Page 60 of Between Now and Forever

“It’s your birthday.”

I glance at my phone and start to unlock it to check. “Yeah, I’d forgotten.” I shake my head as I see he’s right.

“I’ve lost all sense of time.” I sigh and sit back.

“You know, when the car flipped…you know what I thought?”

That question draws my eyes up to his.

Remarkably, he’s smiling at me.

Love, love, love.

That isallI see and feel and know when I look at my brother. There is nothing I’ll ever do to be worthy of it, but I am so grateful for it.

“What did you think?”

“That I couldn’t believe I was going to miss the rest of your life.”

My stomach drops, and tears sting my eyes.

“James, don’t say that.”

“I know. But, I wasn’t scared. This accident…I feel like it woke me up.” He lifts one of his elegant hands up and brushes a lock of hair off my forehead.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I thought for sure, Lizzy, that I was going to die. When I woke up while they were cutting me out, I was shocked.”

“Well, you didn’t. Thank fuck. You can’t leave me alone withthem.”

“You’d have Phil.” He chuckles softly and then winces when it turns into a cough. I lift the cup of water so that he can close his lips around the straw.

“That’s like having no one,” I say while he sips, and I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“He’s an ass, but he’s the only brother we’ve got,” he chides me.

“I wish he’d remember that and come home,” I say with chagrin.

“I wish mom was here,” he says absently.

Resentment, curdled and fermented in my gut, pushes out of me in a bitter, brittle laugh.

“I don’t. She made her choice; now we all have to live with it,” I say. Almost immediately, his eyes lose the humor that had given them a little light before.

I’m dismayed to see the change and want to kick myself for not remembering that he’s much more forgiving of all of them than I am. “I’m sorry, James. You’re hurt and trying to be positive, and I’m complaining.”

He covers my hand with his, and I feel even more guilt from his attempt to comfort me.

I follow his eyes, and he’s watching television. His wife, Erin, Winsome’s most famous export, is in a commercial on national television. She’s in Ireland and shooting for a film. It’s her first major role.

“She’ll be here soon,” he says absently.

“You must miss her,“ I say.

He looks back at me.

“I don’t love her. She washischoice for me.”

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