Chapter 45 — Katerina

The sense of relief flooding through me when I walked through the door and saw my brother was immediately eclipsed by guilt. My guilt stemmed from an irrational belief that there was something I could have done—a realization I should have made earlier, a connection I should have drawn sooner. And then, anger, simmering in my veins and curling my fingers into fists, rose up and I had to beat it down. Anger that he had left without telling me, that my one remaining relative seemed to hate me or at the very least not care for me at all.

"You can call off your dog," George drawled, looking for all the world like an expensively dressed monster lounging on the velvet couch.

His tone, however relaxed, made me flinch at its insouciance, blood boiling further. I moved not from my place at the door.

"I'll leave you two alone, then," Alexander said after an awkward beat. "If you need me, Kati, just shout."

I nodded mutely as he dropped a kiss on my cheek on his way out, then I took a seat next to my brother. Breathing in deeply, I folded my hands on my lap and crossed my legs at the ankles. An old nickname fell from my lips. "Cartier."

He turned to look at me where I was seated on the wingback armchair and replied in kind. "Trina."

"I don't understand. Why did you run off like that, without telling anyone?"

I waited for a harsh word from him, perhaps something along the lines of "you're my sister, not my mother." But instead, his voice became softer, more vulnerable. "I don't understand what's wrong with me, either."

His proceeding sigh twisted at my heartstrings, wiping away any last vestiges of fury. "It's a bit of a long story, isn't it?" I asked. "So why don't you start at the beginning?"

"It all started last summer..." he put his head in his hands and then looked up again. "You can't possibly want to hear this, can you?"

"I'm your sister," I responded. "I care about you, and I care about fixing our relationship."

"Then I suppose I have no choice but to tell you." I waited for him to continue, praying that God would give me the patience to listen, and the Spirit the right words with which to react. "I had just gotten the call from dad, when I hadn't spoken to him since…well, you know when. Anyways, I got a call, and he told me that he was sick. After that, for about a week…I was just numb. I couldn't feel anything—couldn't do anything except wonder where I had gone wrong in my life, except think about the past. It was like I was trapped in the past, in all those moments in our childhood when I'd pushed him away and hurt him just because—for what? Because he was forcing me into a job I didn't want? It's just a job. It's just eight hours a day doing something I don't like, making more money than half the world could dream of having. I kept thinking about how selfish and ungrateful I had been…How even now when he was dying, I couldn't even bring myself to hop on a plane and go home.

"I couldn't even bring myself to pick up the phone and call him back, you know? He just left me a voicemail…and that's the last time I ever heard from him. And even then, he told me he loved me. Even then when all I had done was run from him and waste his money. And somehow, that made me feel worse. Every time I even thought about painting, or making any art at all, I only thought about him, about dad and the stupid company. He ruined it for me! Art, life, any happiness—and I can't even be mad about it. I want to be mad, I want to scream at him from the grave, but I can't, because he's gone. He's gone. How can you be mad at a dead guy?"

"Easily enough," I murmured. "I did it for a few weeks, at least—after I found out about the engagement."

He looked up at me with surprise in his eyes and something more cheerful quirking his lips. "Really."

"Despite what you might believe, dear brother, I'm only human. I was angry—I was angry with Dad, with God, for putting me into this position with a man who hated me."

Now he sat up straighter, interest gleaming in those hazel eyes that matched mine. "Tell me more.”

I laughed and tried to explain. "Well, it wasn't really that he hated me specifically. More or less, he hated everyone, and he thought…he thought everyone hated him. We've come a long way, from the beginning."

He held out his hand to me, his next words quiet but sure. "I know I haven't been the world's greatest brother, Katerina, and I know we've had our ups and downs. But do you think you could forgive me—do you want to start over with me?"

"On one condition, that you have to promise to keep, George," I warned him.

His eyes rolled good-naturedly, the first real smile I had seen from him breaking out on his face. It warmed my heart as he spoke, "Yes, I'll go to church with you this Sunday."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.

+

"How did it go?" Alexander asked me. We soaked in the hot tub, our voices echoing as we made conversation. "With your brother, I mean?"

Would his concern ever stop making me smile? Not because I believed I didn't deserve it, but because it was such a rare occurrence for him to show affection in words and not acts.

"It went well, I think. We're finally moving on, and he told me a lot of…a lot of shocking things, really. I don't think it'd be right for me to tell you some of them, but just know that it was a good conversation." I hugged my knees to my chest and tried to sink deeper into the bubbly water. Despite the summer heat outside, I—and the penthouse, thanks to the blaring AC—were perpetually cold.

"Remember the last time we were in here?" he mused, sliding over to put an arm around my shoulders. Warmth instantly flooded through my body, and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face.

"That was not a good conversation. Productive, maybe, but not exactly good." I rested my head against his chest, breathing in the mingled scent of chlorine and musk. "You never told me what happened, really, after you stormed out of there."

"I met a pastor, and…I suppose I was finally hurt enough, broken-open enough to receive the message of God into my heart. Even after all the pushing from my father, after all your silent coaxing…I'm glad, really, that it wasn't just you, you know? I do love you, but it wasn't a girl or romance that brought me to God. It wasn't only you, but all the people that God had placed into my life, that led me to Him."

Somehow, this message didn't offend me, instead jabbing at the core of me, touching my soul. "I'm glad of that, too."

It seemed too big a responsibility, to be the only support system for one spiritually immature Christian. And besides—human love, romantic or platonic, was unable to fix anyone, no matter how hard you tried. God's love was the only one capable of doing so.

I was staring at the ceiling, where steam clouded and water dripped sonorously, when I heard him speak, "I can't believe the wedding is only a month away."

"Are you going to get cold feet and run off?" I teased, adjusting the strap of my white one-piece swimsuit.

"That's the bride's job, remember?" He joked right back. "Perhaps you'll realize there is no man good enough for you, and simply desert me at the altar in front of our three hundred guests."

"Or you'll start to resent me, thinking I'm only marrying you to change you." Which I most certainly was not.

The jovial air had fallen apart, turning into a more sombre one. Not just lies or jokes, but the real, sincere truths torn from our fearful hearts.

"I would never leave you—" we both began to say and burst into laughter.

"Please don't be scared of me," he murmured. "You said once that I terrified you. I don't want to frighten you with my behaviour—I want to keep trying to be good enough for you."

"You don't have to be good enough for me," I replied softly, moisture forming in my eyes. "Because I'm not enough for you, either. God is the only one who can complete people. Let's allow Him to do his job."