Always Watching

Christmas and Thanksgiving. He’d wolf back his food, then eye up the door—but he loved Lisa. When she was little, she could only say “Unka Wobbie” as she followed him everywhere. He’d take her for rides on his mini excavator, their faces serious, neither of them saying a word.
    Robbie had worked for a logging company most of his twenties, building roads, then he bought his own equipment. He now owned a backhoe and excavator business, and was doing fairly well, or as well as he wanted. He’d never been motivated by money. After Paul died, one fall day I’d found myself driving up to Shawnigan, just wanting to get away from my thoughts for a while. Robbie had been building a rock wall at the ranch—he’s torn down the old barn, and it’s now a two-bay shop. I stood in the cold, misty rain watching him, thinking how confident he looked running that machine, the bucket grabbing at boulders, then gently setting them down, his hands on the levers, sure and fast.
    He’d said, “Hop on,” then showed me how to operate the foot pedals and levers. When I’d gotten the hang of it, he jumped off and watched me: awkward, jerking the levers, banging the bucket into the ground. He just laughed and made a motion with his hand, so I’d know how to correct myself. Then he’d shouted over the noise of the machine that he had to take care of something in the shop. He left me alone there for a while, digging a pile of dirt, lifting and pulling, feeling more in control of that machine in that moment than I did of anything in my life, while tears dripped down my face. I’d glanced over my shoulder and caught him watching from a distance. When I’d finally finished, my hands cold and cramping, and had destroyed the bank, he’d shown me how to warm my hands over the exhaust pipe. We hadn’t talked about Paul or anything that was happening in our lives, but I drove home that day feeling more at peace than I had in months.
    *   *   *
    This time I found Robbie working in his shop. When I didn’t see him at the house, noticing that he’d fixed it up—new cedar-shake siding and aluminum roof, a large deck circling one side—I walked behind to his shop. A big German shepherd woofed deeply and trotted over to me. I held out a hand, let him sniff it. “Hi, buddy.” He bumped his cold nose into my palm.
    Robbie came out from a door at the side of the shop, wearing red-strapped jeans, a two-tone green plaid Mack Jacket, which all loggers on the island wore, and a black baseball cap. “Hey, what are you doing out here?” He didn’t sound annoyed at my interruption, just confused.
    “I had to take care of some business. Who’s this?” I pointed to the dog.
    “Brew.” He took his hat off, rubbed sweaty hair from his brow. He was mostly silver now, like me, but his hair had never thinned like a lot of men his age. He was also lean and broad-shouldered, his forearms thick with muscles, and though his face was lined, he was still an attractive man. I used to hope that he’d meet a nice woman and settle down one day, but somehow my brother had become a confirmed bachelor.
    “When did you get him?”
    “Last year. Someone dumped him at one of the job sites.”
    I felt a wave of sadness that I was so out of touch with my brother that I didn’t even know he had a dog now.
    “I was hoping to talk to you about something. Got a minute?”
    “Yeah. Come into the shop. It’s warmer.”
    While I eyed a calendar with some half-naked pinup girls, Robbie grabbed a beer out of an old fridge, then held it up with a questioning look.
    I said, “No, thanks.”
    He spun the cap off, took a swallow, and poured a little bit into a bowl beside the workbench, which Brew lapped up instantly.
    I laughed. “I see he comes by his name honestly.”
    Robbie said, “He gets cranky if you don’t share.” He took a pack of gum out of his pocket and popped a piece into his mouth. Then I caught sight of the distinctive green label on the package and realized it was Nicorette.
    “Did you quit smoking ?”
    I was shocked. After our father passed, I was so scared to lose my last family member, and any chance of us ever repairing our relationship, I used to nag him about it constantly, reciting various medical facts, which usually resulted in his face going cold and flat. This time he just looked defensive when he said, “It was bothering Brew’s eyes.”
    I shoved a smile of amusement down into the back of my throat as Brew glanced