Brotherly Love

By Joni Havel

Many women fall in love with the wrong man but few, if any, find themselves in Crystal's position. Her dream man is completely beyond her reach because he is her twin brother.
After running away a third time to escape her forbidden feelings, Crystal spots a woman at Logan Airport who is so much like Chris that she could have been Chris's identical twin. The similarity is so great that it leads Crystal to wonder whether she and this mystery woman had been switched at birth.
The need to know prompts Crystal to put her life on hold while she tries to find her brother's lookalike. She has nothing to go on, except that her target's initials are L, B and W.
A chance meeting puts Crystal on the right track and everything seems to be falling into place. Hey! Even the stars are cooperating. But Crystal forgot a cardinal rule where shooting stars are concerned ... you must be careful what you wish for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joni Havel
• Release date: Aug 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476473215

Joni Havel

I've loved writing all my life and, now that I am retired, I have more time to indulge in it.

Book preview

Brotherly Love

by Joni Havel

Published by Joni Havel at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Joni Havel

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Brotherly Love

by Joni Havel

Chapter One

The chill of the old metal bench bit through my jeans. I leaned into Chris, snuggled under the strong arm draped around my shoulder, and put my head against his chin so that his breath stirred my hair. I closed my eyes and played with his collar, breathing in the smell of him, wanting so badly to kiss him. I slid my hand inside his jacket, felt his heart beating, and moaned.

Naughty, naughty Crystal, he whispered.

My inner self – also known as the other me – said, He’s right.

I ignored her, pulled Chris to me, nuzzled him, then kissed him.

He gently but firmly pushed me away.

It was just a teensy one, I said. No harm done. You don't have to tell Jennie.

Jennie would be looking after Jamie right now. She was probably strolling round the nursery, patting their baby's back, his wobbly head resting on her shoulder, happily married to Chris, having no inkling of our secret. Unless she’d heard something but I doubted it. Mom would no more mention The Incident than fly and she was the only other person who knew. Plus, it happened eight years ago. Over and done with so far as Chris was concerned. Should have been.with me, too.

Where did you tell her you were going, I mumbled into his neck.

To say goodbye to you. Have you got to go back to Maine?

Don’t have to, but it’d be best if I did.

I reached for him again and this time he kissed me back, a protective, be-a-good-girl kind of kiss. I wanted more and he knew it, but there was no way he'd go that far.

A night breeze sprang up, fluttering the remaining leaves on the trees that huddled together along the man-made ridge that served as a barrier between I93 and our backwater community. The trees broke the wind and sheltered our bench. I call it ours because Dad dragged it up here himself, out of our back yard two hundred yards away, to give himself a place to smoke his pipe and escape Mom’s never-ending chatter.

Down there, at the bottom of the slope, yellow squares glowed from the backs of the sleepy houses. Our colonial lay straight in front of us. Only one light was on, in the kitchen, and that was partly hidden by the porch upright. I couldn’t see Mom, but I knew she was watching, trying to see what we were doing. Thinking the worst of me, as always. But if thought counts as deed, I guess she wasn't far wrong.

Far, far above us, pinpricks of light twinkled in a jet black sky and the moon snooped on us through a tangle of withered branches. Dried leaves scurried and danced over the rough grass near the bench and a tiny, yellow one flew through the air to drop onto my shoulder. Chris picked the leaf off my coat and solemnly presented it to me. I was snuggling under his arm again when a movement in the sky made us look up. A brilliant light sped across the heavens. It passed directly overhead before plunging out of sight behind the ridge.

Did you wish? Chris asked.

Uh, huh. Did you?

Sure. But I’m not going to tell you what for. I want it to come true.

Mine won’t come true. Not in a million years. But there’s no harm wishing.

You’re nuts, the other me said.

I know. That must've been the gazillionth time I've wished Chris was not my twin brother.

***

Chapter Two

Mom had been standing guard at the kitchen window, and she must have watched us trudge down the slope, close together until we reached the little gate leading into our back yard when we moved apart. After we'd picked our way down the crumbling brick path, she opened the door and stood, watching us. Anger tightened every line of her gaunt, bony body, and the vibes hit me like heat waves from the radiator of an overworked bus.

Chris raised a hand in greeting at Mom before he kissed me on the cheek.

See you, sis, he said. How long will it be this time? Another four years?

I shrugged. As long as it takes. Meaning ‘til I get over you, which you know will be never.

He thrust his hands in his pockets and, head down, trudged down the path running around the house, through the front yard and into the street. After a few seconds I heard his car door bang, the ignition fire, the sound of the car driving away. Only then did I climb the porch steps. When I was in the kitchen, Mom slammed the door and turned to me, her eyes blazing.

You were at it again, she shouted, little flecks of foam dotting her lips. Don’t deny it. I can tell just by looking at you. Have you no shame? Don’t you care that it’s wrong! Not just wrong. It’s criminal, that’s what it is! And you’ve no excuse now. You’re not a child any more.

We didn’t do anything, I interrupted, so back off. It’ll never happen again.

Mum snorted. You promised it wouldn’t at your Dad's funeral, but here you go again. Soon as you clap eyes on him.

It won’t happen because … because I’m going back to Costigan. First thing tomorrow. And this time I won’t come back. Ever.

Mom flopped into the straight-backed chair at the kitchen table where she always sat. Good job your father’s not alive, that’s all I can say. It’d drive him crazy. Heaven knows where we went wrong. We brought you up proper, but anything in pants'll do for you, won't it, you nympho. Gotta have it, haven’t you? Even with your own brother---.

I let her carry on 'til she ran out of words and sat crying into her handkerchief – no tissues for Mom – unconscientiously revealing the way she lived, stuck in the past. I thought she’d be different after being on her own for four years, but obviously not. She’d hoped I’d be different, too, and I am, but not where my feelings for Chris are concerned. I can’t explain the attraction, the sweet pain of his nearness, the heady thrill of his slightest touch. It never happens with any other man, in spite of what Mom thinks. He can't be my brother. You don't feel that way about brothers.

I'd come back to Mom because I’d run away from Maine, because I couldn’t bring myself to go through with the marriage she'd hoped and prayed would take place at Thanksgiving. I did try. Honestly, I tried. I was fond of Jacob but I didn’t love him, and I’d have broken his heart sooner or later if we’d gone ahead. Mom was like a dog with two tails after I wrote and told her of our engagement, proving I was normal, normal after all, just like everyone else. Oh, thank God! Instead, in less than a week of coming home, I’d proved I was anything but.

I got all the blame. Shouldn’t Chris have shouldered some of it? No, of course not. He’d proved he was normal two years ago when he married Jennie. Mom was convinced I led him on, like I used to with the boys at school, she said. So what if I flirted? It was good to be popular with lots of friends, not a weedy wallflower like she used to be. God knows how she managed to trap Dad.

I’m going to bed, I told her. I’ll be off early in the morning so I’ll say goodbye now. No need to get up.

Of course I’ll get up, she said, wiping her eyes. What kind of mother do you think I am? Do you want me to run you to Logan?

Yes, please.

Do you think it was just cold feet? That you’ll change your mind and go through with it with Jacob some day?

Her eyes gleamed with hope, and I felt rotten at disappointing her. No, that’s over. And, thinking about it, I’d rather not go back to Costigan just yet. I think I’ll go on vacation for a while, somewhere warm. Las Vegas is cheap this time of year.

What are you going to do for a job?

I’ll look for something after I come back.

Mom pursed her lips. Well, you’re a big girl now. Big enough and old enough to know what’s right. Goodnight, Crystal. She pecked me on the cheek. I hope you sleep well. I’ll be ready by nine in the morning.

Thanks. I returned the peck. You sleep well, too.

***

Chapter Three

The traffic around Logan Airport was enough to make a saint swear, but Mom kept her cool. She’d made this run so many times it didn’t frighten her any more. She dropped me off at the correct terminal for Las Vegas. She must have checked which one to go to before she went to bed last night, remembering what I’d said about taking a vacation there. Then she sped off, waving to me with one hand and yanking the wheel with the other, narrowly missing the back end of an airport bus. I watched her go, feeling empty inside and discarded. Apart from Dad’s funeral, I didn’t go home once during the eight years following The Incident. Mom had been a huggy, feely person up to then but after that she kept her hands to herself. It was as if she couldn’t bring herself to touch me any more. Like just now when she dumped me on the kerb, not even attempting to get out of the car to hug me goodbye.

A man dragging a suitcase dodged around me. Apparently I was in the way. So what’s new. I tugged my own oversized case, containing every garment I owned, into the concourse, found an empty seat and considered my options. I’d expected to stay with Mom for a couple of months until I found my own place, but first I’d need a job. That wasn’t going to be easy. I didn’t have any qualifications, not even a leaving certificate, because I didn’t go back to school after I ran away the first time, after Mom caught me and Chris having sex. It was no good telling her it was the first time, or that it wasn’t planned, that it just happened, or anything like that. We just gave in to the desire that had been building between us, the same overwhelming desire that rekindled the moment I saw Chris again after those four long years. Nobody could fake the electricity that crackled between us when we were sixteen. It was a primal impulse that couldn’t be stifled. But of course that was years ago. He seemed to have gotten over it, but I hadn't.

The past came alive. Again, I leaned half-naked over the banister at the top of the stairs, watching Mom run to tell Dad what she’d seen, her hands pressed to her heart, her face white with disgust and fear. The horror on Dad’s face, too. He’d flogged Chris with a belt until weals covered my brother’s back. How I cried when I saw them. Chris had stumbled into the bathroom and shivered under a cold, wet towel to take away some of the sting. Dad sent me to my room in disgrace, forbade me to step foot out of it, but I heard Chris's suppressed whimpers of pain and crept into the bathroom. There I pressed wet washcloths onto the weals, sobbing as I patted them over the raised skin, saying sorry, sorry, sorry, over and over.

They heard me in there with him and went berserk again. Mom wrenched me off Chris and slapped my face so hard I had weals, too, while Dad reached to take his belt off until Chris cowered back, covering his face with his hands, and begged him not to. The house rang with their shocked, angry shouts and recriminations.

In the middle of the night, I dressed, stuffed clothes into a backpack, gathered my bankbook and the heavy piggy bank in which I’d been saving quarters, then tiptoed into Chris’s room. He sat up, startled, to stare at me in the gloom.

I’m running away, I whispered. I love you. I don’t care if it’s wrong. I can’t help it. I love you and I can’t live in the same house as you, pretending I don’t.

He took me into his arms and instantly our forbidden desire flamed again. He kissed my face, my neck, my arms.

I’ll come with you, he said, when I pulled away.

No, Chris, you can’t. It’d kill them. And anyway, where would you go? My friend in Bangor, Maine, says I can stay there 'til this dies down. It’s okay with her folks.

What about school?

I’ll sort that out when I get there.

I didn’t want to go back to school and Mary Jo’s parents didn’t make me. I told them I’d had a major disagreement with my family and never wanted to see them again, but I kept the details to myself. They let me help in the business they ran from home, and taught me how to type and to use graphic design software which helped me land a job in a local office. Of course they thought I would change my mind and they contacted Mom and Dad to let them know where I was, promising to take care of me until I was ready to come home. That suited my parents. Who wants a daughter who’s a bit slow, anyway? It’s not that I’m retarded. Not really. Just slow