Dear Diary, page 6
“Michael was my brother too,” Myles continued. “Not by blood, but he was my brother. I’m sorry.”
How many times was this man going to apologize? “It’s fine, Myles.” It was fine because Michael said it was.
“I should have made a better effort to find you and make amends a long time ago. I could have stopped by Mr. Bobby’s long before now. But when I saw you at the pharmacy, I took it as an answered prayer.”
I was speechless.
“I’m sorry for waking you and sorry if I upset you with what I said.”
Still, not a word from me.
“I’ll give you some space, but if you ever want to talk or feel up to going out, please call me.”
When we hung up, I stared at the brightness of my phone until it automatically locked. Then I stared at the black screen, replaying Myles’s words. The inaudible whispers started, but they didn’t scare me this time. I had confirmation that Michael was mixed within the whispers because they put me right to sleep like a lullaby. Like Bedtime Stories by Michael used to do.
It must’ve been destiny, because Clara brought Myles up the next morning at breakfast. “Bobby told me you’ve reconnected with Myles.”
My head slowly rolled in Uncle Bobby’s direction. “Clara, how does it feel to be married to a snitch?” I jokingly asked.
We had cried enough together. It felt good to laugh as a family.
My laughter subsided when Clara suggested, “You should invite him over for dinner.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I responded.
“Do you like him?” Clara pried. She poured herself some of that fancy tea she drank and plopped beside me with more questions. “Has he asked you out on a date yet?” Her face lit up like a proud mom of a daughter who potentially had her first boyfriend.
I shrugged. Had they forgotten about who Myles was? What about the damage he had caused? Why were they so eager for us to connect?
Clara pried more. “What’s holding you back? If you like him, give him a chance. I remember he was always so sweet on you.”
I had started to become overwhelmed by her questions. I fidgeted every time she asked one.
Uncle Bobby peered over his glasses. “Leave the girl alone. You see she doesn’t want to talk about it.”
Although I wanted the conversation to end, Clara was happy to have boy talk with me, and for everything she had done for me, maybe this would be a way to repay her. “It’s okay, Uncle Bobby. I don’t like Myles, Clara. You know, because of . . .” The light, uncomfortable smile substituted for the obvious.
Clara reached over and rubbed my shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I understand. I was only asking because your mom used to tell me you and Myles would end up married.”
My eyes crossed. “What?”
Clara nodded, looking off into space. My mother and Clara were sisters through marriage, but everyone thought they were biologically related as close as they were. Michael’s death hurt her, but my mother’s death changed her. She was still a sweet lady but different. She zoned out a lot, and I started to wonder if my mother talked to her like Michael spoke to me.
“I’m sure if I ever tried to marry anybody, Uncle Bobby would run them off.”
My uncle’s eyes widened. “Who’s the snitch now?”
Clara scowled at Uncle Bobby. “What did you do, Bobby?”
“Not a thing,” he said as a smirk reconstructed his lips.
“Bobby,” Clara growled louder than a hungry lion.
“I just told the boy if he wanted to date my niece, he’d better have his stuff together.”
“Just like that? In that tone? With that exact language?” Clara asked.
When Uncle Bobby cleared his throat, we all knew the answers to those questions.
“Bobby!” Clara shouted his name.
“Okay,” he said. “I may not have said ‘stuff.’ There may have been a few threats.” He gave a half shrug.
“And?” Clara asked, seemingly not convinced he had given the whole truth.
“And nothing. I’ve always liked the boy. I don’t like what he did, but it was an accident. Us being mad at him forever won’t bring Michael back. You can look at the boy and tell he’s still reeling with guilt. He even said so himself. I believe him. His coming around is fine with me. Now, may I get back to my breakfast?”
Clara looked at me and said, “Invite him over for dinner Sunday.”
“Invite him,” Michael agreed.
With that assurance, I did.
Entry 9
Dear Diary:
After Myles ate dinner with my family and me, Michael provided clear instructions. “Get close to him.”
I nodded as he had suggested when people were around.
“I have the blueprint for Myles’s fate, Eva. Listen to me.”
I nodded again, desperately wanting to know what he meant since I couldn’t ask. Eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed at my movements, but I did as my brother said. I thought it like he had also advised, but he gave no answers.
“I will instruct your moves for Myles. Listen to me, Eva. Avenge me.”
I knew with the way I kept nodding that someone was bound to inquire, and I was right. “Eva, are you okay, dear?” Clara asked. She always paid close attention to my mood and body language. I think she thought she could catch the breakdown and stop it. I was sure she didn’t want it to happen in front of Myles. Neither did I.
Things ended up moving rapidly for Myles and me. Within weeks, he had taken me to the movies and the beach. In all my life, I had never been to the beach. The only bodies of water I had been privileged to swim in were lakes with no sand and community pools.
“Myles Sanders, this . . .” I said as soon as my toes sank into the beach sand. I stood in awe, holding my hands out to my sides like I was a soaring bird. “This wind feels amazing. And this water”—I closed my eyes and inhaled—“it smells right.”
Myles laughed. “How does water smell right?”
I shook my head at a loss for an intelligent explanation. “It just smells right. It doesn’t smell like chlorine or pollution. It smells natural.”
I wasn’t the only one Myles thought about when it came to us spending time together. He’d even invited Uncle Bobby, Clara, and the twins out for a night of bowling. I’d never had so much fun in my life. Nor had I seen Uncle Bobby cut loose like he did. He danced to the bowling alley music, drank an entire pitcher of beer by himself, and beat all of us.
And Clara. The relieved expression on her face made my life. She had finally gotten a chance to sit back and enjoy herself. She didn’t have to cater to anyone.
Myles’s romantic gesture didn’t stop with beach dates. One night, he surprised me by whisking me away on a helicopter ride, where we landed on the rooftop of a restaurant and dined on lobster and the most expensive fruit-infused water. Myles didn’t drink because of his past troubles, and I didn’t drink because I was told it would intensify the effects of my medication. Still, our water came in wineglasses, and we pretended.
“To us,” Myles said and held his glass in the center of the table.
“To us.” I smiled and followed suit. It was my first official toast.
“I have something I want to talk to you about,” Myles said to me just before our lobsters arrived.
I held my breath, thinking he had figured out my secret. But how? I’d been cool. He couldn’t have known. I eyed the bouquet of roses he’d given me when he picked me up for our date. Other than Myles dropping single roses on me in high school, no man had ever given me flowers before, and while I didn’t know much about dating and relationships, I didn’t see any man giving a woman flowers if that woman was hiding something from him. I couldn’t tell him there was more to me than he knew. My skeletons were too intense to share in-depth with anyone who didn’t have MD behind their name. Even with credentials, it was still tough to share.
I shook my head, prepared to be called out. “Myles, I—”
“Please don’t reject me before I get it out,” he interrupted.
“Go on,” I said, hesitantly giving Myles the floor. My temples throbbed as I waited to hear him call me crazy.
“I have enjoyed spending time with you, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to split your time between my house and your family’s house.”
I exhaled. He didn’t know about me. I leaned back in my chair both relieved and stunned. “Wh . . . what?”
“I know it hasn’t been long since we’ve reconnected, but technically, we’ve known each other all our lives, so it’s not like we are strangers. You don’t have to move in right away. Just stay over sometimes. Build up to a permanent transition.” When I didn’t respond right away, Myles added, “No pressure. I would like for us to be exclusive, though.”
Technically, we were strangers. I had other people inside me he’d never met. In fact, I was just beginning to meet them. And if I hid something that serious from Myles, I wondered what he hid from me. Plus, as much time as we spent together, we’d never really had in-depth discussions about life, goals, and especially illnesses.
I replayed Michael’s instructions but had questions of my own. I was convinced Myles was up to something. “We’ve only been dating for two months. You want me to move in or stay over for sex? You do know I’m a virgin, right?”
Myles lightly choked on his water. “Eva, no. I would never. You are my best friend’s sister. I have respect for you and him. We don’t even have to sleep in the same bed or room. I have a guest room. You can have your own. Having your presence nearby is what matters most.”
I blushed a little but didn’t allow his gentlemanly behavior to melt me. “That’s a big step, Myles.”
“I know it is. Just think about it.”
“There’s a lot associated with me that you won’t be able to handle,” I warned him.
He slid the glass pitcher of fruit water from the center of the table so that nothing interfered with him looking into my eyes. He leaned in and whispered, “You let me be the judge of what I can and can’t handle.”
I was impressed with him and his response. That was the case with almost everything Myles said to me. From the moment I laid eyes on him, my heart beat faster with every word he spoke.
“Come home with me,” he added.
Something dawned on me. “Where exactly do you live?” I asked, which was something else we’d never discussed.
“The Cambridge Lofts on Lake Oconee.”
I smacked the table, amazed. “Get the hell out of here. Remember we used to fawn over the houses at that lake growing up?”
Myles smiled. “Yep. I loved going to y’all’s family reunions, riding those jet skis, dreaming of being in a position to make money to afford a home there.”
“And now you have one,” I said, beaming with pride.
Myles nodded. “Great location. In between. A little over an hour from work in Atlanta and my parents in Hephzibah.”
I knew it seemed silly and immature, but I hoped certain topics never came up. Specifically careers. Mainly because I didn’t have one. I could look at Myles and tell he had something going for himself. His appearance reeked of businessman, and the way he handled business between two cell phones amazed me. I assumed that because he wanted things to work between us, he allowed me to control the flow. With that, there was a lot of avoidance on my end. Most of the time we spent together consisted of laughing and discussing whatever activity we did or whatever movie we watched. Serious discussions were bound to happen. I just hoped that once he found out I had nothing to offer, he’d still look at me the same.
“Where exactly is work?” I finally asked.
“I’m a sports agent at Rowe Sports and Entertainment Management. Day in and day out, I negotiate deals for athletes. Keeps me busy, but I love it.”
“Wow! You accomplished that, too?” I raved, remembering his and Michael’s plans. Michael was going to be the football player, and Myles would be the agent who negotiated all the deals for him, including Wheaties. My brother didn’t even like that cereal, but he was convinced they’d endorse him over his good looks alone, which would increase his number of ladies.
“What about you? What do you do for work?” Myles asked the dreaded question. “If memory serves me correctly, you wanted to be a writer, producer, and film director, right?”
I fanned away his inquiries. “Nothing much. A little work-from-home writing job. Nothing as exciting as you,” I lied and shifted the focus back on him before he pried anymore. “I am so proud of you, Myles. You have done everything you planned.” I was proud but also a little jealous. Furthering my education was something I always longed for. However, my mental health derailed my college dreams to study creative writing and film. I barely graduated as a homeschooled student, and I doubted I’d have the educational or social skills needed to thrive in a college setting or the film industry.
I didn’t think men blushed, but Myles did. His cheeks lit up like a little girl had asked if she could practice putting makeup on his face. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”
I tried my best to keep the focus on him and his accomplishments. “I still cannot believe you have a home on our favorite lake.”
“And you can too if you want.” He eyed me and sipped his water as if that action would make me immediately agree to his request.
Honestly, it did, though. I gave a half shrug as I thought that this would be my only opportunity to experience being on the other side of that lake every day. I downplayed my excitement with a slight, unenthusiastic smile. “I guess I can try,” I bashfully said.
After dinner, Myles took me on a tour of his condo. When I walked into the massive open-floor plan, the first thing I noticed was the framed certificate of completion for drug and alcohol treatment. Michael would be proud.
“What’s this?” I asked, noticing another frame. It was a picture of Myles standing with a group of younger kids.
He smiled. “Those are the kids in my mentoring program.”
“Mentoring program?”
“Yeah.” His eyes became glossy. “One Saturday a month, using my own experience, I mentor teenage boys on the importance of not drinking and driving.”
I stared at Myles. No words, just a smile. Michael would definitely be proud.
I got comfy on the leather theater-style sectional couch, feeling blissful. Who knew a routine trip to the pharmacy would change my life? I had made peace with living the rest of my days in a bedroom of Uncle Bobby and Clara’s home, never being able to experience what it was like to have a place of my own, get married, or start a family. How could I say no to all that changing?
The first goal that Michael set for me had been accomplished. Myles and I were close, official, and practically living together.
Entry 10
Dear Diary:
I enjoyed spending time with Myles, but I missed my brother. Surprisingly, the unpleasant urges I had experienced during my reunion with Myles were gone, and so was Michael. Before he jetted off to an undisclosed location, he left me with more instructions. “Take meds as prescribed. Be back soon.”
Myles was supposed to be sacrificial, but I began to feel something different toward him. Something beautiful. I only knew of such beauty from the love displayed between Uncle Bobby and Clara. There were many nights I had gone into the kitchen for water and stumbled upon them snuggled up on the couch watching a movie. Then there were times when I’d overhear Uncle Bobby singing old-school tunes to Clara while they danced in the middle of the den. I had started to visualize Myles and me doing that.
Michael never mentioned these types of feelings surfacing within his plan. I wondered what he would have thought if he knew what brewed within me. Could he sense the feelings like he could understand my thoughts? I couldn’t stop them. Anytime Myles was around, I felt butterflies flutter graciously throughout my stomach. I knew I wasn’t supposed to fall in love, but Myles was such a gentleman that it was hard not to. That never happened in school, so I was confused.
For once in my life, I felt like a human instead of a pill-popping psychopath. Soon, I was convinced that Myles was the medication I needed to remain healthy, and I stopped taking what I had been prescribed. My body didn’t like that. It started to change. Sleep wasn’t in my vocabulary. I stayed up for days at a time, binge-watching television and beginning arts-and-crafts projects that I never completed. My head constantly pounded like a nail being hit by a hammer. I tolerated it all because I refused to consume any more drugs.
There was some goodness in all the madness. Michael came back. When he did, life became a tug of war—Myles versus Michael—and unfortunately for me, I was the rope.
I committed to helping Michael, and I planned to follow through with it. I owed my brother for all the times he was there for me. Despite that loyalty, I wanted to love them both. Michael hated Myles, and I understood why. I just didn’t feel the same. I hoped to gather enough courage to convince Michael of how different Myles was. Maybe he’d change his mind and we could figure out a way to move forward or at least happily coexist.
I was too afraid to embrace what I felt for Myles out of fear of my brother’s reaction. I struggled, trying to come up with a way to ask Michael to reconsider the plan. What would he think of me if he knew the reason why I wanted him to reconsider? He trusted me to do a job, and I couldn’t let him down.
“Falling in love is not a part of the plan,” I’d chant under my breath every time I started to feel those flutters in Myles’s presence. Then I’d remind myself of how gorgeous butterflies were along with their transformation, just like Myles and me. We’d grown as individuals and were good together. We had become better versions of our younger selves, even me. Myles had that effect on me. He made me want more for myself. He made me want better. Michael would understand if I put it that way. I persuaded myself to tell him how I felt.
I didn’t have to tell Michael anything. He knew. “Getting close was not the plan,” he repeatedly lashed out.
Between the stress of Michael scolding me, the fear of losing him, and the sudden interruption of my medication, my health continued to quickly decline. The sicker I became, the more talkative Michael was. He continuously and rapidly fired off demands.
