I lay my head across his chest and held him for a long time. His ribs rose and fell in short, rattled, uneven breaths, but I didn’t let him go. I knew these were our last moments together in this life and I felt like I had the first time we had made love, like I wanted time to stop so we could stay right where we were together forever.

Hours later when the moon had finally left the sky and I could see light through the window, I felt him leave. It was a physical sensation, like a warm breeze washed over my whole body. I could smell clean earth and burning wood for just a second and then I knew he was gone. I closed my eyes and listened for his heart. Both it and I lay in silence.

Alexander felt him go, too. He stood straight up from the chair where he had been sleeping. His brown eyes were wide with realization, “He’s left us,” He said softly, leaning over his twin to be sure, “Boyo?” He placed his hand gently against his brother’s chest, “Oliver?”

There was no response. Oliver lay still. It was the first time I had seen real peace on his face since he’d become ill.

Alexander hung his head and released a low, suffering moan.

I left Oliver alone on the bed and I turned to his brother. “It’s just us,” I whispered, taking Alex into my arms, “It’s just you and me, Xander. He’s crossed the veil.”

“Oh, Sil!” He wailed. “Oh, God, Sil! What’ll we do without him?”

“We’ll get through it together,” I told him. It was all I could think to say and it seemed fitting. Alexander was really the only person who shared my shattered reality.

“The world’s ended!” He shook, “The whole world’s ended!”

Neither of us had the strength to stand. The anguish was too intense. We sank on to the floor, collapsed in each other’s arms, and we shared an emptiness that no one but the two of us could ever comprehend. When we began to cry I remembered what Warren had told me about what would happen if he started. I didn’t think that Alexander, Lucy or I could ever stop.

Alexander and I spent hours that day and many days and nights following together, holding on to each other like children. In our minds, we were the only two who really understood what it meant to have Oliver join the whispers. Sometimes for just a second we’d forget what had happened and one of us would smile or make a joke. Then we’d wonder where Oliver went and we’d miss his laughter. The loss would hit us again like a ton of bricks. I was certain for a time neither of us could survive. We were too old not to die from our broken hearts and yet we were each too stubborn to allow the other to quit living.

“There’s magic here, Sil,” Alexander sounded so much like Oliver it made me ache, “We can’t lose faith. My brother’d have none of that. I promised him. I swore to him I wouldn’t let anyone stop believing or allow anybody to give up. And I won’t. So get yourself out of that bed and let’s go walk down to the lake. We won’t do anything, mind you. My elbow’s old and tired and you could never skip a stone to save your soul. So we’ll just go there and sit around with Lucy and watch the sun shimmer off the water. We’ll think about better times.” He waited for me to move. I didn’t. “Come on, Silvia, I’m too fucking old to pick you up and carry you.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s Sunday.”

“So?”

“So? What do you know?” I sat up in my bed. I was angry and sad and annoyed that Alex didn’t know what Sunday meant, even though I knew there was no reason why he would. “Every Sunday since Warren left the wood Oliver and I make it a point to lie around all day and do nothing. When we were younger we’d make love all day long, have dinner and get right back into bed. When we got old, we’d nap and read and laugh together. Sundays in bed is a tradition! I don’t feel like breaking it to go standing around with you staring at a stupid pond!”

He had a look on his face like he was fixing for a row, but instead he kicked off his shoes, “Fine. Move over then,” He pulled up the blanket, “I’m tired anyway.”

“Get out of my bed, Alex!”

“Would you quit being so fucking bitchy?” He pulled the blankets over himself, “I’ve been trying my whole life to get into bed with you and you’re ruining it for me!”

“I’ll tell your wife!”

“Go ahead! She won’t care!”

“Lucy!” I called, “Your husband is in my bed!”

“He isn’t sexually assaulting you, is he?”

“No. He thinks he’s going to have a kip!”

“Well, that’s all right then, Sil.”

Alexander’s eyes were closed, but he was smiling, “See? I told you she doesn’t care.”

I turned my back to him. It was only a moment before his arm was around me. On the outside of the blanket, of course. “I miss him, too, Sil.” He whispered, “But I’m tired of crying.”

“I am, too, but I can’t stop,” I wiped my eyes on the sheet.

“I’m sorry,” Alex was so quiet I almost couldn’t hear him, “You know I love my wife. I love her with my whole heart, but I miss my brother. You’re the closest thing I have to him now. When you and I are together I feel like he’s here. I need you right now, Silvia. I need to be close to you. Lucy understands.”

I took his hand in mine, “I need you, too, Xan. I feel closer to Oliver when you’re near me, too. I’m sorry I’m being awful. The truth is that you’re the only person who comforts me.”

“I wish I could make you stop crying.”

I rolled over laid my head on his chest, “I wish I could you as well.”

Alexander stroked my hair gently while both of us softly wept.

Lucy showed no jealousy for being left out of how Alexander and I turned to each other to cope. She allowed us to cling to one another and express ourselves freely without a word, without question, and without interference. It was the greatest demonstration of pure love for two people that I had ever seen any human being make.

I found her one morning sitting in the garden. She had a book of photos on her lap. The page was open to a picture of her and Oliver. Lucy could not have been more than fifteen years old. In her Bennington uniform, she was perched on Oliver’s back, her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. He held her under the leg with one hand, the other on the back of her head, eyes tilted toward her, a look on his face as if discovering her there was a complete surprise.

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” I suddenly realised how selfish I’d been, “I’ve been so caught up in myself that I haven’t even asked how you are doing through all of this. You lost Oliver, too.”

“Ollie was my brother,” She said softly, staring off at the trees as they moved in the breeze, “I loved him more than I ever told him.”

“He knew.”

“I know he did. He always knew. My whole life he looked out for me,” She looked back at the photo and turned the page. The next was one of her and Alexander, still at Bennington, sitting together in the dining hall, her hand in his. Lance took the shot the week before Oliver and I were married. She turned the page again and it was me and the twins, sixth year, sitting together on the quad. Side by side, me in the middle, we were all smiling, and the wind was blowing my hair on to Alex’s shoulder, “Oliver made sure I was set up at Bennington. He made sure everyone knew who I was, that I was one of his own. Everybody loved him, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” I watched her turn the page again. The next photo was of the twins pretending to strangle each other with their ties, the one below it was of them standing in the West wing, identical in their uniforms. It took me a second to decipher which one was which, but I could tell by the eyes that the one on the left was Ollie, “It was hard not to love him, wasn’t it?”

“Damn near impossible,” She mumbled. “Did you know that after Alexander and I were together, Oliver used to take me on dates?”

“Dates?”

She smiled and turned the page again. The next photo was definitely of Oliver, standing on the corner in Welshpool by his mother’s house. His sunglasses were on top of his head, his t-shirt bore the logo of his favourite football team. His blue jeans were faded and his daps were worn. He wasn’t smiling. He held a book that I had bought for him in his hand, his fingers stuck inside it as if he were saving a page. I realised that the photo been snapped during that awful summer when we’d lost Cara. He looked so stony, so serious, not at all like his normal self. And yet he was still so handsome, his gentle face inviting anyone to ask him what the problem was so that he could unload it from his heart. Poor Ollie. That had been the worst time of his life. Really, it was the worst time of both of ours. I wondered where I had been at that moment and why I had left him alone.