“But you did not ‘kill’ him, Isaac.” He started to argue and she squeezed her hand around his. She couldn’t lose him at this point. “Let me finish.”
“You’re going to piss me off.”
“Anger is an emotion. You don’t do emotion, so subdue it until I’ve had my say,” she bit out. When he did nothing but glare, she went on. “To kill someone is to act with intent, be it malicious or self-defense. By definition, you didn’t kill him. You didn’t even take his life because his life wasn’t yours to take. I know you feel guilty. It’s understandable. You were unable to save him in dangerous conditions. But, Isaac? Hear me on this. You didnotkill him.”
“He’s dead,” he replied, his words flat. His tone vacant.
“Question. Had the roles been reversed, had you been the one in the front of the kayak and trapped against the boulder, would you have been able to extricate yourself from the kayak and get out of white-water rapids and safely to shore?” When he began mulling it over, she shifted closer and pressed her free hand against his chest. “Yes-or-no answer, please. Would you have been able to get out given your skill level on that particular day and under those conditions?”
“No. But—”
“Then what are you guilty of?”
She was entirely unprepared for the emotional eruption that followed. Isaac shot off the bed, distancing himself from her. Slapping his palms flat against the wall beside the bed, he leaned forward. His breathing was labored, a sheen of sweat running along the column of his spine.
“Isaac?” she asked with uncertainty.
“I should have told him no, Rachel. Don’t you get it? I should have known there was a strong likelihood we’d get into some sort of trouble and he wouldn’t be able to get out of it.”
“Why should you have known?”
“Because the moment I agreed to take him, he became my responsibility. The last thing my mother said to me was ‘Make sure to take care of your little brother.’ He was thirteen, Rachel.Thirteen.” His shoulders sagged, dragging her heart down, as well. “If I’d had better instincts, I would’ve told him to stay home. I wouldn’t have let him tag along. He would be alive if I’d been smarter. More careful. More aware. Less arrogant.”
“In other words, if you’d been able to predict the future and,by knowing, control the outcome,” she said softly, and it all fell into place. His need to control everything in any given situation. His unwillingness to let go and laugh or smile spontaneously. His inability to let go entirely during lovemaking and give his pleasure, his well-being, over to someone else’s keeping. All of it and so much more. He had achieved success in the capital-investments game because he was unable to live with himself if he failed.
Isaac wasn’t the prodigy the investment world thought him to be. He simply went with the outcomes he could be certain about. Concrete guarantees. Outcomes he could influence. Outcomes he could, in a very real sense, control.
Isaac hadn’t entered into a long-term relationship because he couldn’t predict the outcome of any given emotional “investment” he made. People, and relationships, just weren’t predictable. And his need to control himself, his need to keep things predictable and to keep those he cared for safe, made it impossible for him to love unconditionally. Love came with all kinds of ups and downs, bumps and bruises...and no promises of forever. Rachel had learned that firsthand.
Going slowly so as not to startle him, she slipped from the bed and moved in close to him.
“Don’t,” he rasped.
She ignored him, her own instinct telling her he wasn’t pushing her away but rather he was trying to hide from the exposed truth. His major character flaw as he saw it. But that wasn’t what Rachel saw. In front of her wasn’t a failure but a fractured soul. With extreme care, she rested her hand on his shoulder.
His skin twitched like a horse aggravatedby a fly.
She didn’t move.
Isaac’s head dropped lower.
“You aren’t to blame, Isaac.”
“You say that like you were there.”
Ignoring the bite in his words, she moved in closer, resting her other hand on his hip and her forehead on the outside of his arm. “I’ve never lost a sibling, so I can’t say that I understand. But I’ve lost loved ones, some to death, one to abandonment. I may not have been there, but from what you’ve told me, you aren’t to blame. Your mother...did she, or does she, blame you?”
“No.” The word was as sharp as a rifle report. “It would be easier if she did.”
“Your father?”
“He’s bitter, angry at the world.” He sighed. “But he’s always been that way.”
“What about your other brother, Jonathan?”
“He’s the baby of the family. And no, he doesn’t blame me.” His voice softened with affection. “In fact, he was in my office Thursday morning and told me I had to let Mike’s death go.”
“Sounds like a smart guy.”