Free Three Weeks With My Brother by Nicholas Sparks, Micah Sparks Page B

mom.”
    “She does, too. Mom loves you.”
    “Did she worry about me while I was gone?”
    “No. She knew you were fine. But she does love you.”
    My shoulders slumped. “No one loves me.”
    “I love you.”
    Though my sister sounded utterly sincere, I wasn’t in any mood to hear it.
    “Gee, thanks.”
    “That’s not why I came in here, though. To tell you that, I mean.”
    “I said I wasn’t hungry.”
    “I didn’t come to tell you that, either.”
    “Why did you come in then?”
    She put her arm around me. “I came in to tell you that if Micah doesn’t want to be your best friend anymore, I’d be happy to be your best friend.”
    “I don’t need a friend.”
    “Okay.”
    I looked around the room before finally sighing. “Wanna play with the Johnny West set?”
    She smiled. “Okay.”
    Over the next couple of months, while Micah spent time with his friends, my sister and I began to spend more time together. She wasn’t as exciting as Micah, but while she never wanted to jump out of tall trees, she was amazingly easy to get along with. Still, I was occasionally too rough with her, and every so often she would end up crying and I’d beg her not to tell mom.
    She would, though. Dana told my mom everything and even though she didn’t intend for me to get into trouble, I’d often end up doing extra chores while my mom watched me with a frown.
    Without my father around—and the terror implied by the ever-present DEFCON countdown—my brother began testing his limits. He stayed out later than he should have, began picking on me even more, talked back to my mom, and pretty much began acting like a teenager at the ripe old age of nine.
    This couldn’t have been easy for my mom. She was thirty years old, working full-time, and alone; the last thing she needed was any additional (as opposed to the regular and allowable ) stress from the three of us. She began clamping down on Micah—who began talking back even more—but at nine, my brother was no match for my mom. She believed in both the carrot and the stick and wielded them expertly, like a samurai using a sword. She had no qualms with saying things like “I brought you into this world and I sure as hell can take you out,” and then acting sweet as sugar a moment later, arms open for a hug.
    Nor had she changed her views on sibling affection. For example, while my mom was pleased that my sister and I were spending more time together, she also recognized that things had changed between Micah and me. Though some parents would have considered our newfound sibling rivalry a passing phase, my mom didn’t like it, nor was she willing to put up with it. She began making comments like, “You three will always have each other, so you’d better be nice now,” and, “Friends come and go, but brothers and sisters always stick together.” Though my brother and I listened—and perhaps even understood her words on an instinctive level—we continued to argue and fight and go our separate ways.
    One night, however, my mom came into our room, just as we were getting ready for bed. Micah and I had been in another fight earlier in the day, this time because I’d accidentally knocked his bike over. My mom hadn’t said anything about it over dinner, and I supposed she’d just chosen to ignore it this time. She helped us with our prayers as she always did, then as she turned the lights out, she sat beside Micah as he was crawling under the covers. I heard them whispering for what seemed like a long time and wondered what was going on. Then, surprising me, she came and sat beside me.
    Leaning close, she ran her hand through my hair and smiled gently. Then she whispered: “Tell me three nice things that Dana did for you today. Anything. It can be big or little.”
    I was surprised by her question, but the answers came easily. “She played games with me, she let me watch my show on television, and she helped me clean up my toys.”
    Mom smiled. “Now tell me