First Come Twins Page 3

  She faltered halfway up the steps. “Hello, Noah.”

  God, what a sight. He wished he had his camera. High on the hill as they were, the treetops, with their spring leaves, framed her face, a face that had barely changed after all these years. Her eyes held a few laugh lines, but their color was as green as he remembered. Even her hair was still as dark as midnight.

  He grabbed the doorframe for balance and hoped like hell she stayed outside. “How have you been?”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  That was cold, abrupt. “I’m guessing Mirabelle’s lost its Welcome Capital of the World status.”

  “Why now? What do you want, Noah?”

  She never had been one to fake nice. That’s one of the reasons he’d liked her so much. Amidst the trappings of this fairyland, she’d been so real. “I don’t want anything, Sophie. From anybody. Just leave me alone.”

  “Why can’t you be alone on someone else’s island?”

  “Why are you so pissed off?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “One day you ask me to marry you and the next day you’re gone?”

  “You turned me down, Sophie.”

  “And you never said goodbye.”

  “Ooh,” he groaned, shaking his head. “I said goodbye all right. For three days and nights in that Bayfield motel room.” Tenderly, passionately, fast, slow, laughing and crying. It was the only time in his entire life four walls hadn’t closed in on him. “At least, that’s the way I remember it.”

  She looked down, as if trying desperately to wipe the images from her mind. “I needed to hear the words.”

  “You knew I was leaving, Sophie. With…or without you.” If he’d really loved her and if she’d really loved him, they’d have found a way to be together. True love always found a way. Well, Sophie had found her way all right. Without Noah.

  “No phone calls. No letters.” The fire was back in her eyes. “Nothing for damned close to fifteen years.”

  “Well, it sure as hell didn’t take you long to replace me.” It couldn’t have been much more than a few months after Noah had left that she’d married his brother, Isaac. His own brother. Self-righteous anger boiled to the surface. “Married, two kids. Sounds like you and Isaac got along fine without me.”

  Her face flaming, she stalked across the porch.

  “Don’t!” He reached for the knob, but she was quicker.

  She yanked open the screen door, cranked her hand back to slap him and stopped. Her gaze flew downward. She took in the one empty leg of his jeans and her fingers collapsed into a fist.

  “Go ahead,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Hit me! I’m sure I deserve it.”

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  Yeah, he knew.

  “Isaac died more than two years ago.” She let the storm door slam shut and pounded off the porch.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ISAAC. DEAD?

  After climbing the hill toward the small cemetery behind Mirabelle’s only church, Noah reached the wrought-iron gate, his hands shaking, his breathing uneven, his thoughts disjointed. He couldn’t believe his older brother was gone.

  Looking past the weathered tombstones of the island’s first settlers, the names engraved there as familiar to him as his own, he located the Bennett family headstone, a pale gray granite monstrosity, and forced himself to close the distance, one slow step at a time.

  Though the cemetery was well-maintained, short grass infringed on the edges of the ground markers and dirt partially obscured the names. The middle two granite slabs were his grandparents. The two on the left were an aunt who’d died as a child and an uncle who’d been killed in military service. The marker on the right was new.

  Noah fell awkwardly to his knees and brushed the granite clean. Isaac Andrew Bennett. Seeing his brother’s name, his birthday and date of death didn’t make the truth any more real. This had to be a bad dream. It had to be. Shit like this had happened to him over and over again in that damned hospital. Any minute he’d awaken from this nightmarish sleep. Any minute. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping that when he opened them he’d be anywhere but on Mirabelle. Wake up. Wake up.

  A robin chirped cheerfully from the branches of a nearby maple, and the sounds of a lawn mower buzzed in the distance. The scent of lilacs hung in the still, warm air. This was real. Very real. His older brother was dead. Gone.

  Snippets of memories flashed through Noah’s mind. Isaac and him fighting over what to watch on TV, fishing off the pier and snowshoeing. Isaac had always wanted to go traipsing through the snow in the midst of the most miserable blizzards. He’d loved being outside, especially in winter, and he’d loved this island, almost as much as Noah hated it.

  How could two brothers be so different? Even in the troublemaking department they were like night and day. Oh, they’d both caused plenty of it. Creeping through this cemetery on Halloween and scaring the younger kids. Raiding McGregor’s apple trees. Toilet-papering the Andersens’ place. He could go on and on recalling the shenanigans he and Isaac had pulled. But no matter what they’d done together, Noah had always been the one who’d gotten caught. Trouble had a way of sliding off Isaac like water on a duck’s back. Except for this time.

  Noah traced the engraved letters of Isaac’s name on the granite slab and, inside him, sadness over the loss warred with anger over what Isaac had done. He’d never forgiven his brother for marrying Sophie, and now he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive him for dying before Noah had gotten the chance to speak his mind, before he’d been able to find it inside himself, if that was possible, to forgive his brother and move on.

  “Isaac,” he said aloud. “What the hell?”

  A horse snuffled somewhere behind him and Noah started at the sound. Adrenaline rushed through him as if nothing less than a gun was pointed at his head.

  You’re on Mirabelle, he reminded himself. You’re safe. Safe. He took a deep breath and turned around.

  This, Noah did not need. Mirabelle Island’s Chief of Police, Jim Bennett, reined in his horse and stopped at the entrance to the cemetery. Apparently the island rumor mill had been working at lightning speed.

  The chief dismounted and walked across the grounds, only to tower over where Noah knelt in the grass. Fifteen plus years of distance made the man no less intimidating. “Hello, Noah.”

  “Dad.” Noah glanced at Isaac’s marker and barely held the tears in check. “How’d it happen?”

  “He was shot during a raid on an illegal fishing operation.”

  Isaac, always the devoted son, had followed family tradition of military service or law enforcement and become a game warden. In idyllic northern Wisconsin, arresting deer poachers should’ve been the most dangerous part of his job. Instead, he’d been murdered over fish. Fish. It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense.

  “Did Sophie…Did he make it to a hospital?”

  “No. He was hit in the chest. Died instantly at the scene.”

  Noah looked away. The thought of his brother shot and killed violently like so many soldiers he’d seen through the years was too much. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Couldn’t find you. I called your editor, your agent. Every number I had. After a while, it didn’t seem to matter.”

  Noah glanced at the date on the marker. He’d been in the mountains of either Afghanistan or Pakistan, about as unreachable as he’d ever been. Still, an urgent message could’ve made it to Noah through the military. After all these years, his dad knew that. He hadn’t wanted Noah to come back, that much was obvious.

  “I should have been here,” Noah said. “I would’ve wanted to be here. That wasn’t right.”

  “I figured if you’d wanted to stay in touch,” his dad said, “you’d have checked in.”

  The first years after he’d left Mirabelle, Noah had called every so often. Other than news of happenings on Mirabelle his dad rarely had anything to say. Eventually, Noah didn’t have anything to say, eith
er, and there was a lot of dead air. He’d resorted to occasional letters, even though they often hadn’t been acknowledged.

  “So what’re you doing here now?” his dad asked.

  Noah debated, lies or the truth? For some reason a lie seemed appropriate. With a cop for a father, he’d gotten good at it at a very early age. “Thought I’d check up on Grandma’s place. See if there was anything that needed doing.”

  His dad mulled that one over and didn’t seem to be buying it.

  “And I needed to stay relatively close to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester,” Noah added for good measure. “It’s a little easier to get there from here than Rhode Island.” They wanted him to check in with a physical therapist, but he’d be damned if he’d go. He’d had enough of doctors, nurses and the like to last several lifetimes.

  “How long you planning on staying?” The tone of his dad’s voice made the innocent enough question sound more like, “When’re you leaving?”

  Why Noah had expected anything different was beyond him. “No more than a month or two. Why?” Sick of looking up at his father, he eased himself up onto his good foot. He was inordinately pleased to notice that he’d actually grown quite a bit taller than his dad. Jim Bennett had, of course, aged. He’d put on some pounds around the waist, deep wrinkles marked his forehead and his hair had thinned and turned completely gray. Only his mustache held any remnants of his original dark hair. “You ready to escort me to the ferry dock, tell me to get the hell off your island and never come back?”

  “No.” His dad ignored the bait, glancing instead at Noah’s legs, his jaw clenching with some unknown emotion.

  “What is it then?” Noah asked, raising his voice. Fifteen years had gone by and he still felt himself falling right back into the old argumentative patterns. No one could cut Noah deeper or quicker than Jim Bennett. “What did I ever do to hurt you?” Noah asked. “It can’t be because I didn’t go into law enforcement, or do a military stint. You hated me long before that.”

  His dad’s gaze flew to Noah’s face. “I don’t hate you.”

  “Then what is it, Dad? I want to know.”

  As if Noah hadn’t said a word his dad mounted his horse. “Stay as long as you like, Noah. As long as you like.”

  JIM BENNETT PACED HIS KITCHEN floor waiting for night to fall. All he could think about was the sight of Noah kneeling at Isaac’s grave. His eyes watered, blurring the image. Dammit. There were two things parents should never have to do, outlive their own children and be forced to make a choice between themselves and their own flesh and blood.

  Feeling as if he might wear a track in the linoleum, he stopped in front of the sink and glanced out the window. “Oh, hell,” he murmured to himself. “It’s dark enough.”

  Taking off out the back door of his house, he quickly headed four blocks down the street and then cut through the woods. The moment he caught sight of the gray-and-white cottage with its wide front porch and four-season addition off the side, his shoulders relaxed and the knot in his stomach loosened. He knocked on the front door.

  A moment later, Josie appeared, her knitting bag in hand. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jim, that you don’t need to knock.”

  “It’s your house.”

  “Which is why I gave you a key.”

  He made to step inside.

  “I was just on my way out to sit on the porch.” She flicked on the porch light, stepped outside and headed toward the swing.

  “No. Let’s go inside.”

  “You go inside.” Josie sat down and pulled out her latest project, a pair of socks for her granddaughter living in eastern Iowa. “After spending the entire day in that kitchen getting ready for Marty’s wedding I need the fresh air.” Being head cook at the Mirabelle Island Inn, she’d be taking the brunt of an influx of close to a hundred people for Marty’s wedding. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m going to guess you could use the fresh air.”

  Jim glanced uneasily around. “All right. Fine. Have it your way.” He flicked off the porch light, cutting down the chances of anyone seeing him here at Josie’s this late at night. The jaws on this island were flapping about his business enough as it was with Noah coming home.

  “How do you expect me to see what I’m knitting?”

  “You can make a pair of socks in your sleep.” As if to prove his point, her needles clicked away, never missing a beat.

  What he hated most about the island gossip chain was when the rest of the island knew about things that concerned him before he did. They’d known when Isaac had been given a scholarship to college. When Noah had broken his arm falling out of one of the Rousseaus’ trees. They’d all guessed Sophie was pregnant before the thought had occurred to Jim. They’d even known about Gloria leaving.

  He’d been at his desk when Herman’s wife had called. Arlo had said something to his wife, Lynn, about Gloria going on a vacation. He’d taken her to the pier with several suitcases. Lynn had called someone, that someone had called several other someones, and in no time the entire island had been privy to one of Jim’s greatest failures. Who could blame him for wanting to keep parts of his life private?

  He sat on the swing next to Josie, took his pipe and pouch out of his front pocket and packed some tobacco. A moment later, he struck a match, puffed and let go a long sigh.

  “Have you seen him yet?” Josie asked.

  There was no need to specify Noah. He knew. “Found him out at the cemetery late this afternoon.”

  Her hands paused.

  He took another puff on his pipe and stared out at the half moon rising over Lake Superior. “Isaac dying was bad. The worst thing I’ve ever gone through. But I’m telling you, Josie, seeing Noah kneeling at his brother’s grave…about brought me to my knees,” he said, his voice cracking.

  She put her hand on his leg.

  There was no doubt that Noah coming home after all this time was nothing short of bittersweet for Jim. His conscience gnawed at the lining of his stomach. “Maybe I should’ve tried harder to find him. A man deserves to bury his own brother.”

  Then again, Noah coming home would’ve opened up a whole big can of worms. Nope. Noah had made his bed when he’d left. Jim might have to atone for other things, but not telling Noah about Isaac dying wasn’t one of them. “I guess Noah being here for the funeral wouldn’t have changed anything. He couldn’t have brought Isaac back.”

  “Wasn’t there any part of you happy to see your own son?”

  “Happy? Sure. I suppose.” He puffed on his pipe. “He’s a man now, Josie. I’ve seen pictures of him in magazines and on the backs of his books, but that’s nothing like seeing him in person. He’s bigger than Isaac and built differently. His shoulders are broader. But seeing him limp on that fake leg? I sure as hell wasn’t ready for that.”

  “How did he seem?”

  “Oh, hell, he hasn’t changed. Not one damned bit. Still as angry as ever. Still hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you.”

  “Coulda fooled me. Since the day Gloria left he’s been ornery and contrary. I say black, he says white. I don’t think he’ll ever change.” Jim had always wondered if Noah hadn’t blamed him for Gloria leaving, and he wouldn’t have been too far off the mark.

  “You still angry at him?”

  “Angry? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, though, he’s still the spitting image of Gloria. Those two were like peas in a pod.”

  “Well, there you have it.” Her needles clicked on. “You divorced Gloria, didn’t you?”

  SOPHIE COULDN’T SLEEP. She lay in bed, telling herself that it probably had to do with that late-afternoon diet cola, or nerves over Marty’s wedding plans, an unanswered e-mail or other work-related issues. Excuses, all of them. A violent storm of thoughts whirled through her head, making it impossible for her to shut down. How unlike her to not be able to disconnect. Shutting down was an art she’d perfected through the years. Why was it failing her now?

&nbs
p; Noah. Her armor had been useless around him.

  After flipping back the lightweight quilt, she dressed in sweats, checked on both kids to make sure they were sound asleep and set out into the warm night air for a walk. Other than Duffy’s Pub and a couple other bars downtown, Mirabelle closed up after ten o’clock, so the only light illuminating her journey was a bright half moon and the dim, old-fashioned lampposts lining Island Drive. In truth, she probably could’ve made her way around this island in complete darkness, she knew it so well.

  One mile led to another and, before Sophie knew it, she found herself taking an overgrown path toward the lighthouse. The lighthouse. Hers and Noah’s. Old force of habit, she guessed, reinstating itself along with Noah’s return.

  No one usually went to the northeast side of the island. Surrounded as it was by undeveloped Wisconsin state parkland, this point was one of the few spots on the entire island a person could go and not worry about being bothered. None of the residents cared to hike this far off the main road and if visitors wanted lighthouse charm, the one in town was more easily accessible.

  She cleared the white pine forest and looked out over the moonlit surface of the water. Ahead of her, like a postcard, the lighthouse stood sentinel on the island’s rocky northeast peninsula. Although she hadn’t been here in more than a decade, she and Noah had come here often, sneaking out of their houses late at night for time alone together. They’d stashed a blanket, lantern, sodas or a six-pack and food behind some bushes near the lighthouse foundation. How many hours had they lingered here talking about their future, where they’d go to college, where they’d live and, always, where they’d travel?

  A lot of good it had done.

  She picked her way over the barely discernible path toward a large, flat boulder at the water’s edge, scooped up some rocks and skipped them across the relatively calm surface. Memories flooded in with every soft wave hitting the shore. The remembered sound of Noah’s laughter echoed off the lighthouse and bounced off the water, free and unbound.