Luke had last been on the property the winter previous, and as he followed the sounds of Jack’s barks and Charlie’s voice, he found it hard to forget the way he’d left. The whole conversation sat malignant under his skin, flaring up every now and then to bother him. There had been plenty of phone calls and emails since then, but Luke hadn’t thought that Sam would go and get himself killed.

They were all well and properly greased from their holiday drinks. It was customary that the brothers share a bottle of something too expensive for Christmas, but for all of Sam’s merits, Luke could better hold his alcohol. He remembered that it was nice -- to just drink and sit and enjoy friendly company, until Charlie left the room. That’s when Sam’s smile faltered and he tapped his empty glass against the table. [i]More bourbon?[/i] He tinkered with the bottle some, twisting it around and picking at the label before he topped them both off. 

[i]You doing all right?[/i] Luke asked.

Sam took a sip of his drink, rolled up his sleeves, and put his elbows on the table. Luke eyed his brother, wary, as he chewed on a hangnail. The house was silent for a few seconds until they heard Charlie’s voice in the hall. She was on the phone with someone.

Sam cleared his throat. [i]When’d you fuck her?[/i] Like a dog clawing at the door, he insisted on getting a response. [i]Last week? Last month? Or during any of the other dozens of times I put you the fuck up in my fucking house -- [/i]

[i]Charlie? Cut your bullshit. You’re drunk.[/i]

[i]Answer me.[/i]

[i]Get out of my face. And shut up, or she’ll hear you -- and you’ll have to deal with that fucking mess.[/i]

It was just bickering at first, but when Luke got up to end the conversation, he felt Sam’s grip at the front of his shirt. Everything happened so quickly. [i]Tell me, or I swear to God, I will bury you under this goddamn house.[/i]

Luke shoved his brother back and hissed, [i]Calm the fuck down. Listen to yourself. Enough.[/i] He carefully considered what he was going to say next. The words came out of his mouth slowly, as if against his own will. [I]Did she tell you we had sex?

No.

Jesus Christ, Sammy.

No -- [/I] He put up his hands. [I]No, but listen. She was asleep and started touching me and saying your name and all this shit -- 

Oh for fuck’s sake,[/I] Luke groaned. [I]Give me a break. Stop. No. I don't care about your bedroom life. I don't give a single fuck.

She did it the night you came back. Last week.

What part of “stop” don’t you get? Huh? I need a cigarette. I’m done with this conversation.[/i] 

Sam had started to come down, but now he was back at it with a freshly poured drink, playing surgeon with every word that Luke said. [i]You never answered my question.[/i] His anger was a snakebite when Luke tried to leave for a smoke. [i]Sit back down. You’re gonna say it to my face.[/i]

[i]I did not fuck your wife.[/i] The chair creaked under his weight as he sat back, pushing his empty glass towards Sam. [i]I will not fuck your wife.[/i] With a few clicks of his lighter he started his cigarette. [i]Even if you’re dead I won’t touch her.[/i] He took a drag and went out onto the porch before anything else could be said. It was several minutes -- well after his cigarette was done -- until Charlie opened the door to let out the dog. She said something about how cold it was, that Sam got too drunk and went to bed, that he should have a cup of coffee with her, that she was so happy to have him home for the holidays.

[hr]
Luke grabbed her waist and pulled her into him once she was close enough. Sam’s absence only sharpened Charlie’s presence, and he didn’t even know where to begin talking about it. So he didn’t. He only let the fact that she was [i]there[/i] wash over him. Her weight, warmth, and smell hit him all at once. “It’s so good to see you too,” he said, squeezing her shoulders once she eased back. To say her spark was gone was an understatement, but her focus on behaving normally made him a little more comfortable.

The knot in his chest tightened as they walked across the property and into the house. Jake weaved through his legs, something he only did when he was excited and eager for attention, and Luke had to take a few minutes to pet him down before he calmed. Seeing all of Sam’s things peppered through the living room and kitchen made the knot bury further, somewhere far behind his ribs. If Charlie could keep existing in this house, then he could too.

The mug she gave him had a chip on the edge from years of washing, exchanging hands, and moving from counter to table. It had the state flag on it, faded blue and yellow letters. He traced the chip with his thumb, fixating on something so he wouldn’t keep looking around at all the things that reminded him of the man that was so very clearly gone.

“Trip was long,” he said finally. “There were no crying babies during any part of it, so that’s good. Decent weather. No delays. I, uh…” He closed his eyes, grasping at word straws. His brain pulsed, picturing himself as Charlie was probably seeing him. Most of it was his normal self -- short hair, clean shaven, no new tattoos (he was running out of arm space anyway). Some of it was abnormal -- bruised knuckles, the red edge of a fresh scar peeking out from the collar of his shirt, the dark circles under his eyes. Luke opened his eyes and started again. “I stopped to see Sam right before I got here. I’m sorry I couldn’t leave sooner. I would’ve fucking swam here if I thought that would be faster.”

[i]I’m sorry that you had to do it all by yourself,[/i] was what he actually meant to say.

“Listen, I know I can’t do everything that he did. But you’re only one person and nobody can run this farm by themselves. Not even he could’ve. And I know people are gonna be coming around here soon -- shit, I mean if they haven’t already -- to buy parts of the land, or some of the equipment or animals. I’m here, Charlie. To help. I want to be here.”