Ryan had been pissed when I got home. I understood why. He was antsy to get to the hospital to see Lucas. Honestly, so was I. So, I showered as quickly as I could, and threw on clothes while I was still damp. I hated doing that because they just seemed to cling to my body, but I needed to make it up to him.
He was still a mess from the night before, but he insisted on driving my truck, saying it was the least I could do for making him run so far behind. Personally, I didn’t think he was in any shape to drive, but he demanded it. Again, something else I understood. He needed something he could control.
So, that was when I texted David.
By the time we pulled into the hospital’s parking lot, I had a shit-eatin’ grin on my face.
Ryan glared at me. “Who’re you texting?”
I returned his glare with one of my own. “None of your business.”
And the matter was dropped.
We walked through the sliding hospital doors, side by side, and made a beeline for Doctor Trundell’s office. His receptionist was seated at her desk, and looked up when we walked through the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Ryan Duncan here to see Doctor Trundell,” my brother said.
The receptionist looked from him to me. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a certain amount of distaste in her look. I glanced at Ryan. We looked nothing alike. We never had. He took after our mother’s side of the family while I favored our father’s. He was shorter than me by a good five inches. Where my hair was kind of dirty blond, his was so dark brunette that it was almost black. My eyes were brown where his were blue, and he couldn’t grow facial hair to save his soul where I sported a full beard. She probably thought we were together, as in the sinful biblical sense.
I said, “I’m the brother.” Then, just for effect, I threw her the widest grin I possibly could.
She huffed, picked up the telephone receiver, and said, “Mr. and Mr. Duncan are here to see you, Doctor Trundell.”
She hung up the phone, and told us to head on in to the inner office.
Doctor Trundell’s office was large, much larger that I had anticipated. His desk sat to the right of the door, and to the left were two large, white leather couches facing each other with a glass-topped table in between. Bookshelves lined the far left wall as well as the wall behind his desk. The bookshelf on the left wall was filled floor to ceiling with books while the bookshelf behind his desk seemed reserved for personal mementos. Overall, the office had as much personality as he did. Zero.
Trundell stood from behind his desk. “Please, have a seat.” Then he motioned for us to sit in one of the leather couches.
Ryan was a nervous wreck. I could see the slight tremor in his hand as he sat, and stared straight ahead.
Trundell came over holding a file and took a seat on the couch opposite of us. “I’ve been reviewing the test results. Lucas has acute lymphoblastic leukemia of the T-cells, or T-ALL. We think we caught it early. Typically, we like to start treatment as soon as we receive the diagnosis, but in your son’s case we need to wait until his head injury is healed.”
He was very clinical in his delivery. And it pissed me the fuck off.
Ryan visibly paled. “What are the risks of waiting?”
“There’s always a risk with waiting. However, we feel that the risk is far greater if we start treatment now while the wound is still healing. Lucas’s immune system will be compromised during the treatment, placing him at greater risk for infection. Given the location of his head wound, I’m uncomfortable taking that risk.”
I glanced at Ryan as the doctor spoke. He was staring at the carpet as if he were counting the fibers. His hands were shaking even more.
“What are we lookin’ at for treatments?” I asked. I knew Ryan couldn’t. He was barely holding it together.
“Ideally a combination of chemotherapy and steroids. Once his head wound is healed, he’ll need to be re-hospitalized for about a month for the initial stage of treatments. He’ll be weak and sick, but it’s better he be here than at home to lower the risk for infections. Once that initial phase is complete, we’ll run more tests to determine if the cancer is in remission. Upward of ninety-five percent of children enter remission after this stage. If not, we then move on to phase two. This phase may take as long as two months to complete. However, once complete, if the cancer is in remission, he can go home. He will, however, be on maintenance drugs for roughly two years after.”
More dry delivery from Trundell. He had given that speech hundreds of times before, and you could tell. But he had never given it to Ryan. My brother’s shoulders were quaking, his elbows were on his knees, and his head was in his hands. Soft whimpers escaped him. My fists clenched involuntarily, and my body virtually vibrated with rage. At the situation, and the doctor. It took everything in my power not to knock the doctor clear across the room.
I rested a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and glared at the doctor. “What are his chances?”
At this, Trundell wrung his hands. “Roughly eighty-five percent.”
Ryan crumbled. Fifteen percent chance that his son would die. Yes, that was a relatively low percentage, but no parent wants to hear that there’s less than a one hundred percent chance that their child will survive something like this. No parent wants to lose a child.
And I didn’t want to lose my nephew.
Barely above a whisper, Ryan said, “I need to get out of here.”
I leaned into him and looked at the doctor. “Can we see him?”
“Of course. In fact, he can go home. We’ll schedule the treatments once his head is healed.”
Ryan stood and headed to the door, and I followed, hand on his back as an offer of support and encouragement. Slowly, we made our way down the hall and to the elevator. I pressed the button for the second floor and we waited in silence.
Once on the second floor, I pulled Ryan into an empty room, probably used for visiting family members to congregate in. I hugged him to me, holding him in a death grip.
“Let it out, ” I whispered in his ear. “Let it out. We need to be strong for Lucas. He can’t see you like this.”
He pulled away from me, red eyes and tears streaming down his face. “How? I don’t know how.”
I placed my hands on either side of his face and said, “I don’t know either. But we have to try. That kid is in for the fight of his life. He’s going to need both of us to pull through this, you more so than me. You have to be strong for him. You lean on me while he leans on you. Deal?”
After a moment, Ryan sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Deal.”
I snagged a box of paper-thin tissues from one of the tables and handed it to him. I allowed him to compose himself, then led him down the hall to Lucas’s room.
Lucas was awake when we went in, reading the book I had bought for him the day before. My thoughts immediately flashed to David, and I wondered briefly if he made it home safely.
Of course he did. He’s probably done that a million times.
I made a mental note to send him a text once we had left the hospital.
“Hey, bud,” Ryan said when we entered. “How’re you feeling?”
Lucas looked up from the book and gave a weak smile. “Better, I guess. Head hurts, but I guess I’m okay.”
Ryan matched Lucas’s grin with a weak one of his own. “Good. Doc said you can go home today.”
“Awesome, ” Lucas said, with a little more enthusiasm than I thought he could muster. Then he winced and reached up to touch his bandaged head. “Guess I should chill out, huh?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you should.”
Ryan glanced at me, and I could read the question in his eyes. Should I tell him?
I nodded.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed while I took the chair. “Can I talk to you a sec?”
“Sure, Dad. What’s up?”
Ryan scrubbed his face with his hands and looked at me again. How am I going to do this?
God, I wished I had telepathy. Instead, I tried to tell him with my eyes what my brain couldn’t. I’m right here.
Ryan took Lucas’s hand in his own, and I was struck at how similar they were. Sure, one was slightly smaller than the other, but they had similar characteristics. Neither of them had beefy hands. I would almost use the term feminine, but that might be insulting, and each ring finger had a slight bend to it. Slowly, Ryan caressed his son’s hand, and I could feel the sheer volume of love he had for his son.
For an instant, a pang of regret flashed through me. I would probably never have that kind of love in my life, that kind of unconditional commitment. Internally, I reiterated my personal promise to get to know Lucas better. He wasn’t my son, but he was still my nephew.
“We just came from the doctor,” Ryan began.
Lucas could read his father’s expression. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with me?” His voice was strained, and my eyes clouded.
Telling him was going to be far more difficult than I’d thought. How do you tell a thirteen year old boy he has a life threatening illness?
Ryan glanced at me one last time before saying, “Leukemia. You have leukemia.” He looked down at their joined hands, and I saw his cheeks quiver, straining to hold in the flood bursting at the dam.
Like his father before him, my nephew crumbled. “Am I going to die?” he cried.
Ryan broke too. “No, we’re not going to let that happen.”
Lucas was hysterical. “How can you know? How can you be sure?”
I stood, crossed the floor to the bed and kneeled beside it. Placing a hand over both of theirs, I swore, “Because we’re not going to let that happen. Got me? We are going to fight this. You, your dad, and me. You will beat this!” I willed as much strength into them as I could, through our joined hands. I would not allow either of them to think that they were alone in this. Family is supposed to be there for each other, to share in all of the triumphs as well as adversities. I might have been gone for a long time, but I would be damned if I would allow my family to be torn apart so soon after getting home.
They both looked at me, and Ryan’s eyes said, Thank you. Then he looked back at his son and said, “He’s right, we’re not. We’re going to fight this thing together. All of us.” Then he pulled Lucas to him in a crushing embrace, like he wanted to squeeze the disease from his body like water from a sponge.
“I don’t want to die,” I heard Lucas whisper. I almost lost it, but I had to stay strong. For the both of them. I would lose it in the quiet of my room later.
They rocked back and forth like that for some time, Ryan funneling as much of his own personal strength as he could into his son. I climbed back into the chair. I sensed that was a father and son moment, and I didn’t want to intrude.
Finally spent, Lucas let Ryan go and smiled at me weakly. “I’m sorry, Uncle Adam.”
I knew what he meant. I was the big bad Marine, the manliest of men, and he had just cried like a baby. But I didn’t care. If anyone was entitled, it was him. A stray tear threatened to escape, and I wiped my eye. “No need, kiddo. It’s rough on all of us. You never need to apologize for crying in front of your dad and me. We’re family.”
Ryan beckoned me to him, and I kneeled again on the floor. He wrapped one arm around me and another around Lucas and pulled all three of our heads together. “We’re going to get through this. All of us.”
So why did I count four into that number?
A short time later, an orderly arrived at the door with a wheelchair. I left the room while Ryan busied himself with helping Lucas get dressed in his street clothes. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and pulled up David’s contact information. I could call him, but I suspected either he wouldn’t answer or he’d be uncomfortable. I sent him a text instead.
-Make it home?
My phone vibrated a few seconds later, like he’d been holding the phone. -Yes. How’s your nephew?
I admit, I grinned at his concern. -Doctor says he can go home today.
-Good! That’s great news!
-I guess he passed out in the bathroom and hit his head on the sink.
-Crap! Is he going to be ok?
-The doctors think his head will heal just fine.
There was a pause in the conversation. I could almost picture David worrying his lip, trying to either figure out a way to prolong the conversation or ask the question I knew he wanted to ask.
Finally, my phone vibrated. -I’m so sorry. What did the doctors say about the leukemia?
-They think they found it early enough. Treatments to start when his head is healed.
-That’s good news, though, right?
I thought about that for a moment. Was it good news? You hear horror stories all the time about cancer patients not getting treatment in time. The doctor had said it had been found early. I hoped he was optimistic. I needed to be optimistic. -Yes, it is.
-Good. He’s too young to have something like this happen to him.
David was right. Lucas was too young. Then I remembered our previous conversation, when David had asked me how old Lucas was, and the darkness seemed to take over for just a moment. I began to wonder if maybe David hadn’t experienced something just as bad when he was younger, and maybe he was speaking from his own personal experience.
-Yes, he is. But he has his father behind him.
-And you.
I smiled at that. - And me.
-He’ll pull through. I KNOW it.
-From your…fingers to God’s ears.
-Need anything, I’m here.
And, somehow, I knew he was. We had known each other less than twenty-four hours, had spoken for less than a half hour total, but I had the complete sense that David was about to become a very integral part of my life.
I mused on that until Ryan wheeled Lucas out of the room. “Ready?”
Lucas looked up at me, flashed me a grin, and said, “Yeah. I’m ready.”
I suspected he meant something other than going home.
TEXTING QUICKLY BECAME MY FAVORITE activity. Texting Adam even more so.
I got in the habit of carrying my cell phone in my back pocket instead of leaving it in my messenger bag like I used to when I was at work. Trish normally kept her cell phone with her at all times, and I found it funny that she treated it like an extra appendage, but I finally understood why.
In the two weeks since we had exchanged numbers, Adam and I had texted each other daily. Multiple times a day. We had literally exchanged hundreds of messages. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes those hellos turned into lengthy conversations. We would talk about the most mundane subjects from the weather to our favorite books and television shows, or we would talk about what was going on with his nephew. I rarely initiated them, fearing that maybe I was in the wrong for reaching out to him. Or that I was overstepping some invisible line. Or that I was interrupting something he would much rather be doing than talking to me. He had to have more important things to do.
I would pull out my phone and glance at the screen, willing a message to be there.
Occasionally it even worked.
He shared with me his fears for his nephew’s recovery, and the stress the whole situation was putting on him and his brother. They had come to blows once, about a week after Lucas went home. Adam had been so angry that he had jumped in his truck and gone to the park near where we had exchanged phone numbers, intending on going for a brisk run. Instead, he said he sat on a park bench and texted me.
I will admit, there was a small part of me that was happy, almost giddy, that he had come to me, even if it was only a text when they had fought. I will also admit that the new…whatever it was that was developing between us, terrified me. Never in my life had someone taken the time to talk to me, even if it was only by text. The feeling of honor and terror warred within my head constantly.
I did everything I could to keep our messages away from my own personal family issues. I feared that once he fou
nd out, once he knew the whole story, that he would no longer want to talk to me. Why would he? In my head, I knew it was only temporary. Something would happen and he would leave. Everyone always did. But I had come to enjoy those little texts, perhaps more than I should. They were my only link to a world that I had never allowed myself to enjoy. And, even if that sense of enjoyment were temporary, I would take it while I could.
Adam told me that Lucas’s head had healed enough for him to begin treatments the following Monday. All three of them were nervous, and it made me wish there was something I could do. Adam felt powerless, he told me as much, and I could completely empathize. I had felt the same when I was a kid. It was awful feeling as if you were at someone else’s, or in that case someTHING else’s, mercy.
“So, what’s going on?” Trish said, breaking me from my thoughts.
I was kneeling on the floor, straightening and restocking trade paperbacks. I glanced up at her, then back down to the stack of books next to me, and said, “Um, putting these away.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. “Don’t be a smart ass.”
Dumbfounded, I said, “Trish, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. All I’m doing is putting these on the shelf. Am I supposed to be doing something else?”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t mean the books, I mean with you.”
I was still at a loss. Trish and I had never had anything remotely resembling a heart-to-heart talk. I knew about her boyfriend. He came into the store on occasion, mostly on Friday Game Night. While she talked about him constantly, I had a tendency to only partially listen. But while I knew some details of her personal life, she knew absolutely nothing about mine. Other than where I lived.
“You’ve been…different the last couple of weeks.” She continued. “Actually, since the weird thing happened with that guy.”
My heart began hammering in my chest. “What weird thing?”
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