My Brother

Mom stopped halfway down the stairs. Dad stood in the living room with her phone in his hand. The message from David was still open. Did Emily believe you? For a few seconds, nobody moved. Dad looked at Mom. Then at me. Then back at the phone. “What is he talking about?” Dad asked. His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Mom gripped the railing. “Mark, let me explain.” Dad looked at the screen again. “Explain what?” Mom came down the last few steps slowly. I stayed near the top of the stairs. I knew I should have gone back to my room. But I could not leave. Not now. Not when the truth was finally standing in the middle of our house. “David and I made a mistake,” Mom said. Dad’s eyes lifted to hers. “What kind of mistake?” Mom did not answer. Dad’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Laura.” Mom closed her eyes. “We kissed.” Dad stared at her. The television continued playing behind him. Someone on the screen was laughing. It sounded wrong in our house. Dad looked down at the phone again, as though the message might change if he read it twice. Then he asked, “When?” “This afternoon.” I watched Mom’s face. She looked at me for half a second. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to agree. She wanted me to confirm that it had only happened once. But I did not know that. All I knew was what I had seen. Dad followed her eyes and looked up at me. “Emily saw?” Mom whispered, “Yes.” Something changed in Dad’s face. It was not anger. Not yet. It was humiliation. That was worse. He leaned against the back of the recliner. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he said. Mom stepped closer. “You should sit down.” “I don’t want to sit down.” “Mark, please.” “Tell me.” Mom looked at me again. Dad noticed. “Don’t make her leave,” he said. “She already knows more than I do.” Mom lowered her head. She told him that David had come over to bring groceries. She said they talked in the garage because Dad was sleeping. She said they had both been emotional. She said David touched her face. She said the kiss happened before she had time to think. Dad listened without interrupting. When she finished, he asked, “How long?” Mom looked confused. “How long what?” “How long did you kiss him?” Mom’s eyes moved toward me. I felt sick. “I don’t know,” she said. Dad looked at me. I wished he had not. I wished I could have disappeared into the wall. But he needed an answer. “Long enough,” I said. Dad’s mouth tightened. Mom turned to me. “Emily—” “You asked me not to lie,” I said. Dad looked away. He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest. Mom moved toward him. “Are you okay?” “Don’t touch me.” She stopped immediately. Dad had never spoken to her like that before. Mom’s hands dropped to her sides. He looked at the phone again. “Did Emily believe you?” he read aloud. Then he looked at Mom. “What were you trying to make her believe?” “That it did not mean anything.” Dad gave a small laugh. There was no humor in it. “And did she believe you?” Mom started crying again. “Mark, I am sorry.” He ignored the apology. “Was this the first time?” “Yes.” Dad looked directly at her. Mom held his gaze. “Yes,” she repeated. “The first kiss.” The word kiss mattered. Dad heard it too. “The first kiss,” he said. “Not the first time something happened.” Mom sat on the edge of the couch. She looked suddenly exhausted. “There was no affair.” “That was not my question.” “There was no sex.” “That was not my question either.” Mom wiped her face. Dad waited. Finally, she said, “We talked.” “How often?” “I don’t know.” “Every day?” “Not every day.” “How many times did he come here to see me and end up talking to you?” Mom said nothing. Dad nodded slowly. “That many.” “It started because we were worried about you.” Dad stared at her. “I was worried about me too.” “Mark, that is not what I meant.” “I was the one in the hospital.” “I know.” “I was the one losing weight. I was the one throwing up. I was the one who could not walk to the bathroom without help.” “I know.” “And while I was trying not to die, my wife and my best friend were becoming emotionally confused?” Mom flinched at the way he said it. Dad turned away from her. He walked toward the kitchen, but his leg dragged slightly. He was tired. I could see it in the way he held the cane. Mom stood. “Please sit down before you fall.” Dad stopped near the doorway. “My brother?” His voice broke on the last word. Mom covered her mouth. Dad looked at her as if he no longer recognized the person standing in front of him. “My brother, Laura?” “It was one kiss.” Dad’s head lifted. “You don’t kiss someone like that once.” The room went completely still. I had never heard my father sound so small. Not when the doctor said the cancer had spread. Not when his hair began falling out. Not even when he woke up after surgery and could not move one side of his body properly. Sickness had weakened him. But betrayal made him look empty. Mom crossed the room. “I stopped it.” Dad looked at me. “Did she?” Again, I was being asked to carry a truth that belonged to adults. I swallowed. “She pulled away when she saw me.” Mom’s face collapsed. Dad closed his eyes. That answer hurt him more than anything else. Because it meant Mom had not stopped because the kiss was wrong. She had stopped because I was there. Dad turned toward the hallway. “Where are you going?” Mom asked. “The guest room.” “You need your medication.” “I can take it myself.” “You should not be alone tonight.” Dad stopped walking. Then he looked back at her. “I think I have been alone for a while.” He continued down the hallway. Mom stood in the living room, crying silently. I stayed on the stairs. Neither of us knew what to do. A few minutes later, Dad closed the guest-room door. Mom sat on the couch and stared at the floor. I thought the worst part was over. Then someone knocked on the front door. Three slow knocks. Mom looked toward the window. A truck was parked outside. David had come back.