Half-Truths

by Randileigh Kennedy

  I called Brie right away, and as she broke down at the news. I cried even harder. As we spoke, I could see Sawyer talking to his mom. Minutes later she drove away, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. In the moment, I couldn’t feel anything, though I wasn’t sure how much was an actual loss of feeling toward Sawyer over everything that had just happened or the real pain I was feeling now over my father. I didn’t care about anything else at the moment.

  Within a few minutes, a silver SUV pulled into the drive. I knew it was my ride.

  “Please, Whit, let me go with you. I don’t want you to be alone right now,” Sawyer pleaded.

  “I felt alone twenty minutes ago before I got this news about my dad,” I said honestly. I wasn’t trying to intentionally hurt him, but this was all too much for me. “Maybe your mom was right. Maybe we are all a little bit broken. But it’s about what you do with it, Sawyer. You can pretend it doesn’t exist. I guess if that’s what gets you through it, then that becomes your truth. But for me, this isn’t how I love—keeping things from people I care about. My family, Sawyer—they love big. It’s real, and it’s honest, and it means something. My dad made a promise when I was a little girl that he would love me forever, and he kept it. That’s a big deal. No one does that anymore. Everyone is too broken to just simply love someone or mean what they say. I hate that. I don’t know how ‘words’ became so trivial to people. I don’t know when they lost their power or meaning. Words are everything to me, Sawyer. They exhale out of me with every breath. That’s why I write. Words are the most powerful thing I can feel. And all I feel now is weak and broken.”

  I climbed into the SUV, offering Sawyer a half wave goodbye. I thought for a brief moment of the first night I saw him in the park. He had made fun of my exit—my half wave—before I walked away from him. Yet I didn’t have any more to give him now. I felt like we were back there, not knowing much about each other, leaving each other with impersonal, awkward gestures.

  His eyes were heavy as the SUV backed out of the driveway. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked empty, unsure of what to do. I felt selfish for leaving him in the midst of his own crisis—something big that affected him a great deal. But at the same time, my grief was just beginning. It felt light years away from the grief he’d been ignoring for the past twenty years.

  Within an hour the SUV arrived at the airport. Forty minutes later I was sitting on a plane, unsure of how my meltdown was going to play out while airborne. I had moments where deep sobs were the only thing I knew to do. Occasionally I could let out a combination laugh and cry. I tried thinking of happy, funny memories of my father, but the realization that those things might come to a dark, final end—that’s when the tears started back up. The three vodka tonics I ordered didn’t seem to be helping.

  It was pitch-black by the time the plane touched down in Mountain Ridge. My brother was waiting for me by the exit doors. I was grateful to see him.

  “How’s she doing?” I questioned as he wrapped me in a big hug.

  “She’s handling this way better than anyone else,” he confirmed, releasing me and walking me to his car parked out in the front lot. “Are you really surprised to hear that?”

  “Not at all.” I shook my head.

  Warren gave me a few more details as we made the drive home from the airport . Despite the success of his surgery, his heart was just too weak to recover. The heart transplant was the only chance he had now, and that still wasn’t a certainty. If that didn’t work, that was it—there were no other options. He would become a memory, and I couldn’t fathom what that would do to me.

  I thought of the time I’d spent with my dad when I was last in town. It was full of the sorrow of saying goodbye to him and preparing for the worst, but it was also so much more. We bonded throughout those two weeks, and my family was closer because of it. It was bittersweet to be back in this position again, with the possibility of not saying goodbye after all. We were somehow prepared for it in many ways, yet I still felt blindsided by it all at the same time.

  As we walked into the house, we were greeted by many family members. I got warm, squishy kisses from my grandmas all over again, and I was thrilled to see that Grandma Sally had kept her new blonde hair. Casseroles were pouring in from neighbors, and phone calls were repetitive as we rehashed the news to anyone who may have not have heard it.

  People filtered out around eleven, and Warren and I finally had some time alone with our mom.

  “How are you really holding up?” I asked as we sat around the dining room table.

  “I still have some flights to book in the morning, and I have a bunch of paperwork to file tomorrow,” she said calmly. “The doctors are making arrangements with his surgeon to get him to a transplant center, and there are a few options to figure out there. I’ll need to make some additional calls and handle a few more things—”

  “Mom,” I cut her off. “How are you? I’m not asking what else needs to be done. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Tears streamed down her face, and I knew she needed this silence around us. She had no time to fall apart in crowded rooms or when there were task lists to make. But now, comforted by just the two of us, it needed to happen.

  We sat there for at least an hour, crying and talking. We recounted happy stories and shared our heartbreak. It was interesting how well those things went hand in hand. We were happy and full of smiles when talking about my father, but the tears that fell simultaneously couldn’t be stopped. There was just too much to feel, and no better time to get it all out than with the three of us together.

  Around one in the morning, Warren pulled out the orange sherbet. We clinked our spoons together and dug in. We shared more memories in the midst of our heartache, and it felt right in the weirdest of ways. Anyone looking in on us from the outside wouldn’t have understood it. But we did, and that’s all that mattered. Whatever was going to happen, we would get through it together.

  The next day was a whirlwind. More family came by, more casseroles were delivered, and my mom rushed around trying to handle it all. They locked down the details for a transplant center just an hour away over the California border, and there was the possibility of an available heart in that vicinity within the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. That was the most difficult fact for us to deal with—the idea that another family had to lose someone for us to have even the slightest chance of saving our own loved one. It felt wrong on so many levels, yet that was the only grasp at hope we had. The more I thought about it, the crueler life felt. It seemed impossible to wrap my head around any kind of celebration knowing someone else was grieving, but yet deep down I still wanted it desperately. We learned that the donor had been involved in a motorcycle crash the day before. The prognosis for the victim was not good, and odds were likely they wouldn’t make it. My mom immediately went to her knees, and I so badly wanted to know the words she prayed. I wasn’t sure what to even ask for. I wanted any chance at a miracle for my father, but not at the expense of someone else having to feel the exact thing I would be going through if it didn’t happen. It ate at me, and I so badly wanted to think of anything else.

  We were able to see my father briefly at the hospital, but he was asleep, full of tubes and machines. I wasn’t sure he could hear us. I still squeezed his hand and whispered the most sincere I love you anyone has ever uttered, and we were ushered out of the hospital. I felt completely drained.

  Later that afternoon, after spending more time with our extended family as we waited for news, Warren asked if I wanted to go for a drive to get a break from the sadness in the room. There wasn’t much left we could do at this point. The hospital wasn’t allowing any more visitors for the time being, as they were preparing my dad for surgery. There was a very narrow time frame for transplants, so they were doing all they could to be ready if the call came. We likely wouldn’t be able to see him again until the surgery was over.

  “I think getting out of the house sounds good,” I a
dmitted. I welcomed the distraction. All the waiting was the worst of it. It felt pointless and made us all feel helpless, and I hated that.

  We climbed into my parents’ SUV and headed west.

  “So where’s the Uber driver?” he asked casually as we drove around the lake with the windows down. The warm sunshine felt good on my skin. “I wasn’t sure if he was coming with you this time.”

  “That’s a story in itself.” I sighed, unsure of how much of a recap I wanted to give to my brother. Sawyer had called a couple of times the night before, but I couldn’t answer. It wasn’t the right time. I was disappointed he didn’t leave any messages though. I wanted to hear his voice. Even then, I wasn’t sure what to do. He had a lot to work through. And now, I wasn’t sure what mountains I had to overcome myself.

  “It’s already over?” He pried for more information. “That’s a bummer. I actually kind of liked that one.”

  “So did I,” I murmured. “It just got . . . complicated. Like everything in life I guess. Do you ever wonder if it’s possible to really truly know someone?”

  “I know everything about you, don’t I?” he countered with a raised brow. “You’re adventurous but constantly second-guessing yourself. You’re loud, but somehow you beg to sit in silence to write every chance you get. You have an awesome brother. You like uncomfortable shoes for some reason. You’ll never be as funny as me no matter how hard you try. That’s at least the gist of you.” I playfully punched his arm. “It’s impossible to know everything about someone, Whit,” he continued. “Look at Mom and Dad. They’ve been married for a quarter of a century, and it just recently came out that Mom rode a motorcycle in college.”

  “Our mom rode a motorcycle?” I gasped in complete shock. “She’s like . . .a mom. She has no business on a motorized anything. She’s too cautious for that. How are we just learning this now?”

  “I guess some guy she dated before Dad had a bike. Sometimes when she couldn’t afford gas, she would take his motorcycle to campus instead.”

  “Warren, stop talking. That’s too weird.” I giggled. “I cannot picture her on a motorcycle. Or even with a different guy.” We laughed together, and I imagined he was picturing the same awkward, uncoordinated image I was. My mother seriously had no business on a motorcycle.

  “That’s what makes it interesting I think,” Warren said thoughtfully. “If you can be around someone all that time and still learn more about them, I think that’s actually kind of fascinating. Where’s the fun in knowing everything?”

  “I get that to some degree, but some things should be shared up front.” I shook my head. “Sawyer would’ve made things a lot easier if he was just honest with me from the beginning. There was so much I didn’t know about him. Big stuff . . . important stuff. Then it all came out at once, by accident. Some of the fundamental things I thought I knew about him weren’t even true. That bothers me. It’s one thing to not know them—the ‘mystery’ of getting to know someone and all that. But Sawyer misled me on purpose. There’s a difference.”

  “We’re all just trying to be better versions of ourselves, Whit. You’re no different. You hide behind your insecurities in your own way. I hear how everyone talks about you. You come back home, and everyone thinks you’re some big-time Nashville star, living some kind of TV life. I run into your old high school friends out at the bars, and they’re gushing at how successful you are, talking about the pictures you post all over social media with ‘Kip,’ going on and on about the events you attend and the celebrities you hang with. But really you’re moaning to Mom about spreadsheets because you can’t afford a plane ticket. I even saw you put on the spot, letting all our aunts and uncles and our parents’ friends think you’re hot shit in Tennessee, and you didn’t correct them. We all get caught up in that cycle, Whit—letting people believe what they want to believe.”

  “That’s different.” I didn’t want to admit he had a tiny, very small, miniscule point.

  “Is it? I mean, sure, maybe you weren’t actually lying, but you let them think what they wanted. You never exactly tell the world up front that you’re poor and still somewhat unsuccessful.”

  “I told Sawyer that immediately,” I said sheepishly, staring back out the window. “I actually was honest with him about my failures, and look where that got me. He made up his own story anyway, despite my honesty. What’s the point?”

  “Ultimately he cares about you, right? So maybe you should cut him a break. What’s one of the things Mom has said repeatedly to us throughout our lives? Forgiveness isn’t for the other person, it’s for you. You know that lesson, Whit. Maybe you should ease up on him a bit. I’m not saying what he did is right or wrong, but we all have our reasons.”

  “Warren, this is a weird conversation,” I snickered, trying to lighten the mood. “I am not involving you in my love life.”

  “It’s too late.” He shrugged with a stupid grin on his face. “He’s already made me an accomplice.”

  “What do you mean?” I narrowed my eyes as Warren pulled the SUV off the main road and into the parking lot for Moonshine Park. “What are we doing here?”

  “He called me,” Warren explained, “and he told me what happened. He cares about you, Whit. I can tell. I’m not telling you what to do. I know it’s none of my business. But as your little brother, and with you living so far away from us, I like the feeling of someone good watching out for you. Maybe just hear him out. He’s not perfect, Whit, obviously. No one is. All this stuff we’re going through with Dad—not one single person has come through here with any grievances about the small stuff. Not one. That’s not what actually matters at the end.”

  “I know,” I said softly. “I just wish everything in this life was easier.” I looked out the window at the few other cars parked in the lot. A familiar boy, one I’d stared at so many times over the past couple of months, hopeful he would be the last one I would ever lie with under the summer sky, climbed out of an ugly gold Ford Taurus. He turned toward our SUV. “Warren, what’s going on?” I asked, in shock my brother had anything to do with this.

  “I know as your annoying little brother I piss you off a lot, but I love you anyway. And the fact that this guy called me, wanting my help to fix this—I think that means something. Just hear him out. Give him a chance. If it goes south, call me, and I’ll pick you right back up. We’ll go do shots of Jaeger until you puke, and we’ll never speak his name again.”

  “That was as good a pep talk as Brie would’ve given me.” I giggled.

  “I actually called her to get her advice on all this,” Warren admitted with a sly smile. “She agreed with me, so get out of the car.”

  I looked up to see Sawyer leaning against his ugly rental car. His hands were tucked into his dark jeans. He looked casual in a white T-shirt with blue sleeves, and he was wearing my favorite baseball hat, the one he’d worn around the cabin when we spent our days falling in love under the summer sun.

  I climbed out of the SUV, and of course my brother wasted no time in peeling out of the parking lot. At least I knew I could walk home from here if I needed to.

  “His name was Walter Wright,” Sawyer stated as I approached him.

  “What?” Those were not the first words I expected out of his mouth. He led me over to the bench we’d sat on before, the one overlooking the water. I appreciated the nostalgia of the spot, but it also felt like he was preying on my weakness.

  “When I said the old man was a doctor, I wasn’t talking about my father. His name was Walter Wright, and he was a doctor—more specifically a pediatric endocrinologist,” he explained. “He’s the other man who died in the car accident. He was fifty-eight years old. No wife and no children, as he was ‘married to his job,’ according to his colleagues. I read his name in the paper. My grandparents tried to shield me from any news about the accident, and certainly from the court hearings and such. But for my grandpa, of course, that newspaper came every day. He would give the comics to me while he read the borin
g stuff. Then he would go fishing, and I would sneak the paper away and scour it for information. I read an article about Walter, a local hometown hero who not only cared about children but also was involved in the community, raising money for charities and such. His name stuck in my head, and it ate a hole in me. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I obviously grieved the loss of my father, but I also somehow grieved for this other man too, even though I’d never met him.”

  Sawyer’s voice was choked up as he spoke. I watched his face. His eyes were full of emotion.

  “My grandparents’ church had a rummage sale shortly after I moved in with them after the accident,” he continued. “I saw this row of books—medical journals, stuff like that. Big, thick, boring-looking books that shouldn’t interest a six-year-old. I opened one just because I was fascinated by the sheer size of it, and right away I noticed an inscription on the inside. It was written to Walter Wright, and his name clicked immediately. The older woman behind the table saw my interest in them. She told me if I wanted them, I could have them all for free. She told me Walter would’ve wanted them to go to a young boy who had the potential to change the world. It was the first time anyone had ever said something like that to me. I’ll never forget that moment. My grandparents agreed to let me take the books home. I poured everything into reading them. That part of the story I told you was completely true—I read them all, one by one. I mean, for a while I just skimmed them, looking for words I knew, stuff like that. But as I got older, I actually read them all, front to back.”

  “So that’s why you wanted to become a doctor,” I stated quietly, still staring at his face.