“Travis dating Abernathy’s daughter?”

I waited for his answer.

He looked across the room, his expression somber. “For the most part. But I’ve also worked my ass off.”

“Then, quit screwing around, and let’s bring these guys in.”

Thomas stood and began to pace. “Bringing them in means nailing them, and the easiest way to do that is to use my little brother.”

“So, do it.”

“You know it’s not that easy. You can’t be that naive,” Thomas snapped.

“You know what has to be done. I’m not sure why you’re making it so hard.”

Thomas thought about that for a moment and then sat next to me again. He covered his mouth and nose with his hands, and then he closed his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“No,” he said, his voice muffled.

I sighed. “Do you really not want to talk about it? Or is this where I demand that you do?”

He let his hands fall to his lap, and he sat back. “She had cancer.”

“Camille?”

“My mother.”

The air in the room became heavy, so much so that I couldn’t move. I couldn’t take a breath. All I could do was listen.

Thomas’s eyes were fixed on the floor, his mind trapped in a bad memory. “Before she died, she spoke to each of us. I was eleven. I’ve thought about it a lot. I just can’t”—he took a deep breath—“imagine what it was like for her—trying to tell her sons everything she wanted to teach us over a lifetime, but having to do so in just a few weeks.”

“I can’t imagine what that was like for you.”

Thomas shook his head. “Every word she said, even every word she tried to say, is branded into my memory.”

I leaned back against the cushion, my head propped by my hand, listening as Thomas described how his mother had reached out for him, how beautiful her voice had been even though she could barely speak, and how much he knew she’d loved him, even in her last moments. I thought about what kind of woman must have raised a man like Thomas along with four other boys. What kind of person could say good-bye with enough strength and love to last her children the rest of their childhoods? His descriptions of her left a knot in my throat.

Thomas’s eyebrows pulled together. “She said, ‘Your dad is going to take this hard. You’re the oldest. I’m sorry, and it’s not fair, but it’s up to you, Thomas. Don’t just take care of them. Be a good brother.’”

I rested my chin on my hands, watching the various emotions scroll across his face. I couldn’t relate, but I definitely empathized, so much so that I had to resist wrapping my arms around him.