“Come here, bro.” He drew his brother into a hug and then dutifully mussed the kid’s hair. Chase pushed him away, but he was grinning as he did it.
“What are you, twelve? I’m not in grade school anymore, you know.”
Sawyer shoved him playfully. “You’ll always be a kid to me, Chase.”
His brother huffed. “Now you sound like Dad.” Suddenly, he grew sober. “Have you talked to them yet?”
Sawyer frowned. “Who? Mom and Dad? Sure, I got into town the day before yesterday. We caught up over dinner my first night here.”
Chase didn’t say anything, just eyed his brother meaningfully, as though he was searching for some answer.
“Did they tell you what’s going on?”
Sawyer frowned again uncertainly, trying to think what might have been said that would cause Chase to look so grave. He belatedly realized that most of his conversations with his parents had revolved around him and his career.
“No,” he slowly admitted. “What’s wrong?”
Chase shook his head. “I don’t know. But they’re keeping a secret. I can tell.”
“What makes you think so?”
Chase glanced toward the house and then back at him. “Little things. When I call, they both somehow manage to change the conversation as soon as I start asking about things at home. And I got this weird call from Dad a while back. He needed directions.”
Chase had always been the more perceptive son, but Sawyer was still skeptical. His brother was far more serious than he was and more inclined to magnify things that weren’t really such a big deal.
“Okay, so maybe that’s a little odd, but Dad never was good about finding his way around, so calling for directions is—”
Chase shook his head as he cut off Sawyer. “Home. He called me for directions on how to get home from work.”
Sawyer blinked. Okay, so that was strange.
“Did you know he cut back his hours? He’s only working part-time.”
“Part-time? He loves his job. Why would he do that?”
“That’s not all,” he continued. “When I was home at Christmas, I caught him out back, whistling for Tucker.”
“Tucker?”
“Yeah.” Chase didn’t need to elaborate because Sawyer saw where he was going with this. Why would their dad be looking for the dog that had died eight years ago?
“Have you asked Mom about it?”
“That’s just it—I tried. I didn’t tell her about the directions thing because Dad begged me not to. But I asked her if she thought everything was okay with him. She brushed it off, told me he’d been stressed lately, and their doctor wasn’t concerned.”
“She took him to a doctor about it?”
“I guess.”
Sawyer ran a hand across his mouth as he considered. “If she took him to the doctor, then she’s worried, too. No matter what she says.”
“Exactly.”
He understood why Chase was uneasy now. Sawyer found it hard to believe his parents were keeping some big secret, but still, something was definitely off.
“That’s part of why I texted you and suggested you come back home. I thought, between the two of us, we could find out what’s going on.”
“That was only part of it?”
Chase shrugged one shoulder but his grin gave him away. “Well, that, and I kind of miss having you around. You haven’t been back home at all since you went and became all famous. We fly down to see you in Nashville, but you need to come back here more often. If you don’t return to your roots once in a while, this celebrity stuff is going to go to your head, you know.”
Sawyer gave him a playful shove. Chase stumbled back but laughed anyway. “Plus, I don’t think anyone at college believes you’re my brother. Think you could come visit my campus this fall? Maybe sign some autographs, tell a few girls how much you’ve always admired me?”
Sawyer reached out and knocked a fake punch against his brother’s arm. “I have a feeling you’re probably doing just fine on the girl front.”
Chase didn’t answer, but the way his ears grew red told Sawyer more than any words could have. He wrapped an arm around his brother as they turned toward the house.
“Maybe we could set you and your friends up with backstage passes on my next tour.”
Chase’s face lit up. “Seriously?”
“Sure. Anything for my little bro.” He leaned Chase’s head down and raked his knuckles across his scalp, disregarding Chase’s protests. They were laughing as they headed inside the house, but deep down, Sawyer couldn’t shake his faint uneasiness.
* * *
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Sawyer to see why Chase suspected their parents were hiding something. Their mom was ecstatic when they walked through the door, thrilled to have both of her boys under one roof again. She ushered them into the kitchen and set out a pie she’d baked that morning. Their dad came in from his workshop to join them, and Sawyer had the chance to fill them in on his morning with Rory while Chase boasted about how well his finals had gone. However, as soon as Sawyer made the effort to turn the conversation around to how his parents were doing, they found ways to steer it back to him.
“So... Rory was glad to see you?” His mom eyed him pointedly, and he felt his father’s and brother’s curious glances.
“Not at first,” he admitted, reluctant to talk about her until he knew where they stood, “but she’s getting there, I think.”
His mother beamed with happiness, and that’s when he realized something. Since he’d returned home a few days ago, he hadn’t once seen her without a shadow of some sort over her features. Even when she smiled, it felt strained. This was the first time her expression was filled with pure joy.
“I miss that girl,” she commented, almost to herself.
Sawyer cocked his head. “Don’t you ever see her? Talk to her?”
Olivia sliced off another tiny sliver of pie, neatly avoiding his eyes. “She needed time to heal, Sawyer, after she came back here. If she’d wanted to see us, she would have. You know that. I decided not to make your break with her more difficult by seeking her out.”
“Oh.” He felt a wave of shame at this candid response, saddened that his choice had deprived his mother of a friendship with Rory. The two of them had always gotten on so well. Rory had grown up without a mother, and his own had never had any daughters. He’d never considered before how they each might have filled those roles for the other.
“Well, here’s hoping she comes around more often,” his dad said. “I always liked her. She’s sharp. Keeps you in line.”
Sawyer grinned, again feeling that flutter of happiness at the progress he and Rory had made that morning. “She definitely does.” He nudged his brother. “Now, if we could just find someone like that for Chase...”
“Hey.” His brother held up a hand. “My love life is not a topic for discussion here.”
“Why not?” their dad asked. “You’re taking Jessica Barnes to homecoming, aren’t you?”
Chase had his fork raised halfway to his mouth but froze when their dad asked this question. His gaze leaped to Sawyer’s. Sawyer felt an odd twist in his stomach, the echo of Chase’s earlier concern sending a shiver down his spine.
“Dad. Chase hasn’t dated Jessica in six years. That was back when he was a sophomore in high school,” Sawyer reminded him.
He expected his dad to laugh or make a joke—something about how Chase was so popular with the ladies, it was hard to keep track of his girlfriends. That’s the sort of teasing they often did with each other. But his dad looked confused, his eyes shifting to their mom in question.
She reached out and patted their father’s hand. “Chase is in college now, Ford. Remember?”
“College?” He looked from his wife, back t
o his youngest son and then at Sawyer. The struggle in his dad’s eyes startled him. He seemed to be...lost. And then, he looked down, hiding his face from view.
“Hard to believe how fast you boys are growing up.”
Chase was still frozen, his fork partway to his mouth. After another beat, he set it back down, and Sawyer wondered if his brother had lost his appetite. Because the churning in his stomach wouldn’t allow him to finish his pie, either.
“Mom?” He looked to his mother for an answer. “What’s going on?”
She glanced at Sawyer then gave a quick swipe of her head.
“Mom?” he demanded. Chase pushed his pie plate aside.
He watched his mother’s expression cycle through several emotions—frustration, anger, grief. Her jaw hardened and she pursed her lips. Sawyer didn’t know how long they sat there, in this emotional standoff, when he noticed his father’s hand reach toward his mother’s.
“Tell them.”
She blinked, breaking her gaze from Sawyer’s and looking to his dad.
“It’s time, Olivia. We said we would, when they were both back here, together.” He looked at her. “Tell them.”
Sawyer felt a weight settle into his stomach, solid and unmovable, and somehow, he knew. He knew, in that moment, whatever his mom was about to tell them would change everything.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAWYER WISHED HE could turn back time, just for one hour. One hour ago, he’d been the happiest he could ever remember being. He had a successful career, the chance to restore his relationship with the woman he loved and a future bright with possibility. Now, a mere sixty minutes later, he felt as if his world was crumbling around him.
“I still don’t understand how this works,” he said. “Dad’s only fifty-three. I thought Alzheimer’s wasn’t something you had to worry about until you were much older.”
His mom twisted her fingers in her lap and slid a glance toward his father. His dad seemed remarkably at ease considering the diagnosis he’d been given. But then, he’d had a lot more time to get used to the idea, Sawyer thought with a touch of resentment.
And then another sickening thought—what if his dad’s nonchalance was because he didn’t understand what was happening? What if his mind had already deteriorated to the point that he didn’t realize what they were discussing? Sawyer felt a wave of nausea at the idea.
“That’s why it’s called early onset Alzheimer’s,” his mom patiently explained a second time. “It strikes people in their fifties or younger. Only about five percent of the Alzheimer’s patients are in the early onset group. It’s very uncommon.”
“That’s not much consolation, is it?” Sawyer replied, trying to temper the sharp edge in his tone. “I mean, who cares how uncommon a disease is if you’ve been diagnosed with it? Is it supposed to make you feel special or something?”
“Sawyer...” Chase spoke his name softly, under his breath, in warning. Sawyer knew it was illogical to feel irritation. It wasn’t as if his father had asked for this to happen. But his fear needed a target, and since his parents had been withholding this information for some time, they were the easiest choice.
“How could you have kept this from us all these months? How hard would it have been to pick up the phone or send an email or a text or something?” He raked a hand through his hair and realized his fingers were trembling. He dropped his arm and tightened his knuckles into a fist.
“We didn’t want to distract you from everything you had going on.” His mother’s tone was sympathetic but unapologetic. “We wanted you to enjoy this time in your life for as long as you could.”
“I think the news that my father is dying is worth the distraction, don’t you?”
“You don’t die from Alzheimer’s,” Olivia calmly corrected. “It weakens your body’s defense mechanisms so that eventually, you become vulnerable to infections and unable to fight off disease, and then...”
The words hung in the air as his mother looked down at her lap. If her words had been meant to be reassuring, they had the opposite effect. It made Sawyer even more aware that his father’s diagnosis was a death sentence.
Chase spoke up, obviously trying to diffuse the tension.
“How serious is it? His symptoms don’t seem too bad yet, so how much time do we have?”
Sawyer perked up at this. “That’s true. He should have years before he’ll need any real care, right? There has to be medicine to delay the progression of the disease. I mean, even if there’s no cure yet, it’s not like Alzheimer’s is a new thing. I’m sure there are drugs and therapy and experimental trials and stuff.” A thought came to him. “And if it’s about the money, you don’t have to worry. I can take care of any costs that health insurance doesn’t cover. Money isn’t a problem.”
His mother was silent, and that alone said more than any words could.
“It’s not...that simple,” she finally offered.
“How can it not be?” Sawyer countered. “There has to be some clinical trials he can join or something. If you had told us sooner, Chase and I could have helped you look into options. Now that we know, we can find a way to fix this.”
For the first time, his mother’s steady voice cracked. “Don’t you understand? There is no way to fix this, Sawyer.”
“You don’t know that,” he countered, his words sharp. “How can you know that when you’ve been keeping things to yourself all this time? How is that fair to Dad? You should have told us,” he accused.
“This is the worst part.”
Sawyer had been so focused on his mother that when his dad spoke, it took him a second to shift his attention.
“What? What’s the worst part?”
His dad gestured between them. “This. People talking about you like you’re not in the room, referring to you in the third person when you’re sitting right in front of them. Making decisions as if you’re already too incompetent to understand what’s happening to you.”
A wave of shame washed over Sawyer.
“Dad, that’s not what I was trying to do. I’m just...confused. And upset. You guys have had months to come to terms with your diagnosis, and I’m just learning about it now.”
“You think we’ve come to terms? That we’ve accepted this is happening? Make no mistake, son, I’m not at peace about this. I’m angry. And I’m depressed. And I’m frightened. The last thing I am is okay with it.”
Sawyer leaned back as his father spoke. He’d never heard his dad talk in such a manner, and the words—as well as the emotion behind them—gave rise to sudden grief. His dad was dying. Not only that, but also dying in one of the most inhuman ways possible. He was passing before his time and losing his identity, his dignity and his memories as he did.
“Dad—” His voice caught, and he coughed to muffle the sob forming in his throat.
They all sat silent for a minute, letting the tension settle. Sawyer tried to remember what little he knew of Alzheimer’s. With all of his grandparents long gone, it hadn’t seemed like something he’d need to think about anytime in the foreseeable future. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the news his father, only in his early fifties, had the disease. He was only twenty-two years older than Sawyer.
“Sawyer.” His mother reached across the table. “You have to understand, we kept this from you for your own good.”
He shook off her hand. She grimaced, and he felt a stab of guilt but not enough to keep him silent.
“My own good?”
“You had a lot going on, and we didn’t want to interfere with that.”
His jaw clenched. He was torn. Torn between lashing out at the hurt he was experiencing, or embracing his parents and never letting go. His emotions were convoluted, a jumble of tangled feelings he couldn’t unravel. He stood to his feet.
“I
can’t talk about this right now.”
“Sawyer, we’re not finished here—”
He heard his mom’s voice calling after him as he headed for the door, and then his father said, “Let him go, Olivia. Give him time.”
It was the last thing he heard before he slammed the front door behind him.
* * *
SAWYER AVOIDED GOING back home after he’d stormed out following his parents’ announcement. He spent the afternoon driving around town, circling the shoreline of Chesapeake Bay until it intersected with the Susquehanna River along the city limits and then looping back toward the center of town. He had no particular destination in mind; he just kept driving as he tried to wrap his head around his dad’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. His emotions skipped back and forth between anger at his parents for having kept this secret so long and guilt for not coming home more often to give them the opportunity to share it.
He was so mired in his worry and self-recrimination that he lost track of time, belatedly realizing he’d better head toward Callahan’s so he wouldn’t be late to pick up Rory for the dinner at Connor’s. By the time he pulled in to the back alley of the restaurant, he had only seconds to spare. Rory was already waiting for him, sitting on the steps leading up to her apartment.
She was dressed in a pair of navy blue capris and green ballet flats with a pale jade sleeveless blouse that flowed in soft lines down to her hips. The color drew attention to the dark ebony of her hair, which she’d let loose to fall in soft waves around her shoulders. His breath hitched at the sight of her. He wasn’t sure how she got more beautiful each time he saw her. Maybe it had something to do with their time apart. His memories of her had softened, grown hazy, and whenever he was in her presence since he’d returned home, it was as if things were being brought into sharper focus.
She stood and began walking toward his vehicle. He quickly exited the truck to come around and open the door for her.
“You look beautiful, Rory.”
The compliment seemed to throw her off balance. She hesitated, her eyes darting from the open truck door to his face and then down to the ground. At last, she offered a slow smile and murmured her thanks.
A Song for Rory Page 8
