But I knew him.
Before he spoke.
Before he moved.
Before my mind could argue with my heart.
I knew my brother.
He stood beside his car, staring at me across the parking lot.
“Tess,” he said.
His voice broke on my name.
I do not remember deciding to move.
One second, I was beside my rental car.
The next, I was across the parking lot with my arms around him.
He held me so tightly I could barely breathe.
For a moment, I was twelve again, frightened by thunder, and Jesse was fifteen, pulling a blanket over both our heads and telling me storms were just clouds arguing.
Then I was thirty-five, sobbing into the shoulder of a brother who had been alive all these years.
“Why?” I cried. “Why, Jesse? Mom waited up. She waited up for you for twenty-three years.”