by Monica James
Tomorrow? I thought he said a couple of days.
I can’t hide my annoyance as I huff loudly while clenching my jaw to stop my tirade.
Dr. Kepler walks in, not bothering to remind us about the two visitors at a time policy. He reads over Samuel’s charts, the same, stone-faced expression as he jots something down while looking at the endless machines. However, I notice something different when he peers over at a machine longer than he usually does.
When he slips on his glasses and moves closer, I feel my heart beginning a steady climb. “What is it, Doctor?” I ask, following him as he steps closer and closer.
His response is, “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” Greg questions, the room falling silent as we all watch with bated breaths.
“How long has this line been this way?” Dr. Kepler asks, pointing to a yellow squiggly line.
I shrug, desperately trying to decode what that line means. We all look at one another, hoping someone has the answers Dr. Kepler seeks. However, when no one speaks, my hope gets trampled on, that is, until Saxon speaks up.
“It changed this morning,” he says confidently. “When I was here yesterday, it was close to a flat line, fluttering occasionally. But this morning, I noticed it spiking more frequently.”
I’m too caught up in the moment to reprimand him for not mentioning it to me earlier. “What does that mean?” I’m seconds away from dropping to my knees and begging him for good news.
He reaches for the call button. “I need you all to wait outside.”
“What’s going on?” Greg demands, standing his ground.
“Mr. Stone, I need you to wait outside for a moment,” Dr. Kepler repeats. “We’re going to run some tests.”
“What tests?” Kellie asks, her hand wavering in front of her ruby lips.
He senses we’re not going anywhere until he tells us what’s going on. “It’s too early to make any assumptions, but from what I can see, Samuel has increased brain activity. Like I said, we need to run some tests before I can determine what’s going on.”
A group of doctors and nurses storm inside, pushing us out of the way. I want to stay, watch every single thing they’re doing, but I don’t. Saxon is the first to leave, his heavy boots pounding on the floor. Piper follows soon after.
Greg is consoling a grief-stricken Kellie, while I stand by the foot of Samuel’s bed, willing him to wake up and come back to me. Finally we leave, Kellie collapsing into a chair outside Sam’s room, Greg hugging her tightly. I don’t know where to go, but I know I can’t be in here. I can’t listen to Kellie’s cries, nor can I stand being on the outside as the doctors and nurses talk in a language I don’t understand.
With a determined swiftness, I run down the hallway, not looking back, only forward as I shoulder open the door and soar down the staircase. My sneakers pound on the cement as I take two steps at a time. My mind buzzes and whirls the quicker I descend. By the third floor, I’m breathless and my legs ache. But I keep running, desperate to get outside, as that ache can’t compare to the throbbing within my chest.
Once I kick open the door, I stop and bend forward to catch my breath, placing my hands onto my trembling thighs. The lack of oxygen to my brain is making me dizzy and I suddenly feel like I want to be sick. Rushing over to a trash can, I fist my hair to one side and attempt to purge out my sickness, but all I do is gag.
Please don’t let this be a false sign. I couldn’t take it if it were.
I vaguely feel a hand rubbing my back, telling me it’s okay, but I can’t concentrate on anything other than what Saxon said. He said the line moved yesterday and today. It hasn’t moved any other day before, but it moves the day Saxon arrives. That’s got to mean something. That’s got to be a sign.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stand upright, wavering on my feet, feeling nauseous and lightheaded. Piper steadies me, but I shrug out of her hold when I see Saxon leaning against the brick wall.
“It’s you,” I state, wielding my finger at him like a crazy person. He stands tall, not backing down from what he knows is about to turn ugly. “Samuel is responding to you, Saxon. Don’t you see, the day you arrive, he responds. Not on any day prior, just on the day you walked through his door.”
“You don’t know that. The doctor hasn’t even confirmed if that’s true yet,” he denies, shaking his stubborn head, but his firm jaw reveals he thinks it, too.
“Either way, you can’t go. Not now. Please, you have to stay.” I charge over to him, ready to beg. His resolve reveals he won’t budge, but neither will I. “Please, just stay a week. Or two. Don’t give up on him, not yet.”
My plea sends Saxon into a fury as he pushes off the wall. “Why should I stay, Lucy? Tell me, what has he—what have any of them done for me? I’m not the son my mother can proudly boast about to her country club socialite friends. I never have been. I’m a disappointment to my father because I refuse to allow him to control my life, and my brother…” He chuckles, but it’s not a pleasant sound. “My brother is a stranger to me.”
His rage has me reining in my anger because underneath his wrath, I can hear his pain. “I’m not here to apologize for any of them or their behavior. How they’ve excluded you over the years was wrong, but you’ve hardly made an effort, either. It’s a two-way street.”
He resembles an angry bull as his nostrils flare and he huffs raucously.
“But I’m here to beg for your compassion because I know you wouldn’t let your brother suffer if you knew you could help him. If you knew that the simple gesture of you just being here by his bedside would wake him up.”
“You don’t know that!” he yells, spreading his arms out wide.
“Yes, I do!” I shout back, jabbing my finger into his chest. I can be as stubborn and as headstrong as he is.
Piper yanks on my arm, sensing my frustration. “Luce, c’mon, let it go.”
But I’m not going anywhere. “I know that underneath your hard exterior lies a good man. I know that because I’ve seen it. You being here proves it.”
“It proves nothing!” he retorts, leaning down, trapping me with his glare. His angry breaths fan out the wisps of silken hair around his face. “I told you, I was here to do my bit, and then I was out of here! I never made any false promises. You knew where I stood.”
“Why?” I cry, shoving at his chest with both hands. “What has he done that’s so bad that you won’t stay? He’s your brother!” I’m hysterical by this stage. This outburst is so unlike me, but nothing can stop me.
“Not by choice,” he spits, his lip curling. “He may wear my face and share my DNA, but we’re nothing, nothing alike.”
“I know you feel something for him, Saxon. You told me so today. You told me you can feel him, that you share a connection.” My fire is slowly fading, I can smell defeat.
“I also told you that I couldn’t feel him, so if what the doctor is saying is true, we share no connection at all. He’s dead to me, Lucy!” He grabs my wrist and slams it over his galloping heart. “I…feel…nothing!” He lifts my hand and violently strikes it against his chest between each jagged breath he takes. I suddenly realize he’s no longer talking about Samuel, but rather, himself.
He won’t surrender. He would rather let some bullshit feud get in the way of doing what’s right. “Just go,” I say, sniffing back my tears as I yank my hand out from under his.
The air is sizzling with a palpable tension, and if he doesn’t leave, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.
He starts, “I’m—”
But I cut him off. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want your apologies. They mean nothing.”
His heavy sigh is weighed down like a lead balloon, but he’s chosen to keep sinking, not accepting any help.
“If only you knew the whole story, Lucy, you’d understand.” But I’m past caring. “You want me to stay and see my brother get better, but where does that leave me afterwards? You all
return to your happy, perfect lives, while I go back to what?”
I can’t answer that for him.
His exasperated huff slices at my resolve, but I won’t back down.
“Just go, Saxon.” I turn my back, shaking my head in disappointment. Piper’s lips dip into a sympathetic frown.
After a moment, Saxon’s heavy footsteps grow quieter and quieter, indicating he’s respected my wishes— he’s gone.
* * * * *
I’m absolutely exhausted and it’s only one o’clock. The moment we round the corner, Kellie yelps and comes charging towards us.
I look behind, fearing Saxon has followed us, but I see he’s not there.
“Where’s Saxon?” she cries. I scrunch up my nose, not sure why she would want to see him.
“He left,” Piper answers for me, while the burn of defeat chokes me.
“No! Where did he go?” She looks over my shoulder, moving her head from side to side to search between the crowds of people.
“I think he went back home, Kellie,” I reply, confused by her urgency.
“Shit!” she atypically curses, running back down the hallway and into Sam’s room. Her odd reaction has Piper and I both following in hot pursuit.
When we step into Samuel’s room, I’m hoping to see him sitting up and welcoming me into his arms. Sadly, I don’t. He’s still attached to all the machines, and there are still a group of doctors in white coats observing him.
Kellie is pacing, while Greg runs a hand over his jaw, his eyes glued on the doctors. “What’s going on?” I ask, rushing over to him.
My voice snaps him out of a trance. Looking over my shoulder, I know what his question is going to be before he opens his mouth. “Where’s Saxon?”
“He left. What’s going on, Greg?” I ask, this time not holding back my fear.
I’m seconds away from shaking him when he unevenly replies, “Samuel’s brain activity has been mounting in a slow, but steady pattern.”
My legs almost collapse out from under me. “That’s good news, right?”
He nods. “They believe something, some stimuli triggered this response.”
My breathing becomes deeper and deeper. “What stimuli?”
He looks defeated as he reveals, “They’ve looked over his charts and they believe it was some time yesterday, at around two o’clock.”
I close my eyes, my worst fears confirmed.
“What happened at two o’clock yesterday? We think we know, but we need you to confirm it.”
Everything is swirling around in my head, a torrential, wild river and I feel like I’m going to drown.
“Lucy? Sweetie? What happened?” Kellie begs, begs that I corroborate what we all know to be true.
The white noise is a steady rhythm, pounding against my skull. I wonder if it feels the same way for Samuel. Thoughts of Sam trapped within his body has me taking a deep breath. This is it. I know the answers—but it doesn’t make a lick of difference.
“I think it’s Saxon,” is all I can say.
Seven
The rest of the day is spent holding Samuel’s hand, begging him to show any sign, no matter how small, that he can hear me. As expected, I’m faced with radio silence. Doctors and nurses wander in throughout the afternoon, their grim expressions saying it all.
Dr. Kepler confirmed that there has been no further improvement since this morning, and sadly, his current brain activity is stagnant. When I asked him if he believed it was Saxon’s presence that triggered the response, he simply said the link between twins is a mystery that only the twins themselves can validate.
Seeing as one twin is comatose, while the other is a selfish bastard, I have to accept it as being a riddle I’ll never solve.
As I ascend our pebbled driveway, it’s no surprise that Saxon’s bike is gone. We’ve all tried calling him countless times, and we’ve all come up with nothing. His silence speaks for him, confirming that he doesn’t want to help.
Slamming my car door shut, I stagger to the front door, so many emotions plaguing me. At the forefront, I’m disappointed that Saxon turned out to be what I thought he wasn’t—an asshole. I don’t know what happened to turn him into an asshole, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
Pushing open the front door, I slip off my Nikes and amble down the long hallway and into my bedroom. I have no appetite, except for sleep. I decide to have a shower, as I’m desperate to wash away the remnants of this disastrous day.
My shower is quick, as I feel my eyes grow heavy the moment the warm spray massages out the abundant knots in my body. Just as I’m done brushing my teeth, I hear a light rapping on the door. Reaching for the flannel robe off the back of the door, I tie the belt around my waist, covering my penguin print pajama bottoms and frayed Green Peace t-shirt.
I’m not exactly dressed for company, but it could be someone important at my front door. As I turn the porch light on, I gasp, as that someone is important, very important. My bare feet squeak along the polished floorboards as I race towards the door. Yanking it open, I don’t know whether to kick him off my property or welcome him into my home.
“Can we talk?”
“I thought you said all you had to say this afternoon?” I bite back, folding my arms over my chest.
Saxon looks a mess. Most of his disheveled hair frames his downturned face. As if on cue, he brushes a strand behind his ear. “You have every right to be angry at me. I was a complete jerk.”
“Yes, you were,” I agree, seeing no point in being coy. “You seem to be making a habit of it. This time however, no lollipop is going to get you out of it. What do you want?”
He huffs, exasperated. “Can I please come in?”
I want to hate him, but I can’t, especially when those eyes remind me so much of Samuel’s. “Fine.” I step aside, opening the door wider.
He brushes past me, his signature fragrance somehow comforting me, but his confident swagger annoys me. I slam the door shut.
We walk in silence as I follow Saxon into the living room. I avoid looking over at the rug near the fireplace where many nights were spent snuggled in Sam’s arms. The moonlight streams in from the beautiful arched windows, highlighting the opulence in every corner. I used to love this room. Loved how the rustic feel complemented the elusive modern vibe. But now it just reminds me that I may spend the rest of my life appreciating it alone.
“I couldn’t leave knowing you were angry at me.”
“Well, guess what? You leaving guarantees I will be angry at you for a very long time. So save your apologies. Unless you’re here to tell me you’re staying, I have nothing further I wish to say to you.” I tenaciously stand my ground, making it clear I’m serious.
Saxon interlaces his hands behind his neck, shaking his head with an infuriated sigh. “I don’t ever remember you being this stubborn.”
“Ha, that’s because you don’t remember me at all. Do I need to remind you of all the times you were blatantly rude to me when I tried to say hello? Or what about the times I asked how your day was and you replied by turning up the TV?” I have no idea why I’m dredging up old memories. I didn’t even realize how much they bothered me until now.
Family is so important to me, considering my birth mom didn’t give a damn about me. I started my life as Baby M. I was named that due to the fact I was dumped on the front steps of St. Margaret’s church on a Monday night in the month of May. I was raised in the adjacent convent, but eventually, I was put into foster care.
For the first five years of my life, I was simply known as M. I didn’t have a real name, just M. Or sometimes, stupid. I bounced from foster home to foster home, never really feeling like I belonged anywhere. Some places were okay, but most were awful. I draw my lapels over my body when thinking about my home when I was four. Those scars, both inside and out, will never heal.
When a meeting was set with Maggie and Simon, I crossed my fingers and toes that they were the ones. She looked like an angel with her long, curly au
burn hair, and he looked like my Superman with his strong smile.
It was love at first sight.
The first song I heard playing on the radio while driving to my new home was the song I was named after. I remember a surge of excitement surging through my tiny veins and I danced, wiggled, and jiggled in my seat because I was free.
“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” by The Beatles is a song, regardless of how many times I’ve heard it before, that will always make me cry. As Simon and Maggie saw my first tears of happiness, they knew the name was perfect, and so did I.
I never sought out my biological parents because doing so felt like a big M itself—a big mistake.
So I suppose the reason why I’m so hurt at Saxon for snapping my olive branch in half time and time again is because regardless of the fact he hated me, I still saw him as family. And as much as I want to hate him now, I can’t. How can I? He’s the spitting image of my betrothed.
“I do remember you, Lucy. Someone like you is hard to forget,” he reveals. His comment catches me completely off guard. “Anyway,” he brushes off his openness quickly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I hope one day you’ll come to realize that I’m not the bad guy.”
I want to stomp my foot in protest. “Well, how about you let that day be today?” At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I step forward, interlacing my hands. “Please stay. Show your mom and dad; show Samuel that you’re not the bad guy. Whatever happened in the past—please, put it aside. I know I have no right to ask you this but if you were in Sam’s shoes, I would be asking him the same thing. Family is forever. For always. You may not like it, but you’re linked to Samuel. If he…dies—” the word slices through my throat “—I know a part of you will die with him.”
Saxon’s hard resolve dwindles, I can see it. This is the lucky break I was looking for.
“I promise you, if you stay, I will ensure that Sam—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because Saxon suddenly grows pale.
“Saxon?” I cock an eyebrow, wondering what’s wrong. “Are you all right?”