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‘Ready to start back?’ I teased. He opened one eye and moaned. ‘Not funny, Linds. I feel like I’m in the world’s biggest sauna. How do you manage?’ I laughed. ‘Ah, well. I’m faking it, actually. I’m about to keel over, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode.’ He reached over with one arm and laid his hand on my chest. ‘Wow.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t have a heart attack, ok? I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make it back myself, I know I couldn’t carry you.’ He grinned, but there was something in his eyes that made my heart pound even faster. Did he feel that, I wondered? My tank top was fairly low cut, so there was nothing between his hand and my thudding chest but bare skin. Hopefully he would chalk it all up to over exertion and not his effect on me. He closed his eyes again, but didn’t move his hand. I leaned forward as if to tighten my shoe laces, brushing his hand away in the process. My damp auburn hair fell down in a curtain to hide my eyes, and I spent much. My dad passed when I was eight, and Don stepped in, becoming a surrogate father. Despite our ages we were as close as brothers could be. I followed him around like a puppy. One of my finest memories is going out after church Sundays and helping clean his car, one of those hot rods from the sixties, and afterwards getting a pint of chocolate milk and a cake from the store. I was five eight, slender, when I reached my adult size, he was six three and weighted about two fifty. I took after mom, he took after dad. He had his jet black hair, I had fine blond locks that I wore long, after the fashion of the time. He was ‘big dude’ and I was ‘little hippie’. We argued over politics constantly, but in good fun. It was lung cancer, a side effect of smoking two or more packs of unfiltered Lucky Strikes a day for over forty years. He blamed air pollution. He lay there, rasping, as I went to check on him before going home for the night. I was director of nursing at the rest home he was in..
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