The plane ride to Denver had been tame except for some rough turbulence over Lake Eerie that induced vomiting on the part of not one, but two passengers seated in Ephram's aisle. Because they'd gotten their tickets last minute, Delia and Ephram weren't sitting beside each other. When they met in the tunnel into the terminal he was about to complain, but she was holding a barf bag of her own.
"You're kidding me," Ephram deadpanned.
She cast an unhappy glance at him before trudging to the bathroom. Five minutes later she came out, packing her toothbrush back into her carry-on and looking less peaked. "I'm never eating omelets again," she groaned, as her big brother put an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. He'd forgotten that Delia got air sick. But then, this trip back in time was turning everything in his mind to mush. Bright had coughed up few details and when Ephram pressed him, his only words were the four-letter kind. It was no reason to fly a thousand miles at the drop of a hat to a town that he'd run from almost eight years ago. Except that it was…a reason, that is. The short friendship he and Bright had maintained after Colin's death accomplished one major thing; each could tell when the other was serious. Be it about the best video game, the hottest teacher or the biggest ass-kicking…and Bright was serious about Amy.
He'd offered to pick them up from the airport, but Ephram declined. If he was coming here against his will, he would at least have the freedom of leaving any time he wanted. He rented the car while Delia got a Ginger Ale and some breath mints. Twenty minutes later, they were on their way.
***
Two years earlier: December 2010
Ask a person to describe how something smells and you'll get similes: like oranges, like paint, like vanilla, like garbage, like flowers, like smoke.
Ask Ephram Brown to describe how Amy Abbott smelled the night he took her in his bed after years of aching, and he would reply: warm.
For much of his life, Ephram felt a chill that ran from somewhere at the base of his neck to lowest part of his gut, and that chill would ebb and flow on any given day. And as sure as it began the night his mother died, it ended in Amy's arms.
The long years of searching for heat had brief moments of respite. A concert tour in Austria, a lover for eight months in Louisiana, Delia's graduation when she looked so fiercely like their mother Ephram thought he'd died. These were all occasions in which he felt the release of ice shifting and melting within him. But the thaw was always brief, never long enough to believe in a total, enveloping summer. Which is why the winter night that he entered Amy with an agonizing, urgent slowness was the same instant everything in him that was cold and sharp rushed from his body and in its place, a warmth unlike any he'd ever known crept in and filled the empty spaces. And the warmness clung to him like a second skin.
She was gone the next day; the briefest of interludes.
***
"Turn here." Delia pointed forward, not truly indicating left or right, as she stared at the map the car rental place had provided. A New Yorker at heart, she never learned to drive and as a result, was a miserable navigator.
Ephram turned the sedan to the left. He knew the way to Denver Memorial. He remembered Colin's surgery in a way Delia did not. What he did not remember was the new cancer wing and the monolithic parking structure that rerouted traffic in a strange and questioningly efficient loop with one spur heading toward the ER and another funneling cars into available parking.
Where should we meet? Do you have a place in Denver? he'd asked, the day before.
Bright hadn't been clear on why they weren't meeting in Everwood, which was fine with Ephram. He didn't need the reminders. Bright suggested a few Denver hot spots, but as much as Ephram had yearned for a city while in Colorado, Denver never captured his interest. He didn't know any of the places mentioned until, in frustration, Bright suggested the hospital. Wanting to get off the phone, Ephram agreed and ignored the unease building in his stomach. They set a time. Two o'clock in the lobby. They'd find some place after that. Ephram could follow Bright in his car.
It was 1:30. They were early, which suited Ephram. He needed time to perfect his façade. He was happy. He was successful. He had a recording out that was getting attention in jazz and classical circles alike, and earned him private student status with the most reclusive maestro in the northeast. He had a circle of friends that kept his life more interesting than he deserved and a woman who said she loved him. And would wait for him to come back from this strange trip to Colorado that he would tell her very little about. His sister wanted to go back; an old friend had called; he owed it to Delia; he was all she had. The woman understood. Or said she did.
"You don't look so hot."
A long sigh. "I don't know why I came."
Delia unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face her brother. Around them, squealing tires made tight turns in the parking deck and sounded far more dangerous than they were. "Because she asked."
"Bright asked," he corrected, closing his eyes.
"Same thing." She waited until it was clear he wasn't going to speak "Makes me think of Dad."
Ephram opened his eyes at the mention of their father and in the same moment reached for Delia's hand. "The hospital?"
She shrugged, "I guess. More than that. Colorado."
"I know. Me, too."
She squeezed his hand and then let it go. "Maybe…maybe we can go to Everwood, before we leave? It might be nice. To see Nina? Or Edna?"
It was 1:57.
"Time to go see if Bright's gone bald."
Delia almost pressed the issue as her brother got out of the car. But this wasn't about her. This was about Amy. Amy needing to see Ephram. Delia doubted it would be good news. You don't send your brother to tell someone good news. Delia knew that very well. So she got out of the car, too, and together they threaded through the car park maze in the direction of the lobby.
