“Am I?”
“Yes. When I met you, you were in a terrible place, with challenges most people never even think of, but you and Shaun are strong. You’ve both got stout spirits, as my father used to say.” She squeezed his arm. “You’re doing great.”
He smiled and put his hand over hers. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.”
Farah released her hold and made a batting motion with her hand. “Pah, I just make sure you both don’t starve.” She turned, and pulled the door open to the storm. “I’ll see you Monday,” she said, and was gone in a whirl of wind that spit rain onto the floor before she shut the door.
“Monday,” Evan said, not liking the dead sound of his voice in the empty hall, as thunder rolled in a renewed wave outside.
~
They spent the rest of the evening playing. Evan helped Shaun to the table, holding his son’s hands in his own while Shaun walked in an awkward limp to his chair. After strapping him in, Evan dealt out a game of brightly colored, numbered cards designed to stimulate eye focus and cognitive function. They played for an hour, Shaun’s laughter echoing through the warmth of the house while the rain poured down outside and thunder shook the roof from time to time.
When Evan finally glanced at the clock, he saw that it was eight thirty, a half hour past Shaun’s bedtime. They proceeded through their evening ritual. He helped Shaun go to the bathroom, steadying him on the toilet so he wouldn’t fall off. He brushed his son’s teeth and combed his hair, then carried him into his room, Shaun’s eyes already beginning to close.
“Moon?” Shaun asked, as Evan tucked him beneath his blankets.
“Moon?” Evan smiled. “Goodnight Moon?”
“Moon,” Shaun said. His small face brightened as Evan pulled the ever-present book from the bedside table and began to read.
Before the third page, Shaun’s breathing became deep, his eyelids closed, and an occasional snore drifted out of his open mouth.
“Night, buddy,” Evan said, folding the book closed before returning it to its place. He leaned down and kissed Shaun’s forehead, the boy’s skin soft and cool, always smelling of soap. “We’re going to be okay, son, Daddy’s going to make sure.”
Evan hesitated, his eyes becoming watery again. Without needing to look, he reached to the table and snapped the baby monitor on and stood. The storm had quieted, and now only a light drizzle fell in slithering streams against the windows. He watched Shaun for a moment longer, then moved to the door, swinging it partially shut but not closed.
~
He walks down the hallway, the doors to either side of him bustling and beeping with life and activity, his eyes searching for her room number. He feels flattened inside, ironed by the foreknowledge that something is terribly wrong. There it is—436. He angles inside and sees the doctor with white hair sitting on a stool, one hand on the desk, the other perched on Elle’s knee. Tears on her face, not good ones, the sad kind. She looks up and he knows.
He knows.
~
He came awake, opening his eyes to the darkness of the room, his breath still calm in his chest, his heart not beating too fast. He licked his lips and rolled to the side, Elle’s side—so empty—and checked Shaun’s monitor. The low hiss of white noise and soft breathing came from its speaker. Evan lay back, closing his eyes again, but couldn’t help himself and glanced at the clock: 5:33.
He walked to the kitchen, gazed out of the windows, and watched the horizon change from shadow upon shadow to tinged gray to a mushroom of golden light growing with each minute in the east. His eyes never left the glow, and when the first edge of sun cut the new day into dawn, he picked up his cell phone, hitting a single button to dial the number.
“My God, it’s called sleep, you should try it sometime,” Jason said, his voice thick.
Evan smiled a little. “When can I start?”
4
Long Lake appeared on the right when Evan least expected it.
The white birch, oaks, and towering pines lining either side of the road fell away and gave them their first view of the lake. Its name became apparent within a glance. The body of water was wide and curving, resembling a crescent moon. Whitecap waves rolled toward the highway and broke on the rock-studded shore. The wind, slight when they’d left the last gas station twenty miles back, became prominent, pushing and pulling the minivan as they drove.
“Shaun, do you see the lake?” Evan asked, pointing toward the water while he navigated a curve.
Shaun shifted in his seat. “Ahhh,” he said, as the lake vanished behind a veil of trees. “Wha?”
Evan glanced in the rearview mirror, taking in his son’s disappointed features. “It’ll come back, buddy, wait a second.”
The road twisted to the right, and a sign appeared, hewn in rustic letters and hanging from a post made to look like a pine tree. “Mill River welcomes you, population six hundred ninety-three,” Evan read aloud. “Six hundred ninety-five now, huh, buddy?”
Shaun smiled in the mirror.
Does he even understand you?
Evan clenched his jaw and shoved the niggling voice away. He understands me, he thought. I can look into his eyes and see that he does.
The thorn of doubt that accompanied him everywhere tried to raise its voice again, but he shut it down, humming a tuneless melody instead. Ahead, Mill River came into view.
It was a postcard come to life. The highway became Main Street, with a fifteen-mile-per-hour speed limit. Storefronts lined the left side of the road, while the lake made a panoramic sweep opposite the buildings. A few cafés and coffee shops studded the beginning of the first block, followed by a general store, then a small grocery, and finally a Holiday station. The street rose, and at its top sat a white, steepled church, its bell tower at least fifty feet from the ground.