by Beth K. Vogt
“Well, sure. I know that.”
Doug waved away the comment. “No, I don’t think you do. You think God will love you if you don’t waste his time. God’s invested in you, Griffin. He’s sticking with you for the long haul. It’s not based on performance.”
The two men came to the end of the street. Paused.
“Which way do we go?” Doug looked right and left.
“You tell me. I have a feeling you’re going to anyway.”
“Ah, I think we’re talking about two completely different things.” He turned left. “You stumbled into your relationship with God because you realized you were broken, Griffin. Don’t change the rules of engagement now. God redeems broken people and loves them in their brokenness.”
Was that what he’d done? Changed the rules?
“What kind of life am I offering Ian? I’m so new at being a believer that I can still feel all my mistakes breathing down my neck. One of my biggest mistakes just moved to the Springs.”
When Doug’s eyebrows furrowed together over his eyes, asking “What are you talking about?” Griffin almost laughed. Almost.
“My ex-wife, her husband, and their three kids moved here. And the other day at the gym I told her exactly how I felt about our mess of a marriage.”
“Some unresolved issues there?”
“You could say that.” Griffin unclenched his hands, realizing he’d balled them into fists. “If I can’t handle my past, how am I supposed to make sure Ian’s ready for his future?”
“Was your family perfect growing up, Griffin? Wait, I can answer that for you. No—because you were in it.” Doug’s laughter invited Griffin to join in. “Your mom and dad never expected you to be a perfect brother for Ian, either. I can assure you that they weren’t perfect parents. Your parents obviously wanted Ian to be with family if something happened to them. And you, my friend, are it.”
Griffin wasn’t trying to deny that Ian and he were family. But the scene from On the Border played through his mind again.
“Ian was safer with them than he is with me.”
“It’s not about Ian being safe.” Doug’s words slammed up against Griffin’s protest. “Ian is safe because God is watching over him, wherever he is. If Ian had died that night in the restaurant, it would have been because somehow that was according to God’s will, Griffin—not because you were a horrible brother.”
Tears stung his eyes. Griffin blinked, wishing he’d thought to grab a pair of sunglasses.
“What kind of person doesn’t take the time to get to know his younger brother?”
“No more looking in the rearview mirror, Griffin. You have today. And tomorrow.” Doug stepped in front of Griffin so that he had to stop walking. The older man placed his hands on Griffin’s shoulders. Gave him a quick shake. “And as many tomorrows as God gives you and Ian. The question is: Will you choose to accept the opportunity you’ve been given to be the brother Ian needs?”
“Do you have a minute, Ian?”
Griffin stood in his brother’s doorway, surveying the teen’s attempts to pack. He wasn’t leaving for another two weeks, but Ian was determined to be ready to go. Dresser drawers were half open, a pile of jeans on the floor next to a towering stack of T-shirts. How many T-shirts did his brother own? Ian’s underwear drawer was a jumble of whites, bearing testimony to his reluctance to match socks.
“I’m kinda busy.” Ian dumped his backpack out on his bed, notebooks, pens, and loose papers cascading onto the maroon comforter.
“I see that.” Griffin stepped inside the room, realizing that in all the months Ian lived in his townhome, he’d come in his brother’s bedroom only half a dozen times. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead. I’m listening.” His brother sat on his bed and began sorting through papers.
Griffin moved the textbooks and empty backpack to the back edge of the bed, sitting down near his brother. Ian stopped shuffling through papers and looked at him, his hazel eyes wide.
“What’s up? I already said steak was fine for dinner. Or order pizza. Whatever.”
“This isn’t about dinner.” Griffin slipped his hand into his jeans pocket, wrapping his fingers around the lengths of gold chain hidden there.
Except for the clutter, Ian’s room looked like the rest of the house. The walls were bare, the last rays of the sun slanting through his window onto bland beige walls. He had a dark pine bed, a dresser, a desk—all brought from their parents’ home. Somewhere in the boxes Griffin stored back in Florida were Ian’s personal belongings: books, photos, awards, trophies. Photos of Mom and Dad. Why didn’t Griffin think those things would be important to his brother?
Because he wasn’t thinking of anyone but himself.
“I, um, have something to tell you and something to ask you.” Griffin shifted on the bed, some sort of lump pressing against his thigh. He reached underneath the comforter and pulled out Ian’s pajama bottoms. “Wow. How long have these been lost in your bed?”
“Only since last night.” Ian grabbed them, tossing them in the corner.
So much for comic relief.
Griffin cleared his throat. Tightened his fingers around the chains again as he whispered a silent prayer for help. “Ian, I want to tell you that I’m sorry.”
His brother resumed sorting papers. Griffin could only hope he was listening.
“I’ve been wrong . . . about a lot of things. I thought Mom and Dad made a big mistake, making me your guardian. The truth is, I didn’t want to do it.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It had nothing to do with you—and everything to do with me.”
“Right.”
“Ian.” Griffin covered his brother’s hand with his own, but Ian jerked away. “I mean it. The problems we’ve had? They were my fault. I hadn’t been any kind of brother to you before Mom and Dad died. I was afraid to be your brother—your guardian—afterward.”
Ian bolted off the bed, scattering papers onto the floor.
“How could you be my brother? I hardly ever saw you. You came home what—three, four times before the accident?”
“I know. I’m sorry—” Griffin stood but left space between him and Ian.
“Sorry. You’re sorry.” Ian turned on him, his words stonewalling Griffin’s apology. “I was so excited about being part of a family. Mom and Dad talked about you all the time. And I thought I was gonna get a brother, ya know? I got nothing from you. Nothing. And now Mom and Dad are gone . . . I’m stuck with you.”
Griffin stared at his brother, finally coming face-to-face with the consequences of his actions. Ian clenched and unclenched his fist, as if he’d like to take a swing at him. Griffin deserved it—and more. Everything Ian said was right. He couldn’t change what he’d done in the past, but he refused to back down from the future.
“I did it all wrong. I was out of the house, busy with my air force career. I figured you didn’t care. I was the one who didn’t care enough. And then Tracey and I got divorced and things got even more messed up. I’m not making excuses for what I did, Ian. I’m trying to explain who I was back then.”
“You’re no different now.”
“I am. Back then, I didn’t believe in God. I know you haven’t seen any difference because I’ve been so focused on getting back in the cockpit. I know you don’t believe this. Why should you? But I am sorry.”
Was his brother hearing anything he said?
“After Mom and Dad died, we should have talked. About how we were feeling. About missing them. About how things were going to work now that we were the Walker family. And it’s my fault we didn’t.”
Griffin paused to see if anything he said made a difference to his brother. So far, no. “I was so caught up in my own problems—the vertigo, whether the medical board would let me fly again or not—I didn’t think about you. I’m sorry. Really.”
Why wouldn’t his brother look at him? Ian remained as stiff as a new recruit standing at attention, except his shoulde
rs were hunched, his face turned away. So far Griffin might just as well be talking to himself. Maybe he’d waited too long to try to repair the damage he’d caused by sending Ian back to Florida. But he had promised Doug—and God—he was going to have this conversation with his brother. He would finish it.
“Okay. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to ask you, well, two things. Would you please forgive me for being such a lousy big brother?”
No response.
“And would you give me another chance?”
For just a moment, Ian’s eyes locked with his.
“I know you’re supposed to go to the Jamisons’. But I’m asking you to please give me another chance to do things right. Stay here. I won’t do things perfectly, but I think if we work together, we can figure out how to be a family.”
His words seemed to make no difference to his brother.
Griffin pulled the chains from his pocket. “Just one more thing. I’ve been wearing Mom’s and Dad’s wedding bands around my neck since the day I got back from their funeral. I realized today that’s not right. There are two Walker sons—two brothers. So I bought another chain and put Dad’s band on one and Mom’s band on another. I want you to choose whatever one you want to wear. I’ll wear the other one.”
Ian took half a step forward. “Do I only get to wear one if I stay?”
“Whatever you decide, one of these chains is yours, Ian. You’re a Walker. You’re my brother. Two rings. Two brothers. I think Mom and Dad would want it that way.”
Ian’s response came out in a choked whisper. “Mom’s. I’d like Mom’s.”
“Mom’s it is then.” Griffin pressed the chain suspending the ring into his brother’s hand, folding Ian’s fingers closed over it. A second later, a warm tear splashed onto his hand. Then another.
His brother launched into his chest, knocking Griffin back against the edge of the bed. But he wrapped his arms around Ian and held on to his brother as he buried his face in Griffin’s shoulder, a sob tearing from his throat.
The vibration of Griffin’s cell dragged him out of the depths of sleep. He half opened his eyes, realizing he was sprawled on the couch, the TV droning on and on.
What time was it?
When his phone buzzed again, Griffin reached out and patted the floor, searching for the iPhone. There. He pressed it against the side of his face, which was still adhered to the couch.
“Griffin . . . Walker.”
“Mr. Walker?” Some girl’s voice zipped across the line.
Griffin wiped a hand across his face. “Yes. This is Griffin Walker.”
“This is Tara. I’m a friend of Ian’s—your brother’s . . . He’s in trouble—”
“What?” Griffin pushed off the couch, switching the phone to his other hand. “What’s wrong? Where is he?”
“He’s having trouble breathing . . . I’m not sure what to do . . . Can you come get him?”
Griffin could now hear fear stretching the girl’s voice tight.
“Put Ian on the phone.”
“He doesn’t know I called you. I’m scared . . . can you come get him?”
Griffin searched the kitchen counter for his keys, his wallet. “How bad is he?”
“He can hardly talk. He told me not to call you, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Call nine-one-one. Does Ian have his inhaler or his EpiPen?”
“I dunno—” Now it sounded as if the girl was crying.
“If he does, have him use them. But hang up and call nine-one-one right now.” Griffin ran toward his Jeep. “Wait! Where are you?”
He slid into his Jeep as the girl told him the address. “I’ll be there in fifteen. If the EMTs get there and take Ian to the ER, call me back. Got it?”
“Yessir.”
Backing out of the garage, Griffin checked the time. Nine forty-five. Ian asked to go watch a movie with friends. Griffin said yes, figuring he needed some downtime after their talk. That was almost three hours ago. Why would his brother be having trouble breathing?
Griffin thought he’d be relieved to beat the ambulance to the hospital. But watching the EMTs wheel Ian in on a gurney about took him out at the knees. The back of the gurney was set upright so that Ian couldn’t lie back. An oxygen mask covered his brother’s pale face, a light mist escaping from the sides before evaporating beneath the teen’s eyes. Even with his eyes wide open, Ian seemed disoriented as his shoulders rose and fell in his efforts to breathe.
“We gave him a neb treatment on the way in per protocol.” The EMT pushing the gurney updated the nurse who met them at the ER entrance. “And a shot of terbutaline. His pulse ox is eighty-two . . .”
“That’s my brother—” Griffin’s attempt to follow Ian back into the emergency room failed when a nurse blocked his way.
“Fine, Mr. Walker. Wait here, please.”
“I’m his guardian. I want to go back with him.” Griffin heard the automatic hiss of the doors as they closed, blocking his view.
“We’ll let the staff get your brother settled. Then we’ll see about you going back.” The woman who was even shorter than Kendall, stood her ground and maneuvered him back to the waiting room.
Instead of sitting, Griffin walked to a corner of the waiting room and pulled his phone from his jean pocket. He should call Kendall. She could get him back there with Ian.
No. He wasn’t going to pull any favors from Kendall Haynes.
But she was Ian’s physician. She’d want to know what was going on. Just because he and Kendall had a falling-out didn’t mean he shouldn’t do the right thing by Ian. He tapped the phone against the palm of his hand and then walked over to the nurse behind the desk.
“Excuse me.”
She didn’t even look at him. “Mr. Walker, I told you that I’d come and get you once your brother was settled.”
“I understand that.” Right now this woman ruled over him. “I just need some advice. Dr. Haynes, Kendall Haynes, is my brother’s family doctor. Should I call her and let her know that Ian’s here?”
An arched eyebrow conveyed the nurse’s opinion of him calling Kendall. “Let us handle the medical side of things. I am sure the ER physician will contact Dr. Haynes if that is necessary.”
Griffin knew the conversation was over when the woman turned her back on him. He paced a slow circle around the room.
He hated hospitals.
Yes, people often assumed it was because he was a pilot. And there was that. How flight surgeons—and now the medical board—had the power to rip flying away from him. But the distant wail of sirens coming closer, the muted sounds of voices, the underlying hiss and ping of medical machinery whenever the automatic doors swung open, always pulled him back to visiting David after Griffin’s cockiness caused him to crash a plane.
Griffin stood just inside the doorway, hands crammed into the back pockets of his jeans. Part of him hoped David was asleep. Would stay asleep. Then he could slip away. Avoid this conversation.
The air-conditioned climate of the Academy Hospital blocked out the warmth of the Colorado August afternoon. Through the window of David’s room, Griffin could see dark clouds rolling in over the mountains, sure signs of the typical summer afternoon thunderstorms.
“Griffin.” David’s eyes opened, but even a nap couldn’t erase the weariness, the pain lining his mouth.
Griffin walked into the room, the odor of antiseptic overpowering him. Get-well cards were taped to the wall opposite the bed. A bunch of multicolored balloons were tied to one of the arms of the white plastic hospital chairs in the corner. Griffin forced himself to make eye contact with his friend. If he stayed focused on David’s eyes, he wouldn’t notice the body brace . . . the Velcro . . . the straps . . . covering David’s body.
Not much, anyway.
“How are you feeling today?”
“About the same, Griff. You?”
“Me? I’m fine. The docs say my collarbone will heal fast—in about six weeks.”
A lot faster than David’s broken back would heal.
“Great.” David cleared his throat and then gave Griffin one of his familiar too-wide grins. “I’m doing rehab. It’s a cinch—not even close to being as tough as Hell Week.”
“No doubt. After surviving that, we can get through anything, right?”
David’s reckless laugh seemed to dare anything to stop him. “Absolutely. Although the food back at Mitchell Hall beats the stuff here. And nobody back there threatens you with an enema—”
“Dude—really? That’s gross.”
“They tell me it’ll be three months before they figure out if I’m commissionable or not. But I’ll be walking across the stage in May to get my diploma with the rest of the class.”
“No doubt. Did they give you any limitations on what kind of plane you can fly?”
“They said if everything heals perfectly and I don’t need a spinal fusion, that I’ll be able to get in the cockpit.”
Griffin stood beside the bed, one hand gripping the metal railing. “About the accident . . . I wanted to say . . . I knew better.”
“Hey, Griff. We both knew better. I shoulda had my seat belt on.”
“But I was the pilot . . . I was in charge.”
“Buddy, I’m not gonna let you take this all on yourself. It’s gonna be okay. You’ll see.”
But it hadn’t been.
David had graduated from the Academy with his classmates. But while Griffin walked across the stage, David maneuvered his way across the stage in a wheelchair. Griffin forced himself to watch his friend, who ignored the standing ovation, knowing the only thing waiting for his friend was more surgery.
He never called David after graduation, despite promises to keep in touch. What was there to say? He knew he ruined his friend’s future—destroyed his dreams of being a pilot because the crash caused permanent nerve damage to his legs. There weren’t enough words to cover that kind of mistake.
Movement off to the side caught Griffin’s attention. Was it the nurse coming to get him so he could go be with Ian? He watched as she spoke to a woman waiting nearby, resting her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Looks like I’m in a holding pattern.