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“Was this before or after his resolve to try out for high school baseball?”
She could see the writing on the wall. Darin giving up his dreams to care for his little brother…and after Darin’s accident, Grant returning the favor for the rest of his life.
“Dad was killed the summer before Darin started high school.”
“So he didn’t have a chance to make the team?”
“He made the team. As a freshman. And by the time he was a junior he was starting at first. I’m telling you, my brother has what it takes to get it done.”
Considering the Bishop brothers’ current circumstances, the near–hero worship choked her up.
“You’re a lot like him.” Softly, she told him what she was thinking. His gaze met hers again. And held. Long enough for her to read the appreciation in his eyes.
Her comment had been personal.
But so was the connection between them.
And while she wasn’t married anymore, she wasn’t any more open to a romantic relationship between them than she’d been four years before.
Everyone had their gift to give the world, their own particular difference to make. Hers was here. With these women. And raising Kara.
Their life was unusual. And didn’t leave room for another personal partnership.
“I’m not like him,” Grant was saying, while Lynn, suffering from a heavy dose of sexual attraction, busily disavowed herself of a relationship he hadn’t offered. “He was able to do it all and stay kind and considerate. I get irritable just keeping up my half.”
“He had help. Your mother was there to help shoulder the responsibility of raising you. And, based on normal childhood development, you got more independent every year, too.”
He was facing a life sentence without parole. Not that she’d ever tell him so. He didn’t need her reminding him of the burden he’d undertaken.
But as a medical professional, she was completely aware of it. And knew all about the stresses common to family members of terminally ill or injured patients.
She admired those family members so much—admired their ability to face the burden that had been given to their loved one—and consequently to them.
Grant was shaking his head.
“Our mother died of a rare form of leukemia when I was a junior in high school. Grant was married by then, and he and Shelley took me in and not only gave me a home, they helped put me through college.”
Her heart caught again. “I’m sorry. I had no idea….”
She felt as if she had to do something. To help somehow. More than just as a facilitator of Darin’s therapy at The Lemonade Stand.
Except that his problems weren’t hers.
With his elbows leaning on his knees, Grant’s gaze was pointed out toward the direction they’d come—across the grassy expanse. She had a feeling that the second his brother appeared, he’d be up and out of there, shooting across the yard like a torpedo.
“You know, through all of that, I can only remember my brother losing his temper twice.”
Curious, she glanced at him. “When?”
“The first time was the one time I came home drunk. He half carried me to the bathroom and stood there while I threw up. He handed me an aspirin and stood over me while I drank it down. And then he put me to bed, all without saying a word or offering an ounce of sympathy. The next morning, in a very cold voice he let me know that he was not going to ask his wife to live with a young man who was so selfish, immature and weak as to lose control of himself to that extent. That’s all he said, but I knew he’d given me warning. If I ever came home drunk again, I would have to find another place to live.”
A bit extreme, maybe. For a first drinking experience.
And yet…
“I’m guessing you never came home drunk again.”
“More to the point, I never got drunk again. At least, not until I was of age and in my own living room.”
Which made her wonder when and why he’d done that. What had driven him to the point, as an adult, to sit in his own home and drink himself into a stupor?
Just with the little she knew of him, she could pinpoint a time or two that could prompt such an act.
“When was the second time you saw him angry?”
