Summer Island

Dean tossed his garment bag on the floor of his old bedroom and sat down on the end of the bed.

Everything was exactly as hed left it. Dusty baseball and soccer trophies cluttered the bureaus top; posters covered the cream-colored walls, their edges yellowed and curled. If he opened the toy chest, he’d find all the mementos of his past, G. I. Joe with the kung-fu grip, Rock Em-Sock Em Robots, maybe even his old Erector set. An autographed GO SEAHAWKS pennant hung above the desk, a reminder of the year Jim Zorn had visited the grade school.

Dean hadnt taken anything with him when he left here, not even a photograph of Ruby. Especially not a picture of her. He got to his feet and crossed the room. At the bureau, he bent down and pulled at the bottom drawer; it screeched and wobbled, then slid open.

And there they were, still stacked and scattered exactly as hed left them: reminders of Ruby. There framed pictures and unframed ones, shells theyd collected together on the beach, and a couple of dried boutonnieres. He reached randomly inside, drawing out a small strip of black-and-white pictures-a series that had been taken in one of those booths at the Island County Fair. In them, she was sitting on Deans lap, with her arms curled tightly around him and her head angled against his. She was smiling, then frowning, then sticking her tongue out at the unseen camera. In the last frame, they were kissing.

It was bad enough to remember Ruby in the abstract; to follow this photographic trail of their childhood would be like swallowing glass bits. Theyd started together as kids, he and Ruby, kindergarten best friends. Then theyd fallen into the sweet, aching pool of first love, and ultimately washed up on that emotions rocky, isolated shore. He remembered the ending, and that was enough.

He dropped the photos back into the drawer and kicked it shut.

Someone knocked at the door, and Dean opened it.

Lottie stood there, clutching her big vinyl purse. “Im off to the store,” she said. “The fridge isnt making ice; we need a bag. ”

“Ill go-”

“Of course you wont. Youll be needing time with Eric. ” Smiling, she thrust a champagne glass at him. Inside was a thick pink liquid. “This is your brothers medicine. He needs it now. Bye. ”

She left him standing there, a grown man in a boys room, holding pain medication in a fluted champagne glass.

He walked slowly to Erics bedroom. The door was closed.

Dean stared at it for a long time, remembering the days when these doors had never been closed. Theyd always come bursting into each others room whenever they wanted.

He turned the knob and went inside. The room felt stuffy and too warm. The curtains were drawn. Eric was asleep.

Dean moved quietly toward the bedside table and set down the glass, then he started to leave.

“I hope thats my Viagra,” Eric said sleepily. In a second, the bed whirred to life, eased him to a near sitting position.

“Actually, its a double shot of Cuervo Gold. I added the Pepto-Bismol to save you time. ”

Eric laughed. “Youll never let me forget MaryAnnes going-away party. ”

“A night that will live in infamy. ” Dean opened the windows and flung back the curtains. The windows boxed a gray and rainy day and let a little watery light into the room.

“Thanks. Bless Lottie, but she thinks I need peace and quiet. I havent the nerve to tell her that Im getting a little scared of the dark. Too damn coffinlike for me. ” He grinned. “Ill be there soon enough. ”

Dean turned to him. “Dont talk about that. ”

“Death? Why not? I am dying, and Im not afraid of it. Hell, another week like this one and Ill be looking forward to it. ” He gave Dean a gentle look. “What am I supposed to talk about-the Mariners” next season? The next Olympic Games? Or maybe we could discuss the long-term effects of global warming. “ Eric eased back into the pillows with a heavy sigh. ”We used to be so close," he said quietly.

“I know,” Dean answered, moving toward the bed. He saw Eric move, try to turn slightly to look up at him; he saw, too, when the sudden pain sucked the color from his brothers cheeks. “Here,” Dean said quickly.

Erics hands were shaking as he reached for the glass and brought it back to his colorless lips. Wincing, he swallowed the whole amount, then wiped his mouth with the back of his bony wrist.

Eric tried to smile. “Id kill for a margarita from Rays Boathouse right about now . . . and a platter of Penn Cove mussels . . . ”

“Tequila and shellfish-with your tolerance for booze? Sorry, pal, but Ill have to pass on that little fantasy. ”

“Im not seventeen anymore,” Eric said. “I dont slam alcohol until I puke. ”

There it was, the sharpened reminder of how theyd drifted apart. Theyd known each other as boys; the men were strangers to each other.

“Will that medication help?” Dean asked.

“Sure. In ten minutes Ill be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. ” Eric frowned. “What is a single bound, exactly? And why have I never wondered about that before?”