pitched in. “Stop his heart.”
“Yeah. Stop your heart.” Ben looked firm. “I’m sure Sarah brought you something gross and grassy that would be much healthier...”
She smacked Ben’s arm with her purse, fighting a laugh as she headed for the door.
“How’s it going with the carriage house?” Ben asked, backing toward the door.
“Pretty well. Took everything I couldn’t throw away into the basement.”
“Okay.” Ben waved at Jack as he turned and left. “Enjoy the ribs.”
JACK WENT TO the front window to watch his brother and Sarah drive away. Even in the third grade, Ben had been a secure and confident kid. Jack had acted like one, but Ben had really been one. His parents were nice, normal people, and they’d loved him. Jack, on the other hand, had had a mother who was always in a twilight world, somewhere he couldn’t reach, and he’d been scared all the time because there was usually no one around to tell him what to do.
Sometimes a friend of his mother’s would take his sisters for a few days and he’d spend the time at Ben’s without even being missed. He’d dreamed of having the life Ben had.
One day he did, but getting what he’d wanted had taken a terrible toll on everyone else. Ben’s parents had taken him and his sisters in that night and he’d heard Ben campaigning to keep them. They hadn’t been able to, of course, because the girls still had fathers who wanted them, but Ben had been eloquent.
“It’s been just me all this time,” Ben had said vehemently. “Well, I could really use a brother. So, you know, I learn to share and stuff. So I don’t get spoiled. ’Cause I could use help with taking out the garbage and the errands.”
Jack had heard Gary reply, given with a trace of humor. “All right, then. We’ll make Jack your brother.”
There’d been a moment’s silence. Then he’d heard Ben’s voice, high with thrilled disbelief. “Really?”
“Really. But you have to be quiet about it until the girls are gone.”
Until the girls are gone. Jack had felt elated at the prospect of living with the Palmers, but the elation had drained from him at the knowledge that his sisters would have to go to their fathers.
He found it odd as an adult that children would be sent to live with a parent who’d abandoned them, but knew the Department of Human Services’ optimum solution with disrupted families was to put them back together. And both Miguel and Donald had wanted their daughters. In all fairness to them, his mother had had the DHS caseworker convinced she would do better—as she probably believed herself—so they’d probably believed a prolonged custody battle wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interest. Which was why the girls had stayed with their mother.
Since his mother had been put in prison, however, that had all changed. Ben and Jack, living under the same roof, had loved each other, barely tolerated each other sometimes, wanted to beat each other to a pulp often and actually tried a few times, had each the other’s back against the Duffy boys, bullies in middle school, and as they’d matured and begun to appreciate the value of a brother who is chosen, supported each other in every way they could.
Jack went back into the kitchen. As he carried his dinner to the table and turned on the news, he remembered that for all he’d lost in his childhood, he’d gained so much.
* * *
BEN PARKED HIS classic red Mustang on a knoll overlooking the bay. A few lights picked out boats bobbing on the water; otherwise the night was dark and cold. Sarah hadn’t eaten very much, a little worried about what Ben had to say. He’d been the perfect companion all evening, bright and funny, all his attention focused on her. Now he was subdued.
He turned in his seat to smile at her and then reached across the gearshift to kiss her. His eyes were shadowed in the dark car and he pulled back to look into hers. He took her hand. “So, what are you doing for the next sixty years?” he asked. “Want to spend them with me?”
She’d always thought that proposing to someone took a lot of courage. You could presume you knew the answer, but it was impossible to be absolutely certain. It was brave to put your heart out there like that.
She’d worried about this moment all day and still hadn’t found a painless way to explain to Ben what she felt. She opened her mouth to try, but he pulled a small box out of his breast pocket. He opened it to reveal a round-cut diamond ring that sparkled brilliantly, even in the darkness. “My dream is to marry you and do my best to make all your dreams come true.”
She expelled a breath that sounded as anguished as she felt. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect proposal.
Ben was a good cop, commended on more than one occasion for defusing domestic disputes or calming an angry mob. He straightened, apparently reading her well, his expression a combination of hurt and confusion. “Why did that sigh sound distressed rather than happy?”
She was silent a long moment, struggling to find the right words to explain. Finally deciding there weren’t any, she just spoke directly.
“Ben, we’ve never talked about children.”
He waited a beat. “True. You’re not going to tell me you want a dozen, are you?” he joked, still looking worried.
“No,” she replied. “I’m telling you I don’t want any.”
He stared at her, his confusion deepening. “You said you liked children,” he reminded her gently. “And I’ve witnessed it. When you helped with the department’s Christmas party, you seemed to enjoy watching and helping the kids.”
“I did.” She inhaled to steady herself. “I love kids. And I love them most when they belong to somebody else.” She was about to go on to explain when he turned on the car’s ceiling light.
“You’re saying...” He paused, as though not quite believing what he was about to say. “That...you don’t want your own? Ever?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking directly into his eyes so there’d be no misunderstanding her conviction.
He looked away, shook his head, then turned back to her. “Okay. You’re very serious. I see that. But...why?”
“Remember that I told you I used to be a pediatric nurse?”
“Yes.”
She reeled out the whole long story about Jerica. “The average person,” she said, her voice growing raspy, “has no idea how vulnerable children are to what appear to be the most innocuous things, or things that one child can survive, hardly noticing it, while it takes another child’s life. I dealt with it for years and accepted that working with children was just going to beat me up every day, but the successes made it worth it. Until Jerica died and then...well, it feels like nothing’s worth it.”
He listened quietly, clearly affected by her story. “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” he said, holding both her
