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Sixty-two
Henley
I don’t go to Boylston.
I found an address in Cambridge for the Sojourn Center on my phone and gave it to the driver as soon as I was settled into the back of the car. We pulled up in front of a stately-looking brick building with a wide porch and white-washed columns way sooner than I was prepared for.
“Am I waiting, ma’am?”
I jerk my gaze away from the front of the building, shaking my head. “No.” I open my door and get out before can protest. “Thank you.” I toss the last of it over my shoulder, barely sparing him a glance before I climb the porch steps and let myself inside.
Inside, the building is and interesting mixture of new and old. Restored hardwood and original crown moldings, coupled with gleaming glass and automatic doors. Stopping at the information desk long enough to check in, I follow the directions the attendant gave me, Taking the elevator to the third floor, I find Ryan’s room. Hand poised on the door handle, I take a deep breath. Declan said he was badly injured. That there’ve already been multiple surgeries to save his leg. Skin grafts to reduce scarring. That he’ll never had children. That he’s suffered long-term memory loss. I’m suddenly afraid of what’s I’ll find on the other side of the door.
Your brother.
That’s what you’ll find on the other side of the door.
Your brother.
I push the door open to find the room empty.
I stand there, for a moment, wondering if I have the wrong room. Maybe the attendant—
There’s the sound of a toilet flushing seconds before the door directly across from me opens. “I said I don’t want to play today, fuckface. Go bother that cute—” Ryan stalls in the doorway, the rest of whatever he was going to say getting stuck in his throat. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. He just stares at me.
I look down at myself and instantly feel ridiculous. Vintage Chanel dress under my Gucci coat. Louboutin pumps, despite the cold. Jeremy’s pearls around my neck like a collar. His ring shackled to my finger.
I should’ve gone to the apartment to change before coming here.
“It’s Henley.” I say it because I don’t know it he recognizes me. If I were him, I wouldn’t know who I was. I’d see a total stranger.
“I know who you are.” It comes out hard, like an accusation. “I have brain damage, I’m not blind.”
“I didn’t mean—” I shake my head. “You haven’t seen me since…” I lift a hand to my nose, touching it for a moment before dropping it again. “I look different. That’s all I meant.”
“What are you doing here?” He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Shouldn’t you be drinking champagne or off buying diamonds or some shit?” He throws the towel in his hand on his messy bed before taking a slow step through the doorway, leaning a cane I hadn’t noticed until now.
It’s nothing different than what he’s said to me a hundred times before. He’s always teased me about the money. The life of privilege I’ve lead since our mother separated us. But the way he says it now is different. He’s not teasing anymore.
He’s angry.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I tell him, as I watch him walk. It’s a slow, painful process. He looks like he’s on the verge of collapse and I feel myself lean into the space between us, ready to throw myself under his arm to keep him from falling. “No one told me—”
“Then how’d you find out?” He finally makes his way to the chair by the window and eases himself into it slowly, like an old man.
“Excuse me?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid. “If no one told you, then how’d you find out?” He says it slowly. Like I’m the one with cognitive issues.
That’s when I get it. When I understand.
“You don’t want me here.”
He doesn’t answer me. He just stares out the window. “Why?” I practically shout it, the volume of my voice instantly shaming me. “Why didn’t you want me to know?” I rush at him my heels clicking fast across the hard linoleum floor to stand over him. “I’m your sister, Ryan—you’re my brother.”
He looks up at me and shrugs. “So?”
“So? So?” I feel my knees wobble a little before they give out completely, my hand flailing behind me and I find the arm of the chair behind me before I collapse completely. “So you’ve developed a habit of keeping things from me—important things—and I want to know why.” I slide into the chair, pressing my knees together, clasping my hands around them. “Why didn’t you tell me about Dad?” I feel my chin start to tremble and I have to clench my jaw to keep from crying.