“You’re amazing, Rory,” she blurted, holding his gaze, her admiration flowing. Desperate to know more, she asked, “And your sisters?”
He smiled, obviously glad to brag on them. “Tara was much like Sean. She was always a mother hen when Mom was busy. Of course, Caitlyn’s the baby and will probably always be seen that way by the rest of us.”
“And Erin? What was it like being a twin?”
He was quiet for a moment, but she was more than willing to let him take his time thinking. His family was so different from hers, she found it fascinating.
“You hear so much about identical twins always being on the same wavelength,” he began. “But even fraternal twins can be. Even with older brothers and a sister around, Erin was always part of me. Sounds weird, I guess. Maybe the whole sharing the womb experience is true. I know that girls develop faster than boys, but it seems like Erin waited on me.”
She lifted her head and stared at him, scrunching her nose. “Waited on you? Okay, that’s going to take a little more explanation.”
“Of course, this is before my memories, but Mom used to say that Erin could already talk but generally babbled until I finally said my first word. Then, it was as though she was teaching me. Erin also pulled herself up and started walking before me, but generally just sat. Once I learned to walk, then Erin would toddle around and hold my hand.”
Laying her head back on his chest, she smiled. “That’s so sweet.” He chuckled again, and her smile widened.
“It was the same in school. She would learn something, then wait until I learned it. Reading, math, everything.”
“I know Harper mentioned that Sean was worried about Erin.”
He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand over his face. “As I was the youngest boy in the family, she was the middle girl, caught between Tara’s responsibility and Caitlyn’s excitement for life. She was quiet, but the one who always wanted to heal every injured animal… cry over the commercials about animals in shelters or hungry children… take the money she got for birthdays and Christmas and give it to the orphan group our church supported. She joined the Army the same time I did. Combat medic. But we weren’t stationed together. I only saw her once in four years. She seemed happy enough, but I sometimes wonder if she wasn’t too sensitive to be a medic. She’d feel everyone’s pain.” He shifted slightly, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. “Ever since she’s been back, she’s been very quiet. I don’t know if something happened to her personally or if it was the whole experience, but something shook her to the core.”
“I’m sorry, Rory. I’m sorry for her and for you. I’m sure that’s very hard to watch and not be able to fix it.”
“She started talking to Tara, and I see Erin coming more and more back into herself. The whole family was worried, but she seems to have turned a corner and is a little happier now.”
They lay together in silence for several minutes, each to their own thoughts. She loved the feel of his embrace, his steady heartbeat under her cheek, his warm breath puffing against her forehead. She thought about how he described his family. Large. Loud. Loving. And could not help but draw comparisons to her own. Afraid to look him in the eye, she carefully said, “You’ve never asked about my real mom.”
His hand had been drifting over her shoulder but stopped for a few seconds before continuing on its path. “Babe, you can talk to me about your family whenever you want. But it needs to be in your time. Your way.”
She remained silent for another moment, gathering her thoughts. She rarely talked about her mother but trusted him and wanted Rory to know everything. “My mom left when I was six years old. She just packed her bags and left.” She swallowed deeply, then continued. “I spent years wondering what I’d done… or what Dad had done… or what made my mother walk away… what could possibly make any mother walk away. Then I felt angry that she could so easily turn her back on us. Now, it’s hard to feel much other than just sadness that she didn’t care enough to watch me grow up.”
His arm tightened around her, and she reveled in the warmth. “Babe.” The one word rumbled from his chest, but she felt it move through her, offering solace as well as sympathy.
“It’s hard for me to remember what life was like before she left. I know my dad worked a lot, but when he was home, I always felt like I had his attention. Looking back, I have no idea if he gave that same attention to her. And whenever we talked about her, which wasn’t often, he never gave me a good reason other than she felt trapped. I remember her painting. I remember watching her pretty drawings come to life. As I got older, I confess that I looked her up on social media, not sure if I wanted to find her or not. I discovered she was remarried to an artist and was living in San Francisco. No other children. I did happen to look at her husband’s social media bio and saw that he was originally from Hope City. My assumption, which I
