15 Valentine Place. Pamela Bauer
thinking how silly those adolescent crushes were. Dramatic but silly. She finished beating the fudge until it was thick and creamy, spread it into the pan, then took great pleasure in eating a huge chunk.
Dylan’s presence in the house would not create any awkwardness other than to cut in on what Leonie called their “girl time.” As Maddie washed down the fudge with a glass of milk, she said, “Nothing like chocolate to put your world in order,” then went to bed.
THE MAN SITTING NEXT TO DYLAN nudged him. “Did you hear that? It’s two above with a windchill of seventeen below. And to think people actually like living here,” the stranger said with a shake of his head as the plane taxied to the gate at the Twin Cities airport.
“Some people like the cold,” Dylan noted.
The stranger made a sound of disgust. “Me…I like warm, tropical breezes and white sand beaches.”
“Then you’ve come to the wrong place,” a flight attendant said with a teasing grin as she handed the man his suit coat.
Dylan hoped he wasn’t in the wrong place. When his brother had suggested he come home to have the surgery on his shoulder, his first instinct had been to say no. There were good doctors in Miami, which would have been a lot closer than Minnesota to Saint Martin.
Unfortunately, Miami was also where Andrea lived. Dylan knew that had he chosen to get medical treatment there, the flight attendant would have assumed he’d had a change of heart about their relationship. He hadn’t.
That’s why he’d allowed Garret to convince him to have the surgery on his shoulder at home. Now, as the plane taxied closer to the gate, Dylan wondered if he would have been better off going with his first instinct.
Saint Paul wasn’t his home anymore. In the past thirteen years he’d seldom visited, and when he had come to see his family, he’d never stayed more than a few days. Now he was planning to spend six weeks in the snow and cold.
Again he had the uneasy feeling he’d made a mistake. Memories of the last time he was home flashed in his mind. There’d been arguments over things that now seemed unimportant. What was the best way to memorialize his father? Who should be in charge of what arrangements?
Accusations had been made, insults had been hurled. Not the kind of scene anyone wanted or needed when grieving.
As the oldest son, Dylan had wanted to make those few days of mourning easier for his mother. Instead he’d only made them more difficult. Now as he grabbed his carry-on bag from the overhead compartment, he realized she was the true reason he’d come back to Saint Paul to have the surgery.
Although Garret had emphasized the reputation of the medical staff available to him at the hospital, Dylan knew there had been an unspoken message in that phone call. Coming home would be an opportunity for him to put right what had gone wrong two years ago. This trip wouldn’t be to simply mend his shoulder, but to try to fix his relationship with his family, as well. They both knew it and Dylan suspected that his mother did, too.
As he walked out of the jetway into the airport terminal, he searched for her face in the crowd gathered at the gate.
“Dylan! Over here!”
At the sound of the man’s voice, he turned and saw his brother Shane standing off to one side of the arrival gate. If there was one person Dylan hadn’t expected to see at the airport it was Shane, not after the sharp words they’d exchanged the last time they’d been together.
Dylan knew that the grief over their father’s death and the stress of the funeral were partly to blame for the tension that had existed between them after their father’s death. He also knew that not all of the blame could be assigned to the difficult circumstances.
Of the four brothers, Dylan and Shane had always had the most tumultuous relationship. Being only eleven months apart, they’d been extremely competitive and had often found themselves at odds with each other. Whatever Dylan had done well, Shane had always wanted to do better.
It was a rivalry their mother had done her best to discourage, often telling the two boys they were supposed to support, not fight, each other. She was the peacemaker of the family, forever assuring them that one day they would be the best of friends.
Their father, though, hadn’t seen anything wrong with their relationship. He believed it was healthy for the two of them to challenge each other.
Dylan wondered if that wasn’t the reason Shane had reacted the way he had at the time of his father’s death. When Dylan had tried to make decisions on behalf of the family, Shane had challenged his right to assume that responsibility. The friendship their mother had promised they’d have was nowhere to be found. He’d wondered then if she’d been wrong. Maybe they would never be friends.
When his brother greeted him with a smile, he had reason to hope they could.
“Welcome home, Dylan. How’s the shoulder?” Shane asked, sounding more like the kid who had played catch with him in the backyard than the man who’d confronted him in anger at their father’s funeral.
“Garret tells me it’ll be fine in a few weeks. It’s good to see you, Shane,” he said, realizing that it was the truth. He had missed his brother.
“You look good. Your hair’s lighter,” Shane noted.
Automatically Dylan ran a hand through his hair. “That’s from working in the sun. I’m surprised to see you here. I thought Mom was picking me up.”
“She wanted to, but when your flight was delayed I offered to come so she wouldn’t have to miss her class.” Before Dylan could ask him what class, Shane looked to his right and said, “Mickey. Come say hello to your uncle.”
It was then that Dylan realized that his brother wasn’t alone. Standing only a few feet away, watching the airplanes taxi across the runway, was a small boy who looked like a miniature Shane. At the sound of his father’s voice, he came running toward them.
“Remember Mickey?” Shane asked Dylan as the boy barreled into his legs.
“That’s the baby?” Dylan stared at him in astonishment.
“I’m not a baby. I’m four,” Mickey declared, holding up four fingers.
“Mickey, say hello to your uncle,” Shane ordered.
“Hi, Uncle Dylan.”
Dylan stooped so that he was eye level with his nephew. “Hey, Mickey. How’s it going? Can you give me five?” He held out his hand and the four-year-old smacked it in delight.
“We saw your plane come down. It went really fast.” His eyes widened at the memory. He glanced toward the window and said, “Look! There goes another one!”
Dylan watched him scramble over to press his face against the glass. “I can’t get over how much he’s changed.”
“Yeah, well, kids grow up fast and it has been over two years since you were home,” his brother reminded him, in a tone that held more than a hint of admonishment.
Dylan fought the temptation to defend himself, knowing it would only add tension to their conversation. He said simply, “He’s a good-looking kid.”
Shane nodded, then extended his hand toward his son. “Come on, Mickey. We need to get Uncle Dylan’s luggage. Do you have your mittens?”
“They’re in my pockets.”
Shane looked at Dylan’s short-sleeved shirt. “I don’t suppose you own any winter clothes.”
“It seldom goes below seventy-two in Saint Martin,” he said with a half smile.
“You can probably buy a parka in one of the shops here at the airport. They’ve practically made this place into a shopping mall.”
Dylan gave his brother’s shoulder a playful punch. “You’re dealing with an ex Boy Scout. Remember our motto? Be Prepared.”