Page 43 of Finding Home

James made a sound that might have been his name, but Cole kept going.

“I ran for help to the farmhouse through the trees.” He exhaled slowly. “By the time we got back, it was too late. I was too late.”

For fifty-three years, he had kept this sentence inside him. He’d carried it into every project, every deadline, every relationship he’d let go of too easily because it had seemed simpler than staying.

“I’ve never said that out loud before,” Cole told his brother.

James rose and pulled a chair beside Cole’s. “There was nothing you could have done. Granddad had an undiagnosed heart condition. The doctor explained it to Mom and Dad. Even if you’d gone for help when he first sat on the steps, it might not have given him enough time to get to a hospital.”

“I know that,” Cole said softly. “I’ve known it for years. But knowing something and being free of it are two different things. For most of my life, I’ve believed that everything that came after Granddad’s death was shaped by those two hours.” He looked at his brother. “I’ve been running from what happened, and wishing I could have changed it.”

James wiped tears from his eyes. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

Cole handed his brother a tissue. “When Noah was driving me to the hospital, I was afraid I was dying, just like Granddad, and I’ve been afraid each day since then. I kept thinking, if this is it, if I’m coming to the end of my life, I haven’t said the things I need to say. I’ve built something in Sapphire Bay, and there are people here who matter to me.” He paused. “But none of that changes what I haven’t told you.”

James looked at him.

“You’ve been calling me for over forty years,” Cole said. “Every time something happens. Every time I get it wrong or push too hard or disappear into work for months at a time. You always call.” His throat was tight. He ignored it. “You’ve shown up every time I needed someone, including last week, and I’ve never once told you what that’s meant to me.”

He stopped talking and looked at his brother.

James didn’t move for a long moment. Then he leaned forward and rested a hand on Cole’s arm. “I know,” he said.

“No.” Cole shook his head. “You assume. There’s a difference.” He pressed on, because if he stopped he might not start again. “You’re the only person who knew Granddad the way I did. You’re the only person in my life who’s been there for all of it. And I’ve given you phone calls that were too short and excuses that were too easy, and I’ve let you keep showing up without ever telling you that you’re⁠—”

Cole’s voice broke.

He let it.

“You’re part of the reason I came back here,” Cole said. “Not just to the cabin. To Sapphire Bay. I needed to build something good from the memories of what we’ve shared. Something that would last. And I needed it to be in the place Granddad loved. But underneath all of that, I needed to find a way to stop running.” He looked at James. “I’m telling you now, because I don’t know if we’ll get another afternoon like this one, and I can’t leave it unsaid again. You’re the best man I know, James. You always have been.”

James’s jaw worked. He looked at the floor, then at the photograph of their granddad with his arms wrapped around them. And then he looked at Cole.

“You complete idiot,” he said finally, his voice uneven. “You’ve been carrying this around all this time.” He shook his head. “Granddad was seventy years old with a heart condition and a stubborn streak that could stop traffic. If you’d been sitting right next to him, he would have told you he was fine.” James’s eyes were bright with tears. “He told me he was fine ten minutes before he walked into the lake at the Fourth of July picnic, and he could barely swim. He would never have let you know something was wrong.”

Cole looked down at his hands.

“You were eleven,” James said, more quietly. “You were a kid. And Granddad loved you more than anything. He would have hated knowing you’ve been carrying this guilt around.”

Cole almost smiled. “He would have told me to pull my socks up and get on with life. Granddad didn’t believe in living in the past.”

“Except when it suited him,” James said as he wiped his eyes.

They laughed, and the sound of it moved through the cold cabin like something that had been waiting there.

At one point, James stood up, put his hands in his pockets, and looked at the loft. “I used to lie up there and listen to Granddad breathing,” he said. “He had a slow, steady rhythm that relaxed me. I always slept better when I could hear him.”

Cole didn’t answer. He looked at the ladder with its worn rungs and thought about what it had meant to be safe in this place. How the world had seemed, for those years, like something that could not reach them here.

James checked his watch. “We should drive back before it gets too dark.” He pulled up the zipper on his jacket, then stopped. “I want you to know something, Cole. What you said about me being the best man you know.” He looked at his brother. “I feel the same way about you. I always have.”

Cole held his gaze. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

When James opened his arms, Cole stepped into his brother’s embrace and held him tightly. They were bound by the same DNA, the same sense of right and wrong. And the same memories that had shaped them long before they understood what they were being given.

When they stepped away from each other, James picked up a framed photograph from the shelf. “Take this with you.”

Cole looked at the two boys in the photo, standing on either side of a man who knew exactly what each of them needed. “Are you sure?”