Summer Island

Dean closed his eyes, then opened them quickly, startled by the sound of laughter.

But it was only an echo in his mind, an auditory memory. He hated what had brought him home at last, hated that it had taken a disease to bring him back to his brother. Even more, he hated the way he about Eric now; theyd grown so far apart. And all of it was Deans fault. He saw that, knew it, hated it, and couldnt seem to change it.

It had happened on a seemingly ordinary Sunday. Dean had moved off of the island by then, gone to prep school; hed been a senior, nursing a heart so broken that sometimes hed forgotten to breathe. Eric had been at Princeton. They were still brothers then, separated only by miles, and theyd spoken on the phone every Sunday. One phone call had changed everything.

“Ive fallen in love, . . . get ready a shock . . . ” name is Charlie and he . . . "

Dean had never been able to remember more than that. Somehow, in that weird, disorienting moment, his mind had shut down. Hed felt suddenly betrayed, as if the brother hed known and loved was a stranger.

Dean had said all the right things to Eric. Even in his shocked confusion, hed known what was expected of him, and hed complied. But theyd both heard the lie beneath the words. Dean didnt know how to be honest, what words he could mold into an acceptable truth. Hed felt-ridiculously-as if hed lost his brother that day.

If theyd gotten together back then, talked it through, they might have been okay. But theyd been young men, both of them, poised at the start of their lives, each one faced in a different direction. It had been easy to drift apart. By the time Dean graduated from Stanford and went to work for the family business, too much time had passed to start again. Eric had moved to Seattle and begun teaching high-school English. Hed lived with Charlie for a long time; only a few years before, Dean had received a note from Eric about Charlies lost battle with AIDS.

Dean had sent flowers and a nice little card. Hed meant to pick up the phone, but every time he reached for it, he wondered what in the world he could say.

He turned away from the water and walked down the dock, then climbed the split-log stairs set into the sandy cliff. He was out of breath when he finally emerged on top of the bluff.

The sprawling Victorian house was exactly as he remembered it-salmony pink siding, steeply pitched roof, elegant white cutwork trim. Clematis vines curled around the porch rails and hung in frothy loops from along the eaves. The lawn was still as flat and green as a patch of Christmas felt. Roses bloomed riotously, perfectly trimmed and fertilized from year to year.

It was something his mother never forgot: home maintenance fees. Every house she owned was precisely cared for, but this one more than most. She knew, or imagined, which to her was the same as certainty--that Eric occasionally visited the summer house with that man. She didnt want to hear any complaints from them about the property.

Dean headed toward the house, ducking beneath the outstretched branches of an old madrona tree. As he bent, a glint of silver caught his eye. He turned, realizing a moment too late what hed seen.

The swing set, rusted now and forgotten. A whispery breeze tapped one of the red seats, made the chains jangle. The sight of it dragged out an unwelcome memory . . .

Ruby. Shed been right there, leaning against the slanted metal support pole, with her arms crossed.

It was the moment-the exact second-hed realized his best friend was a girl.

Hed moved toward her.

What? shed said, laughing. Am I drooling or something?

All at once, hed realized that he loved her. Hed wanted to say the words to her, but it was the year his voice betrayed him. Hed been so afraid of sounding like a girl when he spoke, and so hed kissed her.

It had been the first kiss for both of them, and to this day, when Dean kissed a woman, he longed for the smell of the sea.

He spun away from the swing set and strode purposefully toward the house. At the front door, he paused, gathering courage and molding it into a smile. Then he knocked on the door.

From inside came the pattering sound of footsteps.

The door burst open and Lottie was there. His old nanny flung open her pudgy arms. “Dean!”

He stepped over the threshold and walked into the arms that had held him in his youth. He breathed in her familiar scent-Ivory soap and lemons.

He drew back, smiling. “Hey, Lottie. Its good to see you. ”

She gave him “the look”-one thick gray eyebrow arched. “Im surprised you could still find your way here. ”

Though he hadnt seen her in more than a decade, she had barely aged. Oh, her hair was grayer, but she still wore it drawn back into a cookie-size bun at the base of her skull. Her ruddy skin was still amazingly wrinkle-free, and her bright green eyes were those of a woman whod enjoyed her life.

He realized suddenly how much hed missed her. Lottie had come into their family as a cook for the summer and gradually had become their full-time nanny. Shed never had any children of her own, and Eric and Dean had become her surrogate sons. Shed raised them for the ten years theyd lived on Lopez.

“I wish I were here for an ordinary visit,” he said.

She blinked up at him. “It seems like only yesterday I was wiping chocolate off his little-boy face. I cant believe it. Just cant believe it. ” She stepped back into the well-lit entryway, wringing her hands.

Dean followed her into the living room, where a fire crackled in the huge hearth. The furniture he remembered from childhood still cluttered the big space. Cream-colored sofas on carved wooden legs faced each other. A large, oval-shaped rosewood coffee table stood between them, a beautiful Lalique bowl on its gleaming surface.