Goodnight, Brian

by Steven Manchester

  Peter was at a complete loss for words.

  “Will you forgive me?” Bob asked.

  “Already did…a long time ago,” Peter managed, past the lump in his throat.

  Bob’s eyes filled and he hugged the decent man that stood before him. “I’m so happy Heidi picked you,” he whispered. “Welcome to our family.”

  Peter’s eyes filled, too, and he returned the embrace. Looking sharp in his black tuxedo, Brian walked over and hugged them both.

  Seated in the front row, Mama watched the entire exchange and nodded with pride. “Looks like your Uncle Bob has finally grown up,” she told Angie. “And that your brother still refuses to miss out on a hug.”

  Angie laughed.

  Beneath a pink rose-covered gazebo – and with Brian by their side – Heidi and Peter exchanged vows. Filled with nerves, Brian fumbled with the rings. Peter all but stopped the ceremony to patiently assist him. Mama’s eyes filled. The deep love the young couple felt for each other was so pure and transparent that both families quietly wept. The preacher pronounced them man and wife, and they kissed. Bob clapped almost as loud as Brian – who’d been previously warned by Mama not to join in on the couple’s first kiss.

  The reception was held just across the manicured lawn. In rhythm with the tide, a harp and piano duet played softly beneath the striped awning of a stoned archway terrace. The smell of fresh-cut grass competed with the warm salty breezes. Neatly dressed servers carried trays of hors d’oeuvres and colorful glasses of wine, while guests offered their congratulations to the newly married couple before mingling in small groups. Everyone was dressed lightly in the hope of a warm evening breeze. The photographer made his rounds and shot roll after roll of film. Bottles of wine were emptied before the sun went down and the night’s first stars gradually appeared. Guests were gently ushered into the manor for dinner.

  Inside the manor, there was a lovely circular staircase, huge fireplaces and quaint sitting rooms lit by hurricane lamps. Just inside the library, a bar was set up. French blue linens complemented the baroque interior. The dining room walls opened to the terrace where small candlelit tables with white linen cloths surrounded the perimeter. Seasonal floral centerpieces and tiny silver picture-frame Christmas ornaments were placed on each table; special details that promised an unforgettable night. It was absolutely gorgeous, with perfect views of the water and landscaped grounds.

  To a room full of raised glasses, Brian fought past his choking fear of public speaking and offered a brief but heartfelt toast. “To Biddy and Pa,” the best man said. “Low you.” The entire room sighed. “Low you,” he repeated, making sure everyone had received his message.

  Mama looked at Joan and grinned. “We should have invited Brian’s pediatricians to see this,” she whispered.

  Joan slapped her arm and laughed. She was overwhelmed with pride.

  And Brian – he was as proud as a bride’s father, strutting around in his black tuxedo. The photographer shot pictures all night – hundreds of them – with Brian at the center of most. Heidi and Peter went out of their way to make the celebration as much Brian’s as it was theirs. Even Peter’s family embraced him throughout the night. Mama and Joan were overjoyed.

  Dinner was served in the elegant dining room where guests ate surrounded by the romantic details of the French chateau. The catered food was a mix of Italian favorites and soul food.

  It was a magical night; two different cultures brought together to celebrate a deep and beautiful love. To the eye, it looked like a chess board – black and white intermingled. The room was filled with love; the coming together of two families.

  After dinner, an enormous set of doors were opened to reveal a ballroom with giant beveled mirrors, crystal chandeliers and French blue-satin window dressings. Soft music wafted on the sea breezes and carried the guests into the exquisite room. As they made their way in, Peter approached the small musical ensemble and picked up an acoustic guitar that was leaning against an empty chair. He slung the strap over his shoulder and turned to face his expectant audience. “This is my first gift to my wife – a song that I wrote but decided not to share with her until tonight.” While the crowd sighed, he gestured for Heidi to sit before him in the empty chair. “It’s called Mi Bella…My Beautiful.”

  From the moment his fingers strummed the guitar strings, the crowd fought back the tears that both Peter and Heidi let go freely. Mama grabbed a tissue from her pocketbook, wiped her eyes and turned to Steph. “Your sister’s life will be filled with love,” she whispered. “God bless them both.”

  Overwhelmed with emotion, the new groom was unable to sing the final verse. It didn’t matter. The guitar spoke for his soul, and the room swayed until the last note rang out. For a moment, there was silence – and then Brian clapped.

  The rest of the night was a tasteful mix of tradition and the couple’s own style. It was elegant and classy, without being stuffy. When it was time to cut the wedding cake, they fed each other pieces of the cake in front of a mob of flashing cameras, but it wasn’t a formal white cake. It was carrot cake – Heidi’s favorite. Brian waited behind Peter for his turn. While the crowd cheered them on, Heidi fed her happy cousin a generous piece.

  For their first dance as husband and wife, Peter had researched an old Italian tradition where the newly married couple got wrapped in silk ribbons until they were bound together as one. He wanted to surprise Heidi with this. Mama, Brian and the clan were more than happy to oblige his considerate request.

  For the father and daughter dance, Heidi chose Summer Wind by old Blue Eyes. With the salty breeze blowing the curtains back, it was perfect. “I love you, sweetheart,” Bob sobbed into her ear. “And I’m so happy for the both of you.”

  “I love you, too,” Heidi wept. “We both do.” She smiled. “And thank you for all of this, Daddy…for this amazing day.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, moving her around the floor. “It’s my honor.”

  Once all the traditions had been met, the live musicians were replaced by a D.J. The lights came down, the volume went up and the party began. Everyone danced. Even Mama swayed for a few moments with her handsome escort – Brian.

  During one of the slow songs, Heidi stole her cousin away. As they danced, she remembered when she was a kid; the doctors saying that Brian would never walk and the devastation the whole family felt. “And now here we are – dancing,” she thought aloud.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Brian smiled at her.

  She leaned into his ear. “I’m so proud of you, Brian,” she whispered. “You’ve proven that even the impossible is possible. And you’ve given each one of us the courage we needed to be our true selves and to live our lives to the fullest.” Her eyes filled. “Thank you for that.”

  He pushed away and peered into her eyes. “Weecome, Biddy.” He smiled again. “Low, Biddy.”

  “And I love you, too,” she told him, before planting a big kiss on his cheek.

  Although Mama was thrilled to take part in the celebration, it didn’t take long for her legs to surrender. After trading her Cornflake cookie recipe for Peter’s grandmother’s pecan pie recipe, she approached Heidi and Peter on the dance floor. They stopped in middance and faced her. She grabbed each of their faces and smiled. “I wish you all the love that I’ve known in my life,” she yelled over the music, and then kissed them both.

  “Thank you for sharing this night with us, Mama,” Heidi said. “I know you haven’t felt well…”

  Mama shook her curly gray head. “Girl, I wouldn’t have missed this for all the stardust in the sky.”

  She then looked into Peter’s eyes. “Thank you again,” she said. “I’ll never forget that proud smile on Brian’s face when he stood at your side today.”

  Peter hugged her. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him,” he promised.

  Mama kissed him. “And from what I’ve seen, that’s a mutual thing. Brian loves you very much.”

  As if on cue,
Brian wrapped his arms around them both and gave a long, hard squeeze. Heidi jumped into the pile for a group hug.

  Mama scanned the young couple’s eyes. “You hold onto each and never let go, okay?”

  As Mama and Brian broke away, Peter pulled Heidi closer to him. They both nodded. Mama winked, grabbed Brian’s hand and hobbled away.

  On the terrace outside, Mama took Brian’s hand. “You did real good tonight,” she told him. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

  He gushed with pride. “Yets, Mama.”

  Mama pointed up at the sky. The moon was full and lit the night. “Luna bella,” she said, nodding. “These are the nights we live for, my boy.”

  Back at the cottage, Mama took three pills and washed them down with a tumbler of water. She limped to her chair and flopped down into it. She reached for her legs and tried to rub out the spikes that hammered into her brittle bones. The cancer felt like termites eating their way through an old, dry rotted shed. “Oh, Lord, please ease my pain tonight. It’s something awful.”

  The Lawrence Welk rerun hadn’t even released its first wave of bubbles when both the pills and the prayer took effect. She breathed deeply and drifted off. Her snoring could have woken the dead…

  Mama opened her eyes to a vast expanse of rich, rolling countryside dotted with cypress trees. In the distance, there were several grazing sheep, but the shepherd was nowhere in sight. Beyond them, at the outskirts of a silvery olive grove, she could barely make out a small house. It appeared to be made of stone. Or maybe it’s stucco? she wondered. It’s the color of melted creamsicles. On each side of it, there were small groves of trees. Fruit – fig and pear, she guessed. The sun was warm on her back and a slight breeze tickled her neck. It felt like the first day of spring; everything was green and rich and bursting with life. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked up at the bluest sky she’d ever seen. A few puffy clouds floated above. Besides the wind, only her breathing could be heard – slow, relaxed, and in perfect rhythm with the beat of her heart. Another scan of the hills revealed no human life. Yet, she felt anything but alone. She smiled.

  Looking to her left, for the first time she noticed two straight rows of tall, green cypress trees lining a red clay roadway, the sun illuminating its natural path. Streams of light danced upon the path, auditioning for her attention. Without a thought, she turned and started for the path, an old Italian song coming to mind. “Viva Tuscany,” she started humming aloud, her smile growing wider.

  As she followed the path, an old man dressed in soiled work clothes and a worn soft hat was whistling. He worked on his hands and knees, weeding out the base of an ancient stone wall. She approached. He looked up and smiled. His face was tan and weathered; his eyes, kind and aqua blue. “Ciao, Bella,” he called out.

  “Ciao, Signor,” she replied.

  He tipped his hat and smiled again. Without another word, he returned to his work and his whistling. Mama journeyed on.

  At the end of the path, she came upon a field of daisies that looked like it went on forever. Butterflies and doves joined her as she walked, the breeze carrying them all toward something better. In a clearing, she stopped to watch a doe and her fawn prancing about. The scene brought so much joy that she laughed aloud. For whatever reason, it felt like a sign – though she couldn’t understand what it might be. She took three steps forward when she looked up again to discover that she’d just entered the outskirts of a small Italian village. “It’s Italy!” she gasped. “I’ve finally made it to Italy!” Afternoon had just turned to dusk.

  Her young, healthy legs carried her on adrenaline and curiosity. At the edge of the small villa, she walked past an outdoor market that was closing for the day. Men and women packed up boxes of their baked goods – bread, cakes and biscuits. There was also an inventory of cheeses, cookbooks, coffee, kitchenware, pasta, oils, vinegars and wine. There was lots of red wine. “Buona Sera, Bella,” a copper-faced man called out.

  “Buona Sera, Signor,” she replied and hurried toward the center of town, wondering why this was the second stranger to address her by her childhood nickname.

  The tiny villa was a menagerie of cobblestone streets and intimate cafes. It was so wonderfully congested that it appeared each building was no more than an addition of the one before it. The smell of espresso filled the sweet spring air, challenged by the salami and cheese that hung in nearby shops. White, twinkling lights – strung from tree to tree – illuminated a smile on every face. Some waved at her as she walked by. She returned the gesture, oddly grateful that her presence had not gone unnoticed. The old cathedral called out to its faithful, its bells echoing through the granite square. As she approached the stone statues of angels and saints, two old women sang in Italian, a soft breeze carrying their notes toward the heavens. Love was all around – everywhere – and the world was perfect. She took a seat at the fountain in the middle of the square and scanned every inch that surrounded her: the architecture of the ancient provincial buildings was breathtaking, food peddlers and lovers protected beneath the terraces that overlooked the villa; balconies that were filled with terracotta pots of roses, wildflowers, and tiny pear trees. The faint scents of lemon and thyme wafted on the breeze. And then she heard the sound of water. She stood and looked back. It’s not the fountain, she knew. It’s the ocean – the tide coming in and out.

  Drawn by its call, she hurried through the square and made her way down a narrow alley that led out to a long, wooden dock. She could see cobalt and turquoise dancing on everything. She squinted to see the Italian port filled with sailors mending fishing nets and singing about the day’s great catch. It’s everything I ever thought it would be…everything I ever told Brian about and more. With the taste of salt on her tongue, she licked her lips and picked up the pace. This feels like heaven…

  Mama awakened and sat motionless in her gray chair. At peace, she looked around the room until disappointment crept into her heart. And then – in one sudden surge – the pain came rushing back. It felt like cleavers being tossed into her hips and legs. She cried out and struggled to free herself from the chair. “Where are those painkillers?” she asked aloud. “Dear God, where are they?”

  Chapter 25

  Winter 1993

  Angie was enraged and could no longer contain it. “Sure, you’re tough on me, but for as long as I can remember, you’ve let the doctors push you around when it comes to Brian!” she screamed at her mother.

  Joan was furious with her daughter for the sharp tongue and constant negativity, but Angie was right. She’d always been intimidated by the doctors and their orders for Brian. “I’ve done the best I could,” she snapped back. “We’re not all as tough as you, Angie.”

  Angie stared out the passenger window. “Well, at least I wouldn’t have let Dad quit on this family,” she muttered.

  Before she could finish, Joan grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze until she had Angie’s undivided attention. “You listen to me, little girl. You want to pick on me, then that’s one thing – but your dad’s not even here to defend himself.” Joan pulled the van over to the side of the road and threw the shifter into park. “And for the record, your dad never quit on this family. He’s been there for you kids every step of the way, and has done the best he’s known how. Don’t you dare…”

  Angie’s shoulders started to shudder and the tears began to break. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Joan pulled Angie to her and let the girl sob. “I know you’re angry about a lot of things, sweetheart, but you need to let it go. The person you’re really hurting is yourself.”

  Angie continued to cry for awhile. When she’d finally composed herself, she nodded once, gave her mom a final squeeze and said, “But you are a push-over when it comes to Brian’s doctors.”

  Joan laughed. “I’ll make you a deal then. I’ll try to be tougher, if you…”

  “If I’m not so angry all the time, right?”

  Jo
an smiled. “Deal?”

  “Okay,” Angie said and returned to her seat.

  “Good,” Joan sighed, and pulled back onto the road. “Now, let’s go root for your brother.”

  The gymnasium was packed; family and friends in attendance to cheer for their heroes. Lisa rallied her basketball team into a close huddle. Dressed in red and gold, Brian, their leader, placed his hand into the middle. “Go, go now.”

  Ricky remained seated on the bench.

  Brian waved him over. “Now Ra.”

  The boy jumped up and hurried into the circle. He placed his hand on top of the sweaty pile.

  Lisa smiled. “Okay, gentlemen, this is what we’ve been practicing for all year. I expect you to do your best, but can anyone tell me what the most important thing is?”

  Jerome – a tall, skinny teen with thick eyeglasses – raised his hand and yelled out, “FUN! FUN! FUN!”

  Lisa gave him a high-five. “You’re absolutely right, buddy! The main thing out there is for all of you to have fun.” She searched each of their smiling faces and nodded. “Okay then, let’s hear it on three. One…two…three…”

  “Go Tee!” everyone yelled. Brian pulled his socks up to his knees and ran out onto the court, leading his squad into battle. The crowd roared.

  On the polished parquet floor, Brian took his place in the center of the court and faced his opponent. They shared a smile and an awkward handshake. John, the referee, addressed both teams. “Let’s have fun today, boys, and I expect fair play. You all know the rules, right?” Everyone nodded. He smiled, placed the whistle into his mouth and gave it a blast of air. Brian and the opposing center crouched, ready to leap. After a pregnant pause, John tossed the ball into the air. To the cheers of the crowd, Brian tipped the ball back to his teammate, Victor. The game had begun.