The guests never knew the groom wasn't there. They drank the wedding toasts, ate the candied almonds, said all their congratulations.
My brother would never marry a second time in this life.
He would live. He would live to be very, very old.
The spring he never reached last time, I would give him this time.
It rained hard the day Kayla and Luke left. I stood on the balcony and watched their car pull out of the complex, Kayla in the passenger seat, Luke driving.
In the side mirror, her face blurred like a watercolor left out in the rain.
She glanced back once. I couldn't tell if she was looking at our building or at my brother.
I didn't let her see me.
The phone rang. It was my brother.
He said he was working late at the office, and asked what I wanted for dinner.
"Whatever you want," I said. "I'll make it."
He paused, then laughed. "Anything you make even edible?"
"Edible or not, you're eating it."
"Fine," he said. "Then I'll come home early."
I hung up and went back to the kitchen to wash the vegetables.
The faucet hissed, and I thought about how, at this exact hour last time, I'd been crying in a hospital corridor.
This time, I was washing vegetables for my brother.
That was good.
The knife was the same knife. I rinsed it clean and slid it back into the block.
I wouldn't use it that way again.
At least never again against anyone's throat.
The doorbell rang three times.
Through the peephole I saw Kayla standing outside, her hair soaked, her face wet with what could have been rain or tears.
She was holding a cake box, the pink ribbon coming apart in the downpour.
I opened the door.
"Belinda, I—" Her voice shook. "I want to see your brother."
"He's not here."
"I know he's here." She looked past me into the apartment. "His car's downstairs."
I stood in the doorway and didn't let her in.
She was drenched through, the dress plastered to her body. She'd lost a lot of weight; her cheekbones jutted out now.
"What do you want?"
Kayla lifted the cake, her fingers trembling. "It's his birthday today. I made it myself."
"He doesn't want it."
"Belinda, I know I was wrong."
Her eyes went red, her voice dropping low. "I've spent these last months regretting it every single day. I can't sleep. All I see is his face. He was so good to me, and I—"
"You almost got him killed."
Her tears spilled over and hit the cake box.
"I know. I know I owe him everything. But give me one chance. Let me say I'm sorry to his face, just once, and then I'll go."
My brother's voice came from behind me. "Belle, who is it?"
I turned. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, a book in his hand, in his house clothes and slippers.
The second he saw Kayla, the book slipped from his hand to the floor. He left it there.
She saw him, and the tears came down like a thread snapping loose.
"Bruce—"
She took a step forward. I put my arm out across the doorframe and stopped her.
"Say it from there."
She bit her lip, looking at him, her mouth trembling several times before any sound came out. "I'm sorry. Bruce, I'm so sorry. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just want you to know I really do regret it. Every night I have nightmares. I dream of you lying in that hospital bed, dream of you calling my name—"
He bent down, picked up the book, brushed off the cover. His voice was perfectly calm. "Are you finished?"
Kayla froze.
"If you're finished, then go." He turned and started up the stairs.
He stopped. He didn't look back.
"Kayla, you nearly cost me my life."
