Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

The doctor had come with news, which with Brenna’s permission, she shared with all of us.

  The good news was that the injuries she sustained weren’t life-threatening.

  But they were serious.

  The fragile bottom of the orbital bone of her left eye had been fractured. That, the doctor informed us, might take several surgeries to correct, if it could be corrected at all.

  “Does that mean I’ll be blind?” Brenna asked.

  The doctor shook her head. “No, but you may not have the same range of motion in your left eye. You’ll need to see a specialist to determine what the next steps are.”

  As the doctor spoke I took a long look at my daughter. The tattoo, which I noticed earlier, seemed to come into focus for the first time. The script in the center of it, which read, Property of Rick, shook me and twisted at my stomach. Someone had permanently labeled my daughter as their property.

  I wished she hadn’t had to be the one to do it, but I was glad the son of a bitch was dead.

  The doctor turned toward us and looked over her glasses at Erin and me. “You aren’t from the area, are you? Is your plan to take her back home?”

  I nodded. “To Atlanta.”

  “I’ll get you some referrals then, both for ocular surgeons, and especially, therapists. You’ve been through a lot, young lady. I want you to promise that you’ll spend some time in therapy. Not because there’s anything wrong with you, but because you’ve been through a horrible trauma.”

  Brenna asked in a rough voice, “Will they let me go? The police?”

  “I’m fairly certain they won’t press any kind of charges against you,” Erin said.

  Then Brenna asked something that nearly broke my heart all over again. “You’ll let me come home? After everything that happened?”

  I leaned forward and laid both of my hands on her knees. “Brenna, we love you. You can always have a home with us, no matter what. Always.”

  She gave a tiny nod and whispered, “I want to go home with you.”

  Sam

  The doctors decided that Brenna would have to stay overnight, so they moved her to a semi-private room on the third floor. There was a lot of waiting around, and the nurses insisted that she be moved in a wheelchair, something Brenna looked acutely uncomfortable with.

  Not long after that, we had an awkward discussion about lunch, finally settled when Brenna said to Mom and Dad, “Go! Sam can stay here with me, and when you get back she’ll go. Or you can bring something back for her. I’m okay.”

  Brenna’s hospital bed was positioned with the back up high so she could sit up. As soon as our parents left the room, she turned to me. “Tell me everything. How long have Mom and Dad known about you?”

  I felt a strange anxiety about talking about it. Why? Was it because for so long Brenna had been the holder of my secrets? For some reason I was reluctant to tell her about Hayley and how important my friendship with her had become. In slow, hesitant sentences, I began to tell her the story of Dad’s imprisonment, our move to Alabama, and the last few weeks of school.

  “What does Hayley look like?” Brenna asked.

  I took out my phone and switched it on. The lock screen had a picture of me and Hayley together, just a few days before everything blew up.

  “I’m glad you made a good friend like that. Does she … does she know you’re a girl?”

  I nodded. “I told her right before we left town to drive here. She’s okay with it.”

  Brenna looked at me with an expression of heartbreaking loneliness. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Sam. I’m sorry I was so stupid.”

  I shook my head. “Brenna, you don’t have anything to apologize for … I mean, it wasn’t your fault—”

  “But it was,” she interrupted. “I was—I snuck out. I went to my boyfriend’s and when he told me I was a stupid kid—like I was—I put myself in danger out of … I don’t know … spite.”

  “It must have been terrible,” I whispered.

  She closed her eyes. “I can’t talk about it. Not that stuff.”

  “The girl who was shot—Laura—did she help?”

  Brenna nodded slowly. “She helped me stay alive.”

  “Maybe we can go check on her, if they let you out of here tomorrow. She’s at the hospital in Portland.”

  Brenna blinked at me in disbelief. “She’s alive?”

  I nodded. “She was this morning. We were getting ready to go to the hospital to see her, if they would let us, when you called. Mom said—Mom said that she’d risked her life to help you.”

  Brenna sucked in a breath. “Yeah,” she whispered. She closed her eyes. “I’m so tired. Do you think … can you ask the nurse to come by?”

  “You okay?” I asked, suddenly frightened.

  “I’m in some pain. And I don’t even know when I’ve slept. I just need to rest.”

  I nodded and jumped to my feet. “Be right back,” I said.

  By the time Mom and Dad got back, the nurse had brought Brenna two pills and Brenna had slipped away into a restless sleep. I sat watching her as she tossed and turned, occasionally muttering.

  Once, she clearly said the words, “Stop, Rick. Please, stop.”

  Cole

  While Brenna slept, Erin and I divided up the necessary phone calls. She would talk to her parents and her sister. I would call Jeremiah and my parents. We both called from my phone—hers would have to be replaced.

  Jeremiah declared Brenna’s recovery a miracle. And he was right. It was nothing short of miraculous. But I also knew that in the near future, we were going to have to pull off more miracles. In the immediate term, I had to find a place to rent in Atlanta and get my parole switched there, if a judge would approve it. Most importantly, we had to figure out treatment options for Brenna. I had kept Brenna on my health insurance, and the hospitalization and ocular surgeries would be covered at least to some extent. But my health plan didn’t cover mental health, and she was going to need a lot of help. Both kids were.

  In truth, all of us needed a shitload of therapy.

  “You know, Jeremiah—this wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for you. I can’t even begin to explain how much it means—”

  “You don’t have to. Listen, Cole, we paid off the house fifteen years ago. We don’t have any debt. We’ve been letting money accumulate and giving away as much as we felt like. We’ve been blessed and I’d never consider not passing it on.”

  “I don’t know when or how I can pay you—”

  “You don’t. You take care of those kids of yours, and when you have the chance to help someone else, you do it. Understand? That’s all the thanks I want.”

  I remembered all those years ago, treating this incredible friend with considerable condescension. Instead of a flashy job, he was going to work in the restaurant business. Instead of moving up to bigger and better houses, they bought a small three-bedroom ranch and stayed in it. He had somehow found real wisdom and stability that I wanted.

  Daddy answered the phone on the third ring. That was unusual—most likely it meant that Mama was out.

  My guess was confirmed when he told me she was at a bridge game.

  He gasped in stunned shock when I told him we had found Brenna and told the story of how it happened. Things had happened so fast in the past few days that I hadn’t called my parents to tell them we were going to Portland.

  “It sounds like she’s had a terrible time of it,” he said. “Will you bring her back to Alabama?”

  “Daddy…” I stumbled a little, not wanting to tell him I’d fucked up at work. You would think at this age I wouldn’t have that fear anymore. I told him the story of what had happened in Oxford with the mayor, ending with the news that we were going to move to Atlanta as soon as I got clearance from the courts.

  His voice sounded rough when he spoke again. “Well, I reckon y’all should come stay with us. While you get your feet back under you.”

  The suggestion stunned me. I don’t know if
I would have been more shocked if my father had leapt through the phone lines to materialize directly in front of me.

  “How will Mama feel about that?”

  “Didn’t ask her. You let me deal with your mama. I want you to bring your family here, son.”

  For some reason, I couldn’t breathe. I stood up from the plastic chair and paced for a second trying to get ahold of myself. Erin gave me a quizzical look. I swallowed, took another breath, then somehow choked out, “Daddy, there’s something you need to know before you make that offer.”

  The thing was, I had no idea how my parents would react to Sam. I couldn’t imagine how my mother would react to any of us, but especially Sam. I wasn’t going to take her somewhere only to be made to feel unwelcome. But I had no idea how to say any of that. Daddy was an old conservative Marine from the Deep South. It wasn’t until the past twenty years that he’d begun acknowledging black people as human beings. How would he react to Sam?

  “Well, spit it out, son.”

  I closed my eyes and did just that. “Daddy, Sam is transgender.”

  Across the room from me, Erin’s eyes widened. Daddy said, “What does that mean exactly?”

  Expecting an explosion any second, I said, “It means that Sam isn’t a boy. On the inside, where it counts. She’d reached a point where she couldn’t pretend anymore, and the thing is, we’re not going to make her. And … I can’t put her in a situation where she’s going to get hurt any more. Things got pretty bad.”

  In a low, slow tone, Daddy replied, “Son, I don’t care if he turned into a tarantula. You just bring those kids home so we can love them. You hear? I won’t lie and say I know anything about this transgender business. But I’m not too old to learn something new. You tell me what to read or whatever. I’ll talk to Virginia; she won’t say a word against Sam while I live and breathe.”

  I found that difficult to believe. Daddy might have gone through some shifts in his retirement, but my mother still had a stiletto tongue. I let out a long sigh. “Thank you, Daddy. I’ll discuss it with Erin.”

  “Well, that’s all I can ask. And listen, I know you have to do what’s best for your family. Just let me know. Because just about the only thing that matters to me in the world is you and Erin and those kids.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to this. I felt like I was putting together a thousand-piece puzzle in a darkened room, and half the pieces were missing. My father had done a lot of changing in the past few years, but it was hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea of Daddy as someone who would defend a transgender kid, even one who was family.

  Did Sam and Erin have the same doubts about me?

  Who was I kidding? Of course they did.

  “Thanks, Daddy…” I trailed off.

  We said our goodbyes, and I slumped down into the seat near Erin.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  I began to tell her the story of my call with my dad. We were only a few inches apart, but out of long-standing habit, we weren’t touching. But as I told her about my father’s offer, I consciously reached out and took her hand and held it. The touch brought on an immediate shock of recognition, the comfort of familiarity combined with tension and fear that she would pull away.

  She didn’t pull away. For just a fraction of a second, she tensed. Then she relaxed and squeezed my hand back.

  “I think we should do it,” I said. “I don’t know what’s come over the old bastard, but I believe him. They’ve got plenty of room, and it’ll give us a little time to get our feet underneath us.”

  Erin gave a faint smile. “Jim came from a different era … but part of what I’ve always liked about him is that when confronted with evidence, he’s willing to revise his opinions. It’s your mom that worries me. But I think you’re right. And honestly, I think it would be good for the kids.” She sniffed, her eyes watering a little.

  She continued. “I just want to … I don’t know … build a wall around them … around us … all of us. And hunker down behind it and just keep them as safe as we possibly can.” As she finished her sentence, she started to cry.

  I put an arm around her shoulder, but in these metal armchairs that was awkward as hell. As her shoulders began to shake more, I slid out of my seat, stood in front of her, and pulled her up to me. As I wrapped my arms around her, she seemed to stagger, as if letting go of a massive weight.

  Her voice was nearly incoherent as she continued speaking. “She’s so badly hurt, Cole. Not just the physical stuff but … inside. Can you even imagine what she’s been through?” With that, she broke down completely, sobbing against my shoulder. I squeezed her to me, as tears ran down my own face.

  Through clenched teeth I said, “We’ll help her. We’ll be there for her, and love her, and help her heal. Together. We’ll be there together. Okay?”

  She sobbed harder, and whispered, “Okay.”

  And that was when I fell apart. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” My arms around her, I sank to my knees, burying my face against her stomach.

  She slid down to the floor next to me and whispered in my ear, “We start over today. Me and you. Our family.”

  And so we did.

  Part Four

  Forty-One

  Sam

  And they all lived happily ever after.

  That’s how we’re supposed to end the story, right? Mom and Dad stayed together, won a million dollars and bought a new, appropriately-sized house. I magically transformed into the girl I always wanted to be, and Brenna was healed from her trauma, went back to school and on to college, and became an interior designer. Or something.

  But real life isn’t like that. I do believe eventually we’ll all live happily ever after, but there’s a long way to go to get to that point.

  The day they released Brenna from the hospital, we drove to Portland so she could visit her friend Laura. I only met her for a few brief minutes. Mom told me she was twenty, but I would have guessed closer to thirty. Like Brenna, she had a hard look about her, with tiny lines around her eyes and world of hurt behind them. Brenna stayed with her for a couple of hours, talking about I don’t know what. The whole time, we were downstairs in the cafeteria—me texting with Hayley and Mom and Dad talking quietly.

  They were holding hands.

  Every once in a while I’d look up and try to hear some of what they were saying to each other. I didn’t catch a lot of it, but that wasn’t what was important. The important thing was, they were looking at each other, really looking at each other.

  Brenna eventually came down and met us. She didn’t say much—she’d barely spoken since we’d been reunited. But she came and sat beside me and leaned on me. I put an arm around her. She was smaller than I remembered, skinnier, and not in a healthy way. I knew she was eighteen and all, but I made a promise then that I was going to take care of her and help her get back to health.

  I didn’t know, then, how difficult that promise would be to keep.

  The next morning we left Portland. Our trip back across the country was slow. Slow because we stopped a lot. We got out of the car and walked in the mountains and played mini-golf and visited weird tourist spots. It felt almost like a family vacation along the way, as we tentatively worked to get to know each other. Because that’s what it was like—four strangers who had once been close, slowly trying to pick up the pieces.

  We were just outside Pendleton, Oregon, maybe four hours after we left Portland, when I realized something was wrong with Brenna. She’d been sleeping a lot, and yawning a lot when she was awake, but this time when she woke up she kept sniffing until I finally dug around in the back of the car and found some tissues for her. I handed her the tissues—and saw that her face was beginning to sheen with sweat.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She just shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said.

  Mom, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around. “Everything okay back there?”

&n
bsp; “It’s fine,” Brenna said, just as I replied, “I think something’s wrong with Brenna.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she snapped.

  “Brenna?” Mom asked, as if to somehow confirm that’s who had spoken the sharp words.

  “Sorry,” Brenna said, pushing the words out between clenched teeth. Then, she almost-whispered, “I’ve been taking a lot of pills.”

  That was months ago, of course, and the memory of that day, and the days that followed, feels like it’s in a haze. We drove across the country while Brenna went through opiate withdrawals. Before you think my parents were completely negligent, we did stop at urgent care centers twice on the way back, though I’m not sure the doctors did much. They gave her some meds.

  Mostly Brenna slept, lying on the bench in the back, often running a high fever. Other times we had to stop so she could puke, or more often just sit on the ground, arms across her stomach, moaning with terrible stomach cramps.

  She smoked constantly, and Mom and Dad finally gave in on that, even to the point of putting the windows down on the highway and letting her smoke in the very back of the van. I didn’t mind. We didn’t have a lot of choice. There was a lot of talk about insurance, and phone calls, but the bottom line was clear: Mom and Dad’s insurance wasn’t paying for any inpatient treatment.

  ***

  We didn’t even stop in Alabama, but went straight to Atlanta, pulling up to Grandma and Grandpa’s house on a late afternoon in early October.

  I had felt myself tensing up hours before we reached Atlanta, the anxiety settling into my bones and gut, my stomach twisting itself up into knots. For days, I’d been comfortable in my own skin. I’d worn clothes that felt right. I’d been me.

  But I was about to see Grandma and Grandpa again. And I didn’t know what that was going to be like. I didn’t know what they were going to be like. Grandpa especially—he was a Marine, basically a throwback. He’d fought in Vietnam and killed people, and even though I’d never heard him say anything bad about anyone (except Yankees) it was almost intuitive that he probably hated people who were gay or transgender or anything else that fit outside his boxes.