? A life like this?

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Bree said. There was only the barest hint of hesitation in her tone, as though she wasn’t a hundred percent sure she meant what she said. I guess that’s going to take a while—maybe forever.

I set the papers down and leaned against the counter as I watched her juggle Averie, while checking something in the oven and then stirring what looked like pasta on the range. “I can’t. I got tonight off so I can surprise Phoebe and take her to dinner.”

Bree let out a small laugh but it died a quick death. “Sorry. I just wish your girlfriend didn’t have the same name as my dog. It’s . . . unsettling.”

“So change its name.”

She turned to me quickly, looking more than a little outraged. “You can’t just—” She shook her head as though what she was about to say wasn’t worth her time. “Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled that you’re off.” She looked at me sideways. “How are things going with her? You’ve been seeing her for what? About a year now?”

I nodded, warmth infusing my chest as Phoebe’s smile filled my mind’s eye, the way she still sighed and looked nearly star-struck when I winked at her. “Ten months. She’s good. She’s great.” She worships me.

Bree had gone back to her stirring, but now stopped, placing the spoon on the counter. She shifted Averie so she was holding her with two arms and leaned against the counter, resting her chin on the baby’s head and watching me thoughtfully. “Travis Hale. I never thought I’d see the day. You’re actually serious about someone, aren’t you?”

“Jealous?” I grinned but she remained serious. My smile slipped.

“No. Glad. It’s good to see you finding happiness.”

There was a full, weighted silence that made me feel itchy. I didn’t know what to say. In all honesty, Bree had every right to wish me unhappiness for the rest of my days even though Archer and I had mended fences, and I tried my damnedest to be a good uncle to my nephews—which wasn’t hard because, frankly, I enjoyed the hell out of them—and someday, if I was able to win her over, the niece still watching me cautiously. The way I’d acted when Bree first came to Pelion . . . the things I’d done to my brother all our lives, would forever be between us. Years had passed, holidays had gone by, I liked to think I’d matured, but even so, there was nothing I could do to change the way I’d hurt them in the past. The things my actions might have caused.

“She’s the one, huh?” Bree asked, and I detected the barest hint of . . . uneasiness? Concern? I wasn’t sure, and whatever had passed over her expression was there and gone in the blink of an eye. She bent her head and inhaled Averie’s wispy brown hair, sighing softly.

Bree had met Phoebe on many occasions. She’d never said anything unkind about her, but I’d also gotten the sense they might never be best friends. Which was okay by me. Bree was into baking, and reading, and mucking around in the rocks with her kids and dogs. All worthy pastimes when you were a mom. But Phoebe wasn’t a mom. Yet. She was into . . . well besides me, she was into . . . what was Phoebe into?

She liked to shop, I knew that. And tan. She was very good at both.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Bree said, smiling softly, meeting my gaze and holding it for several beats.

When you know, you know.

I pushed off the counter just as the soft sound of the front door opening met my ears. The door clicked shut quietly and then Archer turned into the kitchen, looking unsurprised to see me. He’d obviously noticed my truck parked out front. Hey, he signed.

Hi, I signed back as Archer made a beeline for Bree and his daughter, his face lighting with such open joy that I almost looked away, as though I’d barged in on an intimate moment and had no business being there.

The baby kicked her chubby legs and grinned, two shiny white teeth appearing on her bottom gum. Averie reached for her father and Archer took her from Bree, kissing his wife on the lips, lingering.

“Well,” I said, loudly, giving the papers sitting on the counter a tap. “There’s the data you wanted. I emailed it to you as well, but was in the area, so thought I’d drop off printouts. Tell the boys I said bye. I’ll pick them up Sunday.” We had a long-standing after-dinner ice cream date where I fed them too much sugar and then sent them home so their parents could deal with the aftermath.

Archer glanced at Bree, his hands too full to “speak,” and as though reading his mind she said, “Travis can’t join us for dinner. He has plans with Phoebe.”

Ah, Archer mouthed, smiling at me and nodding.

“Good to see you,” I said. “Bree.” I smiled at Averie whose eyes narrowed minutely. She leaned toward Archer, her tiny fist clutching his shirt the same way she’d held on to her mother. “Okay, then. See you guys later.” And with that, I turned and let myself out of the little house on the lake that smacked of home and love and family.

**********

The breeze smelled like peaches. I inhaled a deep breath of the air coming in my open window, as my truck idled on the dirt road that ended at the edge of my property. Peace rolled through me. Hope in the future. The sun was just beginning its descent behind an old barn, the light hazy and golden. Unfortunately, I’d have to tear down the structure. It was right in the spot where I intended on building my home. Maybe I could use the lumber somehow though. Beams . . . or flooring, something to pay homage to what had once been but was no longer.

My father had bought this land on the very edge of Pelion, technically in the town of Calliope, the more touristy area on the opposite side of the lake. The land wasn’t massive, but it was prime lake-front property. It had once been an orchard, and several of the fruit trees remained: apples, cherries, peaches, and plums.

The water rippled serenely as my gaze went toward the place I’d just been—my brother’s house, too far to see from this distance. Archer owned and ran the town of Pelion, but I had this. In addition to the town, that eventually—rightly—went to Archer years before, my mother had been willed this plot of land from my father. Because it wasn’t part of Pelion, she’d been able to keep it. I’d given my mother every cent of my savings and purchased it from her. I’d received something important to me—something that was only mine—and I’d given her a lump sum of cash that she’d desperately needed since everything else—again, rightly—had been stripped from her. Archer might have gotten the lion’s share of the Hale inheritance, and it had always been obvious he had the lion’s share of our father’s heart because his mother had been the love of his life, while my own mother was a conniving manipulator who tricked him into impregnating her, but this plot of land belonged to me and no one else. Here, I wasn’t second best to anyone.

I couldn’t afford to build on it yet, but I was almost there. Someday . . . someday I’d raise a family on this land. Someday I’d live the life our father had wanted for himself. He’d loved Pelion, and he’d been the chief of police just like I was, but he’d wanted the distance from his brothers and, as a matter of fact, even though I only had one, I did too. There was only so much sainthood, so much look-what-a-perfect-family-we-are moments I could handle.

I sat there in the quiet peace of the evening for a moment, listening to the water lap the shore, and inhaling the fragrance of sweet, summer fruit.

Could I see Phoebe on this land? Pregnant? Walking out onto a dock that overlooked the water? A house with a porch shining in the sunlight rising above the trees behind her?

I squinted, focusing so hard I winced, trying to visualize it but coming up short. The misty image of a woman wavered, faded, and disappeared. I rubbed my temple. Did Phoebe even want kids? We hadn’t talked about it. Maybe I needed to start asking. Of course, if I did start talking about it, that was a move forward in itself. My breath suddenly felt constricted and I pulled idly at the seatbelt still strapped around my body as though it’d somehow, inexplicably, grown tighter.

When you know, you know.

Bree’s assertion came back to me. But what had I ever known? The truth was, I still wasn’t sure I could trust what I knew. The things I’d thought I was sure about had been lies, many of which I’d told myself. In the end, I hadn’t really known crap. So maybe other people knew, but me? In some ways I was still flying by the seat of my pants when it came to being a person others might be proud to know.

The sun dipped further, the sky streaked in orange, the tall grass moving languidly in the breeze. I smiled, the peace of this place, the pride that it was mine, cresting inside and helping to dispel the negative direction of my thoughts. I rolled up the window, cranking the air conditioner as I turned my truck and headed toward Phoebe’s.