I stared at him.
"My brother?"
Ben nodded.
"Adam."
For a second, the ice cream truck, the street, and even Ellie's hand against my arm seemed to disappear.
I hadn't heard a stranger say my brother's name in years.
Hearing it from this man felt like someone had opened a door I'd spent most of my life keeping shut.
Adam had been ten years older than me.
When I was little, I worshipped him.
He taught me how to ride a bike, let me sit in his room while he listened to music, and carried me home once after I scraped both knees.
Then, when I was nine, Adam died in a car accident.
Afterward, my family changed.
We rarely spoke about him because every conversation seemed to end with my mother crying.
Two years later, we moved away.
"You knew Adam?"
"He was my best friend."
I searched Ben's face again.
This time, something surfaced.
A teenage boy sitting on our porch.
Someone tossing a tennis ball against the garage.
A voice telling me to move while he and Adam worked on a bicycle.
"Ben?"
He smiled sadly.
"There you are."
I covered my mouth.
"Oh my God."
Ellie stared at us.
"You know him?"
"I did."
Ben nodded.
"A long time ago."
More memories returned.
Ben had practically lived at our house during the summers.
He and Adam were always fixing something, playing basketball, or disappearing for hours and coming home filthy.
To me, he had simply been one of Adam's friends.
Then Adam died.
Eventually, Ben disappeared from my life too.
"But the ice cream truck?"
"That came later."
Ben explained that after high school, he needed extra money.
His uncle owned a couple of ice cream trucks, so Ben drove one during the summer.
His route included our neighborhood.
"Your mom asked me to keep an eye out for you," he said.
"Why?"
"Because after Adam died, she worried about you."
I frowned.
