When the Heart Falls

My dad is silent on the drive home, but there’s a cautious optimism now hanging between us. I wonder if our hope is misplaced, if miracles can really happen like this. The way my dad talked, Stevie’s fate was inevitable. I didn't hear the conversation, so I don’t know if he’s reading more into the doctor’s prognosis than is warranted, but I pray to whatever god is listening that he spares Stevie. The moment I think the words, I cringe. Am I being selfish yet again? Wanting Stevie to stay trapped in his body, unable to communicate or do anything for himself, just so I don’t have to go through the pain of losing another brother?

I don’t know what to pray, what to ask for, because what I want and what Stevie needs to be happy might be two different things, and I can’t wrap my mind around this. The only prayer I can offer that doesn’t feel selfish or cruel, is to ask that whatever happens is in Stevie’s best interest. No matter the consequences to me and my family, for better or for worse, I want Stevie to have peace. Saying that prayer, a calm melancholy settles over me.

We pull up to the house, the familiarity coupled with something new. I’ve changed, I realize. I’m not the same man who left here a few months ago. This house no longer feels like home, but I’m not sure where home is anymore.

No, that’s not true. I think of Winter, of her smile, her eyes, her arms wrapped around me, and I know where home is. It’s wherever she is, and right now she is too far away. My heart has escaped my body and is walking Paris without me.

My mom rushes me the moment we walk into the house. “Cade, my boy. You made it.” Tears are streaming down her face, and I can tell they aren’t the first to fall from her red, swollen eyes.

Guilt tugs at my heart that she’s had to go through this alone for two days while my dad wasted precious time finding me. “I’m sorry, Mom. So sorry. Is he—”

She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “He’s still with us. He’s been asking for you.”

I leave my parents in the living room and head to Stevie’s room. Doc Maloney, our family physician since my dad was a boy, walks out the door. His white hair is a wild mass on his head, his hand carved in lifelines as he grips my arm and embraces me. “Cade, I’m glad you’re here.”

“How is he, Doc?”

“He improved; his pulse is stronger. I think he’s doing better, but… ”

“But?”

“I’ve seen this before. Patients show a last spike of strength while they wait for someone they love to say their goodbyes. I explained this to your parents, but they want to believe he’ll recover.”

My heart drops as his words sink in. “He’s just holding on for me.”

Doc’s eyes are full of tears. He delivered all of us; this pain is real for him, too. “I think so, though of course I can’t be sure. Miracles do happen.”

His voice doesn’t hold hope of a miracle, and I brace myself for the worst as I walk through the door to greet Stevie.

The husk of my brother lies in the bed, his body so emaciated I barely recognize him. I stifle a sob and sit in the chair next to his bed, reaching for his hand, careful not to pull any of the IVs hooked into him. “Hey, Stevie.”

His eyes open, head turning to look at me as he croaks a response.

“How you doing, buddy? Doc treating you okay? Giving you some good drugs for the pain?”

Stevie’s lip twitches into a frown, but I can’t interpret what that means.

“I’m back now, buddy. I’m sorry I left you for so long, but I’m back. I’m here.” I want to tell him to hang on, to stay here for me, for my family, but looking at him now, I know I can’t. If you love someone, you can’t hold on to them so tightly that you destroy them. Isn’t that what Dad’s been doing to all of us? I can’t do that to him. “I wish you could have come to Paris with me. Remember that day when you called me and I was on the Eiffel Tower?”

He jerks his head, and I think he remembers. I like to believe he does. I reach into my pocket and pull out something. “I took a picture for you. Just like I promised."