Saint Anything(109)

It helped that she’d found a new cause to busy herself with. After that night at U General, she’d returned to visit with Mrs. Chatham. They ended up talking about insurance issues, as well as the lack of outreach at U General for patients and their families. What began as her offering to meet with some administrators on the Chathams’ behalf to do a little fact-finding had, over the ensuing weeks, led not only to her volunteering in patient relations, but to the prospect of a paid position. She claimed to still be mulling it over, that she was too busy with everything else, but my dad and I knew she’d eventually agree. My mom loved a worthy cause, and at U General, she’d never again have a shortage of them.

Peyton had ten more months at Lincoln, his sentence having been cut down a bit due to good behavior. Once released, he’d move to a halfway house for six weeks, where he’d be expected to find a job and housing while also training for his first 10K. For all her progress, I could tell it was making my mom nuts not to help with this, and more than once I’d walked up on her computer to find rental info or classifieds pulled up on the screen. Old habits are hard to break. But I knew she was trying.

I was, too. Another Family Day was coming up at Lincoln in February, and I’d decided to attend. My mom was thrilled—naturally—but less so when I told her that he and I had decided I’d go on my own. We’d come this small distance alone, with so much more to go, and I didn’t want to change anything for fear of losing ground. What I was sure of was that whatever relationship my brother and I would have once he was out would be different from our lives as kids. We’d both grown up, in vastly different ways. But I was looking forward, now, to getting to know him. I hoped he felt the same way.

Meanwhile, at home, we were learning, too, finding a new way to be together without Peyton always present in spirit, if not person. My mom and I were talking about colleges and making plans to visit campuses. Thinking about a different future now. Mine. And after not a little pressure from me, Mac had finally talked to his dad about his hopes for going to the U for engineering, or even elsewhere. Mr. Chatham had been dubious, which we’d all expected. But he didn’t say no. Now, in the afternoons at Seaside, Mac and I spent time researching schools in between homework assignments, finding out everything we could about the application process. Meanwhile, Layla—who had shown a new interest in the business after finding some books on corporate management at the library—was busy overhauling the Seaside register system and trying to convince her dad to make other changes. He was hesitant about this as well, but listening. After all, she was a connoisseur. And who knew? Maybe even with Mac away at college and beyond, Seaside would stay in the family after all.

That was just it. You never knew what lay ahead; the future was one thing that could never be broken, because it had not yet had the chance to be anything. One minute you’re walking through a dark woods, alone, and then the landscape shifts, and you see it. Something wondrous and unexpected, almost magical, that you never would have found had you not kept going. Like a new friend who feels like an old one, or a memory you’ll never forget. Maybe even a carousel.

As for me, I had some old business to tie up. It was Mrs. Chatham, actually, who put the idea in my head, during one of my shifts keeping her company in the cardiac rehab wing. They’d had her walking the hallways, getting her strength back, and she’d returned to her room exhausted, getting into bed and immediately closing her eyes. I’d thought she was sleeping and was starting on some calculus homework when she spoke.

“You should talk to him, you know.”

We’d been discussing Peyton during our walk together, how he and I were slowly working through things, even though it was sometimes hard. This happened often in her recovery, a sort of elasticity of time and conversation that led her to circle back to something I’d already forgotten. The doctors said it was partly meds, partly exhaustion.

“I’m trying,” I said. “But a lot of the time, even now, I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes, you do.” She yawned, turning her face into the pillow. “Start with ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Sorry?” I repeated.

She sighed, clearly drifting off. “Then just go from there.”

I sat there, confused, as a man passed outside the open door, carrying flowers and a big bouquet of balloons. I watched them bob past, bright and shiny, wondering what I was supposed to apologize to Peyton for. It was not until the next day that I realized maybe she hadn’t been talking about him at all.

Now, in the truck, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

At studio with Eric. He is literally strutting, showing me around. Oh my god.

I smiled. You love it.

I swear I do not.

Another beep. My mom, this time.

Bring a pizza home for dinner? And your father is requesting garlic knots.

Done, I replied. There by six.

OK.

“Everything good?” Mac asked.

“Yeah,” I told him. “Everything’s fine.”

I was getting more nervous, though, the closer we got. While these were streets I knew well, having driven them myself more than once, it had been a while since I’d seen this turn, that intersection. By the time he pulled up in front of a small brick ranch with black trim, I could feel my heart beating in my chest.

Mac cut the engine, then turned to look at me. Wary as always, waiting for my okay. I reached for the door handle, opened it, and slid out. As I walked around to the curb, he reached behind him for the warmer. When I got to his window, he had it waiting.