Even though we were technically racing, it was impossible for the race to be too cutthroat. The trail was full of families and other groups, older couples, little kids. We were constantly navigating our way through and around other cyclists. Which was fine with me. It was a gorgeous trail, especially in October. The normally green forest was rich with bright oranges, reds, and yellows. I had to resist the urge to climb off my bike and gather up the prettiest leaves. Even better, the weather had finally started to turn, and a slight chill filled the air. The day felt crisp and clean and vibrant and totally worth slowing down to look around a little.

Over cake the night before, I’d fielded question after question from Jamie’s dad. He reminded me a lot of Simon. He had an easy way of conversing and a genuineness that put me immediately at ease. And it was his blue eyes that Simon had inherited. The rest of the brothers all had their mother’s brown eyes. We’d talked about basketball—he’d been a student the years my dad had played on BYU’s team—and about Puerto Rico. Both parents served Spanish-speaking missions, as did Simon, so it was fun to hear the three of them break out their very rusty Spanish.

It was the first time in months the family had all been together, so Katie and I also spent a lot of time watching the brothers interact with their parents. They were gentler around their mother than when it was just the four of them back in Chapel Hill. It made it easier to see their regard for one another—and their unabashed loyalty to their family.

I asked Jamie that night before settling into the basement bedroom I was sharing with Katie if the brothers had ever fought over girls when they were growing up. He’d answered immediately and with firm conviction. “Never,” he had said. “I dated the more sporty girls.” He gave my shoulder a nudge. “Dave did too, but he was more cheerleader, while I was more soccer/swimmer/runner. Simon was old enough we didn’t really care about who he dated, but I’m guessing they were all boring and bookish so it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

“Bookish girls are boring? I’m a bookish girl.”

“But you’re also a sporty girl,” he said. “That saves you.”

There was the splinter. Fine. I was a sporty girl. But I didn’t love that Jamie didn’t acknowledge much beyond that.

He slowed his bike in front of me. We’d been alone on the trail for a couple of minutes, no one in sight ahead or behind. “Did you see that?” Jamie asked. “She ran completely off the trail.”

“She who?” I asked. “I didn’t see anything.”