A Thousand Letters(3)

That was the sum total of my knowledge, but I was never able to let him go. Didn't matter that I knew nothing. The boy who I walked away from lived on in the wreckage of my heart, and I never stopped wishing things had been different.

Maybe he hadn't gotten my letters. Maybe he'd never know how I felt. Or maybe he'd read every one. Maybe he'd burned them all without breaking the seal of the envelopes.

Maybe I'd never know.

My niece Maven woke from her nap — her little voice carried over the monitor as she played in her crib. And with that, I wiped my tears and made my way to her room, grateful for her love, which she gave freely and without condition. She hugged me around the neck, reminding me just what it was like to feel tenderness after so long without.



Wade

I took a deep breath as the cab pulled to a stop outside of Mt. Sinai, eyeing the entrance to the hospital with my throat in a clamp. My father was in that building, lying in a hospital bed.

I had no idea what I would find inside those walls.

The second Sophie had called me, time began to move differently, fast and slow. The words had turned around and around in my mind as I spoke with my supervisor, who granted me leave. I'd packed my bag and rushed to the airport, getting on the first commercial flight I could. And I spent eight hours on the plane, staring out the window with every fear whispering to me.

A stroke. I didn't know what it meant other than he needed me, so here I was.

My mind was everywhere but where I was as I paid the cab driver and unloaded my duffle bag. I didn't feel the fatigue of the flight or the hunger from not having eaten, only icy dread as I walked to the nurse's station, then down the cold hallway to my father's room.

The door swung open, and I stood in the threshold, still and silent as my eyes found my father. He looked smaller than I remembered him, lying in that hospital bed with tubes and wires twisting away, connecting him to machines that blinked and beeped. They didn't seem to disturb his sleep. Even at rest, I could see the slackness of the left half of his face from the stroke, his mouth downturned and drooping open.

He'd always been strong, larger than life. But lying there, he was vulnerable, shrinking under the weight of his body.

My bag fell to the ground with a thump next to my boots, my chest rising and falling painfully with every breath.

Sophie drew a breath from the corner of the room; her face bent and tears streamed as she flew across the room and into my arms. That was all it took for my composure to crack and crumble, emotion climbing up my throat, stinging my eyes, burning my nose. I closed my eyes to stop the tears, but it was no use. They seeped from the corners, defying the physics of my pinched lids, and my sister sobbed in my arms, clinging to my shirtfront.

I held her tight, wishing I could change everything, rearrange time and space and make it all right again.

She stilled after a moment, pulling away. Something in her eyes stopped me dead.

"I need to talk to you," she whispered, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder at our sleeping father.

I nodded, moving my bag out of the way as she took my arm and guided us into the hallway.

When the door was closed, she stood before me for a long minute, wringing her hands, lip between her teeth. She couldn't look at me.

"Soph," I said softly, gently, "what's going on?"

She opened her mouth to speak but took a shaky breath instead. Then she met my eyes. "It's not just the stroke, Wade."

I couldn't swallow my fear. I tried, but it stayed lodged where it was. "What do you mean?"

"They did scans and … and …" Her eyes darted, her bottom lip trembling.

I reached for her hands, willing her to look at me as my pulse raced, hands tingling from adrenaline and foreboding. "Sophie, just tell me."

A fat tear slipped down her cheek as she looked into my eyes and hit the detonator on my heart. "He has brain cancer, Wade. They've given us a few weeks before he's gone …"

If she said more, I didn't hear her. My knees buckled, and I reached for the wall to brace myself, turning to press my forehead against the cool veneer. It couldn't be possible, couldn't be real. It was a dream. A nightmare.

Gone.

I fought the truth. He was too young, too healthy. He was a superhero: immune. I wasn't old enough to lose him — I was supposed to have years. Years and years. I'd already lost one parent, a loss I'd never recovered from, a loss that changed the course of my life. And now, I'd be alone.

He taught me how to be a man. He gave me everything.

I was supposed to have more time.

Time, time, time.

I'd been gone too long. I'd avoided coming home, and because of that, I wasn't here for him, for my family. I'd abandoned him, and now … now … now I'd lose him forever.

I sank to my knees there in the hallway with my sister sobbing at my side, wrapping her arms around me as best she could, and we cried together. If only our tears could change what had come to pass.

Now I just had to make up for my absence as best I could in the time I had left. Now I would be present, consequences be damned. I'd handled so much, seen so much, witnessed war and death and suffering firsthand. I knew what to do and how to do it.

I also knew it would be the hardest thing I'd ever do.

We stood and held each other a little longer, hanging on to one another. Because we were all we had left.