Sinful Desire

Colin squeezed his shoulder. “You think this confession changes your whole life. You think it changes everything you’ve believed about Mom. But it doesn’t. Deep down, you knew she was involved. Deep down you knew she was responsible. But you hoped, because you’re human. Because you wanted to believe in redemption, in basic goodness, in good overcoming evil. You held onto that tiny little kernel of hope,” Colin said, cupping his palms together as if he were holding a precious seed. “You held it and you wanted it to become something. You wanted to believe that maybe things were different. It’s okay to have hope. It’s okay to cling to it. We all wanted that, too. Desperately. The rest of us just let go of it sooner. Now, it’s your turn. Let it go,” he said, and opened his hands.

Ryan watched the cool, empty air in his kitchen, imagining a dandelion seed falling in the breeze, the wind blowing it away. Was Colin right? Had Ryan truly known in his gut, in his heart, all along? Had some part of him known she was responsible, but some other part clung to the idea that she might be innocent simply because hope felt good?

Was that why he held onto the pattern? Why he went to see her every month? Why he nursed the possibility of innocence like a gardener tending to the first buds of spring? Because hope was a precious thing, it was a gift, and when so many things had gone wrong, he’d needed an anchor?

Hope was his anchor.

Hope that the past could be rewritten.

But the past didn’t have to be redone. It was still playing out in the present, unfurling new wrinkles every day, and he’d have to roll with them, to dodge, dart, and avoid the punches.

His true anchor was right here with him. His brother. And his other brother Michael, joining them now, along with his sister, Shannon. They were his foundation. They were the ones who’d made it with him through the years.

Today had floored him. But tonight had taught him that he’d been clinging to something he was ready to say goodbye to. “Anyone want to go for a late-night swim?” he asked.

“Hell yeah,” Michael said.

*

A few hours later, Ryan and Michael were buzzed, Shannon was tipsy, and Colin was hyper on caffeine. They’d also lost track of who was winning the water volleyball match, but who cared? The clock was closing in on two in the morning, and they were having a blast in the turquoise water, lit up from the lights in the pool. They’d talked some, and they’d cried some, and they’d laughed some more. Through it all, they were together, just as the four of them had always been.

No matter what.

Michael slammed the volleyball out of the water, sending it careening across the dark grass. He swam to the shallow end, and they followed him.

“Let’s drink a toast,” Michael said when he reached the steps and grabbed his beer.

“You’ve been drinking all night,” Colin said, hopping out of the water to grab a towel and dry his hair.

“No need to stop now,” Ryan chimed in as he reached for his bottle, and rested his arm on the edge of the pool. “Besides, you brought us the beer. Your fault.”

Colin pushed a hand through his damp, black hair, then tossed his towel on a lounge chair. “I’m sure you had plenty in your fridge. I was just trying to be nice to my sad sack of a brother.”

“Hey. Watch it now. I’m still older,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, but you’re not brighter,” Colin said with a wink.

Ryan shot him a look that said maybe he was right. Colin had figured out the hard stuff well before Ryan had.

Michael raised his Corona. “Never let the non-drinker pick beer again, please. Can that just be a rule?”

Colin rolled his eyes and dipped his foot in the water to splash Michael.

Then Michael’s expression turned serious and he cleared his throat. “Listen. We’ve spent enough time talking about her. She had Ryan in her clutches for far too long. Tonight, he’s letting go of all that stuff, so let’s drink a toast to the man we all love and miss.” Michael’s eyes started to water. “To Dad. I still remember how he was when I was learning to drive. He bought me a donut the first time I nailed a three-point turn. Said he was proud of me for that small accomplishment. He was always saying that about the little things we did, and always ready to celebrate with a donut,” Michael said, with admiration in his tone.

The water lolled gently in the pool. Somewhere in the yard, crickets chirped. Shannon went next. “I remember when he taught me to play pool. He was patient and determined. He told me he wanted his only girl to be able to beat all his sons, and he coached me until I was able to.”

“And she does. She schools us all,” Ryan said, with a tip of the cap to his sister.

Colin raised his can. “In middle school, I went to a school dance, and when he picked me up he spotted a hickey on my neck. He was cracking up, and I tried to deny it by making up some ridiculous story that the girl had scratched me accidentally during a dance. He went along with it, even though he said, ‘Someday you might like it.’”

“And now you do, right?” Michael asked.

“Oh yeah. I love hickeys.”

“I remember when he went to work that night,” Ryan began, eyes misting over with the memory. “He told me he was taking some kids to prom, and that someday I’d be the guy taking the girl to prom, and that I should be nice to the driver, because girls like that, and because it was the right thing to do. And then he told me he loved me. That was the last thing he said to me. That he loved me.”