by Robin Huber
“Want some help?” she asks.
“No. I won’t be too long. You got all of the fish hooks out of my bed, right?” I smile softly.
“Ha...Ha,” my dad says, getting up from the table, and my mom and I both grin. “I’ll go get the rest of your things from the car, baby.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” I smile and head over to the stairs, pausing to look at the framed pictures on the wall as I climb them. I stare at Brandon in his black tuxedo. Even all dressed up for his senior picture, he looked like a surfer, with his sandy blond hair combed to the side and the sun-kissed freckles on his tan face.
He was so young. He still had so much life in front of him. He’ll never graduate from college. He’ll never get married or have kids. He’ll never be an uncle to my kids, if I ever have any.
You’re thirty, jobless, and living with your parents, my conscience reminds me. Don’t count on it.
“Almost thirty,” I grumble quietly. And I won’t be staying here long. Only until I find a place to rent.
When my heavy feet reach the top step, I see a small framed picture sitting on the hall table that stops me in my tracks. Gabe and Brandon are sitting on the tailgate of a truck after one of their hunting trips. I pick it up and hold it out in front of me. They must be twelve or thirteen. I touch their young faces and think, Why couldn’t it have stayed like that?
I take the picture with me, passing Brandon’s room on the way to mine. My mom converted it into a guest room years ago. She said it was too difficult to see his room set up like he’d be coming back one day. It makes me sad to see all of his things gone, but I understand why she put them away. I walk into my room, which, much like the rest of the house, is exactly the same as it was when I left. It’s like I’ve gone back in time, as if the last seven years never even happened.
I fall onto the bed, eager to feel the comfort of my old mattress, and the white wooden headboard smacks the wall, just like it did all my life. It’s still just as comfy as I remember. I sit up and look around my room. The only thing different now is that all the pictures I left taped to the dresser mirror are gone. They were mostly of me and Gabe, so I know why my mother took them down.
I wonder where she put them.
Part of me hopes that she threw them away, but another part of me prays that she didn’t. I stand up and walk around the room, looking at my old knickknacks and the empty frames that once held pictures of me and Gabe. The only picture she left in the room is a framed five-by-seven of me and Brandon. I pick it up and touch the glass. He’s holding me on his back at the beach. My arms are wrapped around his neck and my legs are hanging down on either side of him. We’re both pink-cheeked from the sun, making goofy faces. We must have been about fifteen.
I miss you so much, B.
Being back in this house makes me feel closer to him, but it also magnifies the fact that I’m missing my other half. I inhale an uneven breath and put the frame down next to the picture of Brandon and Gabe that I relocated to my room. I need to unpack and find my running shoes so I can go work off the cake, and the sorrow I keep pushing down.
After hanging up all my clothes, I stand on my tiptoes and push a stack of blankets aside on the top shelf of my closet, and a small wooden box comes tumbling down, missing my head by mere inches. It lands on the hardwood floor, cracking open and sending pictures scattering across the room. I kneel down to pick them up.
I guess I know where all my pictures went. I stare at each one for a few seconds before stacking them in my hands. When I see Gabe’s smiling face...when I see him kissing me and hugging me, I get an odd feeling in my stomach, not unlike the feeling I get when I look at pictures of Brandon. I see a person who I loved, who loved me, who’s gone.
Except that he’s not gone. He’s still here. I don’t know what’s worse.
I put the pictures back in the box before the grief takes over, but then I see the ring Gabe gave me for my eighteenth birthday and I find the letter that went with it. I rub my thumb over the little compass that’s engraved in the gold and unfold the faded piece of notebook paper.
Liv,
Tomorrow you will turn eighteen. You will legally be allowed to vote! You can buy cigarettes (but please don’t). And you can even join the military (but please don’t). You will officially be an adult!
None of that really matters to me, though. I will love you the same tomorrow as I do today. And I love you the same today as I did when I was sixteen. I’ve been privileged to watch you grow into the beautiful woman you’ve become and I thank my lucky stars every day that you chose me.
The coming years will be a challenge, no doubt. But as long as we’re together, I know we can navigate whatever comes our way.
I promise to be your compass when you start to feel lost. I’ll be your beacon home when the world gets too big. No matter what path life chooses for us, I will always be your true North.
~ Gabe
Whether or not I want to cry no longer matters. The tears leak onto my cheeks. I pick up the delicate gold ring and rub my finger over the little compass again.
I slide it on my right ring finger where it used to belong and, for just a moment, just a split second, I allow myself to pretend I’m still his.
My mom knocks on my bedroom door. “Honey, I found a pair of your shoes.” She walks in and sees me crumpled on the floor over the note and the box and the pictures. “Oh, Liv.” She kneels beside me and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I forgot that was up there.”
“It’s okay.”
“I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it, so I stuck it up on top of the closet. I don’t know why. I didn’t mean for it to upset you.”
“I would have been upset if you had gotten rid of it.” I wipe my face, and she nods with understanding. “You found my running shoes,” I say, eyeing the shoebox in her hands.
She smiles and stands up. “Might not be a bad idea to lace them up. I hear that running has magical healing powers.” She winks and reaches for my hands. She knows that I use running in place of clinical therapy.
“I think you might be right.”
She pulls me to my feet. “Go for a run, honey. You’ll feel better.”
* * *
I stand in my parents’ driveway, looking out at the familiar view from the house. The yard is lush and green and perfectly manicured. My father has been on a quest to have the best yard in the neighborhood for as long as I can remember. I pull my heel up to my butt and stretch my quad, then I alternate to the other side. My muscles are tight. I need this run. I bend over and grab my ankles and stretch my hamstrings. Ow. I really need this run.
I stand up, shake my legs, and push my ear buds in. I turn my music up and start down the driveway toward the street. I begin with a slow jog. I’m sore at first, but after a few minutes, the ache in my muscles goes away and I’m able to keep a steady pace. I breathe in and out, letting the fresh air fill my lungs and clear my head. All I have to do is focus on my feet hitting the pavement. Everything else just falls away.
Left foot.
Right foot.
Breathe.
Left foot.
Right foot.
Breathe.
I run for a long time. I’m not really sure how far I’ve actually gone, but I must have covered a few miles because I can see the cemetery just up ahead. I stop running, turn around, and head back to the house.
Chapter 4
Gabe, Eight Years Ago, August 18th
“He should be waking up soon.”
“How long will it take?” my mother asks the man, whose voice I don’t recognize.
“Not long. But remember, this is going to be extremely confusing for him. We won’t know the extent of his injury right away.”
“But you said–”
The man interrupts my father. “We think his brain injury is moderate, from what we can tell. The surgery went well and the swelling in his brain is coming down. Those are all good things. He’ll most likely
regain normal functions over time, but the cognitive and behavioral impairments he might experience could last from a few weeks to a few months. Some might even be permanent. You need to be prepared.”
My mother squeezes my hand and whispers, “Tu êtes fort, Gabriel. You’re so strong.” Her southern-French accent is something that’s uniquely specific to her, and comforting to me. “You have to fight this,” she says firmly. “Fight for me and Daddy. Fight for Liv. She needs you now.”
Liv. Where is she? I try to ask, but my tongue won’t move. My mouth won’t open. I can’t move anything. It’s like a lead blanket has been shrink-wrapped over my entire body. I try to swallow, but my throat burns. And my head is throbbing.
Liv. I want Liv.
I concentrate hard on my mouth opening and after a long minute, it finally does. I force my tongue to the roof of my mouth and make a lul sound.
My mother squeezes my hand again. “Gabriel?”
“Liv,” I croak, and it feels like a thousand knives scraping my throat at once. I open my heavy eyelids, closing and opening them a few times, until I can tolerate the light. My mom is sitting in a chair beside the bed I’m lying in and my dad is hovering over her shoulder. They look terrible, like they haven’t slept in days.
“Mo-momma,” I mumble, feeling the knives again.
“Yes, bébé. I’m here. Daddy’s here too.” Tears run down her cheeks, but she wipes them away quickly.
A man in a white doctor’s coat is standing beside them. “Gabriel, I’m Dr. Franklin. Is it okay if I call you Gabriel?”
“Gabe,” I rasp.
The man smiles at my mother and father. “Okay, Gabe. Can you tell me who this is?” he asks, pointing to my father.
“Dad.”
“And this?” He points to my mother.
“Mom.”
He smiles again. “Very good. Do you know where you are, Gabe?”
I look around the room and see flowers and balloons that say Get Well Soon. There are monitors to the left and right of me and I’m hooked up to an IV bag that’s hanging from a silver stand beside the bed.
“Hospital.”
“That’s right. Do you know why you’re in the hospital, Gabe?”
I gaze at him, trying to remember what happened to me and why I’m in so much pain.
When I don’t answer, he drags a chair over to the bed and sits beside me. “You were in a very bad car accident, Gabe. You suffered a pretty serious brain injury and you have a broken leg.”
Car accident?
I swallow down the knives again. “My...throat...hurts.”
“You were in an induced coma for a few days. You were intubated. I know it hurts. That will go away.”
“Coma?”
“It was important to keep you sedated while the swelling in your brain went down.”
“We’ve been here the whole time, Gabriel,” my mother says, squeezing my hand.
My father winds his arm around her and puts his hand on top of hers. “You’re okay, son, you’re going to be okay,” he says, and tears fill the rims of his tired eyes.
I try to lift my hand under theirs, but it’s heavy. “Liv.”
“Do you remember anything about the accident, Gabe?” the doctor asks.
I close my eyes and try to think around the throbbing pain in my head, but it’s difficult to see past the dark patches that are clouding my thoughts. “My...car?”
“Yes, the crash happened in your car.”
I give my parents a worried look, but they just shake their heads and say, “It’s okay.”
“Do you remember what happened?” the doctor pushes.
I close my eyes again and try hard to see around the splotches of black. When I finally do, I see the road...and the deer.
“Deer.”
“That’s right, there was a deer.”
“Liv said you swerved so that you wouldn’t hit it,” my mom says. “It was just an accident, Gabriel. Just a terrible accident.” She begins to cry.
Liv? She was there? Liv was in the accident? I close my eyes and try to remember. “Liv?” My voice comes out a little stronger now.
“She was in the accident with you, Gabe. Do you remember that?” the doctor asks.
My heart thumps painfully against my ribs. I squeeze my eyes shut and try harder to see past the dark patches in my head. The memories start to come back to me in turns, each one passing in and out of view before my mind can bring them into focus.
We were at the beach. It was night time.
I see Liv smiling up at me.
Are you sure you’re ready to do this?
I’ve never been so sure about anything.
Oh, yes. I remember.
I hear the theme music from Jaws. I see Jeremy Black.
Gabe, that’s enough. Liv’s voice echoes through my aching head and it hits me like a cement wall, crushing me with the weight of a thousand cinderblocks.
Oh my God.
“Liv. Where’s...Liv?” I try to shout, but it comes out all slurred and slow like I’m drunk.
My mom cries harder and my heart slams against my aching ribs. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Where...is...she?”
“Liv is okay,” the doctor says. “She’s recovering on another floor.”
My heart slows, but warm tears rush to my eyes and leak onto my face, stinging my cheeks. I swallow against the knives in my throat. “How...bad?”
“She has a broken arm and a pretty deep cut on her cheek. She needed stitches and surgery to repair her arm, but she’s recovering well. She’ll be released today.”
I’m relieved that she’s not hurt worse, but it’s fleeting. The fact that she’s hurt at all is like being punched in the gut. A hundred thoughts race through my sluggish mind. Is she in pain? Is she scared? Is she mad? She told me not to race Jeremy. Why did I do it? I’m such a fucking idiot. Why didn’t I listen to her? Maggie and Duke must be so upset. And Brandon...he’s going to kill me.
Wait. “Brandon.”
Was he in the car too?
My mom lifts her tear-streaked face and wipes it with a tissue. She glances at the doctor and he stands up. Her eyes are filled with heartbreak when they return to mine. “Petit bébé”—she holds the balled-up tissue to her mouth—“Brandon”—she slowly shakes her head from side to side—“he didn’t make it.” She bursts into sobs and falls over me.
What? He didn’t make it? Brandon is... I can’t finish the thought because my chest feels like it’s collapsing on my lungs and the edges of my vision blur. Tears flood my eyes. “No”—I shake my throbbing head back and forth—“no.”
“I’m so sorry, Gabriel,” my mother cries.
I look at my father, disbelieving. “No. It’s not true.”
He looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry, son. I’m so sorry. You know that”—he can barely get it out—“he was like my own boy.” He leans over me and cries hard.
Brandon’s...gone? He’s really gone? No...No! I choke out a painful moan and more tears burn down my cheeks.
My chest begins to heave uncontrollably, painfully, until I can’t breathe anymore. I gasp and try to inhale, but my lungs feel like they’re closing. I can’t breathe. I beat my hand against the rail on the side of the bed.
“Gabriel?” My mom lets go of me. “Gabe? He can’t breathe!” she shouts. “He can’t breathe!”
“Okay, it’s okay,” the doctor says calmly, stepping beside her. He picks up a syringe and pushes it into my IV. “You’re all right, Gabe. Just give this a few seconds to work.”
I feel my body relax almost instantly.
“I want you to take another breath now. Slow and steady.”
My lungs open and I suck in as much air as I can, ignoring the accompanying pain in my ribs.
“There you go. Slow and steady.”
I feel more and more relaxed by the second.
“This is a lot for him to take in at once. He’s got a long road ahead of him
. The next few days will be the hardest.” The doctor’s voice seems to be drifting further and further away. “He’s probably going to be in and out for a while.”
* * *
I splash down into a breaking wave, holding a football under my arm.
“Show off,” Brandon calls from the shore.
I stand up and make my way through the surf, tossing the ball back to him. He catches it and starts running toward me. I plant my feet, set to tackle him, and when he gets within two feet of me, I lunge toward him and take him down hard.
“Take it easy,” he says, shoving my shoulder into the wet sand. “You’re not supposed to tackle your QB.”
I laugh and sit up. “I really miss protecting your sorry ass on the field. Four years of high school football wasn’t enough.”
He leans back on his hands and stares out at the horizon. “No, it sure wasn’t. I miss playing with you too. We had some good times back then, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we did.”
The beach is empty and the sun is starting to sink in the afternoon sky. I drop my head back and soak in the day’s last rays of heat. “Things are going to be a lot different after we all graduate next year, huh?”
He nods his head, but keeps his eyes on the horizon. “You have to take care of my sister, okay?”
“You know I will.”
“It’s different now. She needs you. And you need her.”
I look at him, but he stares out at the ocean.
“Brandon—”
“Just remember that you can always talk to me. I’ll always be here for you, brother.”
Chapter 5
Liv
I sit at the kitchen table across from my mother, watching her sip her coffee and read the newspaper in her nightgown. Her messy hair is pulled up, her face is makeup free, and she’s wearing reading glasses in lieu of contacts. I haven’t seen my mother like this in years, but I find it incredibly comforting. It reminds me of Saturday mornings growing up, especially with the hum of the lawn mower outside.
