by Autumn Grey
He is real.
My heart soars as I inhale his scent deeply, shamelessly and desperately. Greedily.
Keep your head up and keep moving, bro.
I jolt awake as those words fade into my waking consciousness. Pain shoots from my neck, spreading along my arm and shoulders, caused by the angle I’ve been sleeping in. It takes a few seconds for my mind to gain awareness and realize where I am.
White room. Drawn curtains. An EKG monitor sits on the other side of the bed, some numbers displayed on the screen. Several wires are attached to the machine, disappearing on the sleeping patient on the bed.
Josh.
His chest rises and falls, his inhale longer than his exhale. His fingers, which are intertwined with mine, twitch every few seconds. The awkwardness I felt on my drive home, wondering how I’d feel when I finally faced him had disappeared. My hand had found his and held on to it fast. The fear of losing him overrode whatever I’d felt for him since the last time I saw him when he was standing in the front of the church, waiting for Nor to join him. All I see now is fragility. The sickness has sucked him dry, leaving protruding bones and jaundiced skin.
The words, Keep your head up and keep moving, bro are stuck in my head on repeat. They were my brother’s mantra while growing up. He’d ruffle my hair and then say that every time we parted. Those words coupled with Nor’s sweet face had been my lifeline when I was in prison.
I have been angry at him for so long, that the rage I’ve been carrying around all this time has overshadowed his heroic actions on the day he became my hero, my savior.
The day my world turned silent.
I was five years old when I was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. Josh and I were playing out on the porch that summer. I kept complaining that my head hurt. Everything seemed to be magnified tenfold. The daylight hurt my eyes. I felt drowsy, even though I’d slept over ten hours the night before. One moment I was crawling around, trying to race his toy car and the next I was on the ground, my body held prisoner by seizures. For that one second before my world turned into a series of unending spasms, I heard Josh call my name. I saw his face when he appeared in my line of vision, panicked. Later on, my mother told me that if it weren’t for Josh, I would probably have died.
And now, he’s lying on the bed. His life is ending even before he’s had a chance to enjoy it to its fullest.
God.
He is only thirty-two. He hasn’t lived his dreams yet.
I can’t save him like he saved me.
I can’t do shit other than sit here and watch him fucking die.
The hair on the nape of my neck rises in awareness. The force that had always been present between Nor and I surrounds me. I couldn’t shake it off if I tried.
I take deep breaths, trying to control my racing heart. The thought of seeing Nor after all these years of separation had only fleetingly occurred to me. Honestly? I haven’t had enough time to think about it. I’ve been too preoccupied dealing with memories of my past and trying to keep my shit together after seeing Josh.
I’m not a coward and I’ve never been one, but the thought of facing Nor terrifies me because;
1) I haven’t see her in nine years. I’ve spent that time in a never-ending Hell, reliving every single moment of our life together. I never thought I’d ever see her again until my delusions were shattered the second I opened those seven letters about Josh dying. That, and my two little girls, solidified the decision to go home. But then, I would have returned home to Willow Hill even if it wasn’t for the girls. This is Josh. My brother.
2) I have no idea how things will go as soon as I turn around. My head is completely messed up right now. The fear of losing Josh is a palpable driving force. I need something to anchor me. The woman standing behind me had been my anchor up until I saw her walking down the aisle toward my brother. I lost my footing, and since then I’ve been sinking into despair, searching for her in every face I meet.
I gently pull my fingers from Josh’s then reach up and tug the beanie from my head. I stand up and turn around and my defenses crack at the corners. Her eyes widen and her lips part in surprise. My body jolts, reacting to the hope, hunger and love in her face.
Holy fuck. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? I never thought I’d see her look at me that way again.
Her face is a mirror of all the feelings I’ve locked away inside that special place in me.
Jesus. What happened to her?
The knee-length, floral red and white sleeveless dress hangs loosely on her tiny frame. Her arms seem long and gangly, but that may be because of all the weight she has lost. The scars on her arms are stark white against her skin. Dark circles mar the perfection that is her green eyes. I’ve always admired how her eyes seemed to look right through me. Right now, all I see is emptiness. Beyond that, she’s still stunning, more beautiful than the last time I saw her. Her hair is bunched up in a messy bun at the nape of her neck with a few locks framing her heart-shaped face.
Tears fall freely down her cheeks and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Then she rushes forward and slams her body into mine, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist.
My body is coiled tight, my senses overloaded by her scent. Her face is in the crook of my neck and her mouth is feathering warm air on my skin. The feel of her body violently shaking against mine, the tears seeping through my T-shirt—after years of being away from her, my body doesn’t know how to respond to any of it. But my hands are still hanging at my sides.
What’s happening?
This is awkward. I know she is hurting. I certainly wasn’t expecting this kind of greeting from her. My brain yells, Hug her back, you idiot, but everything in me is ready to push her away. Reject to offer her comfort.
Then she moves her head, burrowing deeper into my chest. Her scent, that combination of vanilla and almond, slams into me and knocks the breath from my lungs.
Shit.
I can’t do this. She is my biggest weakness and my greatest strength. But how can I not hold her when she’s trembling like she is about to fall apart? When her pain is my pain?
This is not the Nor I knew, the girl I left behind. My Nor was fierce. Her life hadn’t been easy, but she had been a fighter. This girl holding me is broken, surrounded by desolation.
I toss the beanie on the chair and wrap my arms around her. The feeling is so familiar, it physically hurts remembering how long it’s been since I held her like this. I squeeze her tighter and bury my face in the crook of her neck just below her ear, my body seeking comfort and familiarity.
God. She smells fucking amazing.
Raw.
Real.
Home.
I should kick myself in the balls for thinking shit like this.
As though she’s been waiting for my arms to hold her, her knees buckle. I scoop her up and stride across the room to the cot she was sleeping on and lower myself on to it. She sobs openly, her arms banded around my neck and her face burrowed in it. I hold her tighter as she curls her tiny body up on my lap. Right now, holding each other like this, we are two people grieving over someone we both love. Gone are the differences that drove us apart.
Just a brother and a wife comforting one another.
I rub my hand in circles along her back taming the storm raging inside her, until the sobs turn to little hiccups and her breathing evens out.
She stiffens and sits up on my lap. She seems to remember who I am. Who she is.
Our relationship.
She quickly swings her legs to one side. Her dress rides up her thighs in the process. My arms tighten around her on reflex as my gaze zooms in on the pink scars on her thighs. These scars look different than the white ones on her arms. She tries to pull her dress down quickly, her gaze averted from mine. Had she relapsed again after I left?
Obviously seeing my shock, her cheeks flush as she scrambles off my lap. I let her go as she stands up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She leans down and grabs a pair of pink Keds from
the foot of the bed and slips them on.
She’s still a Keds kind of girl, even after all these years.
Her gaze darts around the room. Everywhere but at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but I cannot stop staring at her. My eyes can’t get enough of her now that she’s standing in front of me. I give her time to collect herself. Finally, she focuses those wide, beautiful eyes on me, searching my face. I have a feeling that if I mention the scars on her thighs, she will run. So I hold back and wait for the pain in my chest to subside. The air around us is weighted with awkwardness and unspoken thoughts. I hate this so damn much.
She bites her cheek, uncertainty flooding her features. Her lips part as if she wants to say something, but they fall closed again.
Say something.
My body is coiled tightly, waiting for her reaction.
Her gaze leaves my face, taking in the rest of me for the first time. They widen when they reach my arms and I know the moment she recognizes the words ‘Silver Lining’ intertwined within the red rose petals imprinted across my skin, an exact copy of one of her doodles. Her mouth parts on a breath as tears fill those eyes that have haunted me for years.
“Cole.”
“Cole. . .” she signs again, but pauses again. She lifts her right hand, the palm facing inward and moves it clockwise in front her face, ending the gesture with a closed hand. “It’s beautiful.”
I pull the picture of our daughters from my shirt pocket and turn it around to face her.
Her gaze bounces between my hand and face. She exhales, her shoulders slumping forward as if a heavy weight has been lifted from them. “You received the letters.”
Before I can answer her, she glances way, focusing on something beyond me, then signs, “Josh is awake.”
She wipes her cheeks quickly with her palm, pastes a smile on her face and skirts around me. Turning around, I stare after her as she hurries toward the bed and sits on the chair I vacated just moments ago. Josh’s features soften as she leans forward to cover his hand with hers. Their lips are moving but I can’t read what they’re saying, given the angle of their faces. Pain pierces my chest just watching them. She lifts her hand and strokes his face then gently touches her palm to his forehead as if checking him for fever.
“Hey, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?” I ask, gently touching his face to check for fever. He grabs my hand and bats his lashes at me.
“Oh, my pretty prince, you came to rescue me,” he says, his lips tugging in a teasing smile.
Tears spring to my eyes. I sob and chuckle at the same time. “I wish I could rescue you from this, Josh. I wish I could save you just like you saved me.” I lift a hand and swipe the tears on my cheeks then clear my throat, then whisper, “Cole is here.”
His eyes widen and his hand tightens around my wrist. “What? Where?”
I pull one of my hands from his grasp and lean back so he can get a clear view of Cole.
“Jesus. He really is here.” His voice is a whisper, full of awe. His gaze moves from Cole and back to me. He searches my face for a few seconds before taking in a deep breath, his face taking on a serious look. “I need you to do something for me. I have been holding on to the hope that I’ll see him before I go, even though I’d already made peace with myself. Cole is your dream. He has always been your dream--”
“Stop it, Josh,” I plead with him, shaking my head. “Please. Stop.”
“Shut up and listen to me, Eleanor.”
Wiping my cheeks with my free hand, I shoot up from the chair, but his fingers around my wrist are like shackles, pulling me back to down.
“I love you. You and the girls have made me the happiest man on earth.” He takes a deep breath. “Sometimes life throws you a curveball, just to test your limits. It happened to you and Cole. We never thought we’d ever see him again. Yet he’s here. Shouldn’t that count for something?” I nod and press my lips to stop them from trembling. “Promise me you’ll be selfish for once in your life and do something for yourself.”
I can’t do this. Losing Josh, even though I knew it was coming, is still painful. “I need to go to the chapel.”
“Darn it, Nor. Promise me this.” His voice is urgent and his hold on me strong, despite his weak state. “Give me that, at least. It’s my dying wish.”
I glare down at him, tears still running down my face. I feel the anguish and anger inside me leave my bones as I stare into his pleading gaze. The genuine love shining through them comforts me. I nod and kiss his forehead. “I love you, Josh.”
He lets go of my hand. I quickly dry my face before turning around to face Cole.
I shouldn’t feel jealous. She is not mine. She is his wife now and has been for a while now.
I slip the picture back in my pocket and shove my hands in my pants pockets, feeling like an outsider. I have to leave before I do something stupid.
I cross the room heading for the door, but stop in my tracks when I feel a gentle touch on my arm, and look over my shoulder.
“Stay,” Nor says, tugging my sleeve. Her other hand clutches my beanie tightly to her chest as if it might fly away. She follows my gaze and she licks her lips, her cheeks flushing. She wiggles her freckled nose in that cute way I adored so much and then hands it over to me.
I take it and put it on, then I glance over her head and meet Josh’s weary eyes. He lifts his hand from the bed and waves at me, then lets it fall back on the sheet. He inhales, but it’s cut short when a cough wracks through his body.
I walk back and hover at the foot of the bed, dread filling my chest with every cough. I refuse to allow my fear of losing him drive me into a panic, but watching him suffering like this drums the point home.
Fuck!
“You’re here,” he signs when he’s calm enough to move a part of his body. He can hardly sign the words, though he seems determined to do it. His usually vibrant blue eyes are dull with uncertainty as he stares at me with a hopeful, yet cautious expression.
I nod, watching as Nor hurries toward the bathroom without looking back. I pull my gaze back to Josh.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming, bro.” Josh signs, his brow is beaded with sweat from exertion.
I nod my head, a huge lump forming inside my throat.
Nor returns moments later, carrying a small white towel in her hands. I step back to give her space. She settles down on the chair and then leans forward and begins to wipe my brother’s forehead, smiling softly. It’s not genuine though. Her eyes are tight around the corners as if she’s trying hard not to cry.
Josh’s head rolls to the side to face Nor as he says something. He’s staring at her like she is his whole world. She returns the look with. . .affection. The kind of look a sister gives to her brother.
As much as I hate to admit it, this gives me comfort. He genuinely loves her.
Nor kisses his forehead and stands up. She walks toward the door, but then stops and turns to face me. She doesn’t say anything at all. We just stare at each other, reminding me of the very first day I saw her when they moved in next door. I hope to fuck my face is blank.
I can’t afford to lay all my cards on the table. Show her how much she still affects me.
I know my presence affects her too. What I don’t expect to see is the way her eyes soften when she looks at me. I’m not sure how to deal with that.
“Thank you for coming. It’s really good to see you,” she signs. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
My jaw tightens involuntarily. “He is my brother.”
She flinches at my words, a little frown forming between her eyebrows. She nods once. “I’ll be at the chapel, if I’m needed.” She lifts her chin in that defiant way that used to do crazy things to me and walks out of the room with her back straight and head held high.
I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it does.
She dumped you for your brother.
That thought is like ice water poured over my head. I shove my balled fists into my pockets and f
ocus on Josh, the new scars still haunting my mind.
We eye each other, the room filling with tension. I have no idea how to begin talking to him after years of no communication.
“You look like hell,” I tell him.
He laughs. When he tries to sign again, his hands shake badly. He gives up and takes a deep breath. “If I knew you were coming, I would have worn my best tux and rolled out the red carpet.”
His eyes are yellow around where the whites are supposed to be. He scans me, his gaze starting from my neck and down to my arms. They linger there for a long time before moving to my face. I see recognition burning in there.
“Great tattoos,” he says, grinning. And for just a few seconds, his smile is easy, like I remember it.
I don’t say anything. I don’t feel like chatting about my goddamn tattoos when my brother looks like he’s about to kick the bucket the next second. My head is empty right now and I’m not exactly sure what I want to talk about, but my ink is not it.
He grimaces and the smile disappears. The look on his face shifting to remorse, he averts his gaze to the vicinity above my right shoulder. Mine stays on him.
“Cole. . .” he starts to sign then stops, his chest rising and falling fast in exhaustion. His fingers slide across the bed and wrap around the control. He presses a button, adjusting the angle of his upper body a few degrees up.
He folds his hands on his lap. “I really don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t begin to cover what happened. I wish we had met under different circumstances—”
“What happened?” I cut him off, unable to hold my shit together. My hands start to shake as the same anger that had driven me out of Willow Hill hits me hard.
I shut my eyes and take a few calming breaths. I hate that my emotions are all over the place right now. One minute I’m angry and the next, I feel guilty as fuck. Terrified and apprehensive about meeting my parents. I’m not used to feeling this way. I have to calm down before I blow this up. I need answers, but I doubt letting my temper fuel this conversation will help achieve this.