by G. R. Lyons
“Hello, Grae,” the old man said with a smile. “How are you?”
“Just fine, Granddad,” Graeden said, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk. “You?”
Benash Rothbur chuckled. “I'm just fine. I called to see if you're still coming for dinner this evening.”
Graeden clenched his jaw shut, trying to keep his face blank. He didn't want to admit to his grandfather that he'd entirely forgotten their dinner plans.
“Or, if you're busy,” his grandfather continued, “I could come to town and meet you there at the hospital–”
“No!” Graeden said, then took a deep breath and repeated more calmly, “No, Granddad. That's alright. I have time to make the drive.”
Benash gave him a searching look, his blue-green eyes still piercing even in his declining years. “You're sure?”
Graeden nodded. “Don't look at me like that,” he said, attempting a joke. “You're retired, remember?”
His grandfather didn't laugh, but stared at him a moment longer before he shrugged. “Very well. Seventh hour alright?”
Graeden did a rapid calculation in his head, thinking of business he would have to take care of before making the long drive up to the Gateway. It would be tight, but he thought he could just make it.
“I'll see you then,” he answered with a nod, and closed the video screen, ending the call.
He stared at the desktop for a long while, blank but for a few icons in the lower corner for files he still had open, and let out the breath he was holding.
* * *
AT THE end of the day, after more rounds and appointments, Graeden rushed through updating more patient files, then logged out of the system and lowered the panel on his desk, pressing an icon to make the seamless-looking surface go blank, locked out to anything but his own biometric signature.
He left his office, nodded to the secretary, and rode the elevator down to the second floor, going straight to the room he'd glanced at earlier in the day. Stopping at the door, he took a deep breath and let himself in.
The room was dimly lit and eerily quiet, even the monitors and machines running silent while the patients slept.
Graeden nodded at Nurse Mari, who was tending to a patient at the other end of the room, and she met him at the third bed in the row down the right side.
He looked down at the woman lying there, her empty eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Her long brown hair was shiny from a recent washing and was twisted into a neat braid that reached almost to her waist, trailing along supple curves that hadn't yet withered away despite her condition, thanks to the miracles of modern medicine.
“How is she?” Graeden asked in a whisper.
Mari reached around and grabbed a digital chart, handing it to him. Graeden scrolled through the patient's data, seeing stable vital signs but otherwise no change in her general functionality.
Lorel Suleta was vegetative at best.
“We adjusted her nutrient dosage, like you asked,” the nurse said. “Doesn't seem to have helped any, though.”
Graeden nodded absently, handing back the chart. “All it will do is keep her more comfortable, really. Her brain suffered too much damage for her to ever recover.”
Mari looked down at the patient with a puzzled frown. “Might be a mercy to just ease her out.” She looked across at Graeden, waiting for an answer.
“I can't make that decision for her,” he whispered.
“And she has no family?”
Graeden shook his head. “At least, no one capable of understanding the situation.”
The nurse gave him a questioning look, but he didn't explain.
He looked down at the patient one more time, then gave the nurse a parting nod and strode from the room, breathing a sigh of relief once the door shut behind him.
Chapter 2
GRAEDEN SELECTED a preset address from the navigation system in his car and moved his seat back, letting the car run on autopilot while he wrote up more patient reports on his tablet, remotely logged in to the hospital database. The miles slipped by unnoticed while he had his eyes fixed on his work, going over surgery results and medication recommendations and lab diagnoses. He only noticed he was getting close to his destination when the light outside the car dimmed as the roads became overshadowed by enormous oaks.
The car slowed as it wound up the hill to the Gateway and came to a stop at the garage, powering itself down to idle mode. Graeden finished a note and set his tablet aside, then punched a button that shut off the car. He got out and rapidly surveyed the property, finding it wildly overgrown since the last time he'd been there.
His grandfather stepped out onto the front porch as Graeden walked up the path from the driveway to the front door.
“Grae!” Benash said with a welcoming smile. “So good to see you. In person.”
“You, too, Granddad,” Graeden said, forcing on a smile and shaking his grandfather's hand.
“Come in, come in!”
Graeden followed Benash inside and winced as the door shut behind him, trapping them in a chaotic space. The house was clean, thank the gods, but completely overrun with excess: Comfortable furniture filled all the rooms, and every available space that wasn't reserved for walking was piled high with books.
Books on the tables, books on the chairs, even books on the floor, stacked up in teetering piles against every wall. Graeden looked around and shook his head.
“Got a few more, did you?” he asked, seeing books double-stacked on the bookshelves that lined entire walls in the living room.
“What? Oh, yes. We found a new bookstore the other day, and they had all the latest updates to Faneck's Histories, so we've been going back through them all.”
Graeden looked around, asking, “We?”
Benash didn't seem to hear him, and went on: “It's quite interesting. Did you know, Falsin has this very intriguing clan structure that–”
“What's that noise?” Graeden asked, more to interrupt the old man than out of true curiosity.
“What? Oh!” Benash hurried off to the kitchen, and Graeden followed, rolling his eyes. “Almost forgot the pie.”
Graeden leaned against a wall and watched as Benash pulled an apple pie out of the oven.
“Since when do you bake?”
Benash looked up at him with a shy grin. “Your mother got us in the habit. Gives us something to do together, and tastes better than the frozen ones at the market.”
Graeden opened his mouth to ask a question, not seeing anyone else present to justify an us, but decided against it. He wasn't in the mood for more of the unusual nonsense that seemed to define his family.
The pie was squeezed onto the one remaining bit of counter space in the whole kitchen, and Graeden reached out to catch a pile of books that threatened to topple over onto the stove.
“Don't you have–” he started to ask, then shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What's that?”
Graeden rolled his eyes while his grandfather wasn't looking. “I was going to ask if you had any better place to put these than the kitchen, but I suppose not. You already need to add another room to the house just for all these volumes.”
“But they're wonderful, aren't they?” Benash asked with a smile as he turned to grab plates and utensils. “So many things to read. So much to learn. And the freedom to do so!”
Graeden rushed over to help his grandfather set the table—as best he could, while the table was almost inaccessible around piles of more books—while Benash rambled on.
“Have you read Donlar's study comparing the general health conditions on the different Isles?” his grandfather asked. “It's a bit antiquated, but I thought it might be of interest to you, if you hadn't read it. It's around here somewhere…”
Benash set down the casserole dish he was holding and glanced around the room, checking different piles of books.
“It's alright, Granddad,” Graeden said, holding out his hands. “I think I read p
arts of it back in med school. Besides, I don't really have much time for reading these days.”
“Ah, what a shame,” Benash said, shaking his head as they sat down. “You should make more time for relaxing things. You work too much.”
Graeden shrugged and reached out to serve a scoop of the casserole onto his grandfather's plate for him. “The hospital is busy. I have to keep up.”
His grandfather looked at him for a long moment and shook his head.
“I was forced into long hours and he takes them by choice,” Benash muttered to himself, shaking his head, while Graeden gulped down a glass of water. “Grae, that's no way to live a life. You need to make time for yourself. It can't all be just about work. How will you ever start a family if you–”
Graeden choked on the water and slammed the glass down, Benash hurrying around the table to thump him on the back.
“You alright?” Benash asked once Graeden stopped coughing.
“I'm fine, just fine,” Graeden said, his voice rough.
Benash sat back down, and went on: “I'd like to see some great-grandchildren before I die.”
Graeden cleared his throat and took a small sip of water. “Doesn't Auri have a couple of kids already?”
His grandfather nodded, stalling while he chewed a bite of the casserole. “But your brother is always at sea, so I've never gotten to meet them in person. Just by video call. That is such amazing technology. You know, he called me all the way from Andria once? Astonishing! They were out there picking up a cargo of—Oh, what was it?—spices, I think. No! That's right. They were just passing Andria on the way to Indisar, and called me right from the video com on the ship. All the way across the world. Absolutely amazing.”
Graeden watched his grandfather in silence as the old man scooped up a forkful of peas and chewed thoughtfully. He wanted to tell Benash that the Libertas fleet had been using such long-range communications technology since long before Aurothi had worked his way up to Commodore, but thought better of it.
“Do you never talk to your brother?” Benash asked. “You speak of his children as though you're uncertain.”
Graeden shrugged. “Rarely. I'm too busy. The few times he's tried calling me, I was in surgery. And then when I find time to call him back, he's either off ship or asleep. He moves around so much, and I can't keep track of the time zones.”
“Yet he finds time for pleasure and family.”
Instead of responding, Graeden took a large bite out of a bread roll.
“That's it,” Benash said, setting down his fork. “You need a night out. Why don't you come to the show with us next week?”
“I don't have time for shows.”
“It's supposed to be a good one,” his grandfather insisted. “Gotten great reviews. Probably won't be quite the performer that Vesad Stromos is, but it's still getting sold-out shows.”
“Was,” Graeden corrected. “Stromos won't be performing anymore.”
Benash dropped his fork. “What? Why?”
Graeden picked up his water glass and shrugged. “He's a patient of mine. Damaged his fingers. They'll have to come off. He let it go too long and infection set in. I didn't get all the details, but there was something about some stupid bar game involving a rusty knife.”
His grandfather stared at him, mouth agape, and shook his head.
“What a shame,” he whispered. “How very sad. He was one of our favorites.”
They lapsed into silence, and Graeden watched his grandfather reach up and pat the air just an inch above his shoulder. Graeden blinked, started to say something, then decided against it.
“Oh, yes, that's right,” Benash murmured, looking off to one side, then turned to face Graeden with a smile. “I'd almost forgotten. I'm updating my Will, now that I've sold the apartment in town. I wanted to know if you'd like this property when I die. I asked your parents, but they prefer living in the city, and Aurothi…Well, he's obviously not fond of land.”
Graeden took a bite, chewing slowly while he digested the offer.
“You mean, the whole Gateway? Why?”
Benash shrugged. “Why not? After I bought out the property from Jevon and the others when they moved to Oaks Pass, I hoped to at least keep it in the family. I can't imagine anyone else appreciating this land the way we do. What it means to all of us–”
“Granddad, wait.” Graeden set down his fork and held out a hand. “I appreciate the offer and all, but the Gate is worrisome.”
“What? Why?”
“I'm not sure I want strangers—especially from another Isle—having access to land I own.”
“But that's the whole point of having this property, Graeden. To help the refugees transition and find new lives here.”
“Do you really think I have time to be helping a bunch of uneducated rebels find work?”
“Graeden.”
“What? It's true. You can't deny that. I respect what you went through on Tanas, Granddad, but that's not my fight. I've got too many other concerns to worry about helping people transition. And besides all that, living here would be inconvenient. Having my apartment above the hospital means I can be available for emergency surgery at any time of day. Out here? I'd never make it to town in time for a trauma situation.”
Graeden watched his grandfather's expression go from disappointed to resigned to understanding.
“Very well,” he murmured. “I suppose you're right. I just…I can't fathom selling this place. It doesn't seem right somehow.”
“Well, just deed it over to Mom and Dad, and they can let it sit idle until they decide what to do with it. Maybe they'll change their minds and want to move out here someday, just like you did. Maybe–” He breathed a laugh. “Maybe someday Auri will find his land legs.”
Benash chuckled. “Somehow I doubt that.”
He fell silent, idly pushing around the last few peas on his plate, then looked back up at Graeden.
“Just think about it, at least,” his grandfather asked. “It might be good for you. Give you something to do other than work all the time.”
“Granddad–”
“All I said was think about it.”
Graeden sighed and looked away.
“Alright. I'll think about it.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. “Thank you for dinner. I really need to get back to town.”
“So soon?” Benash asked, also rising.
“Full schedule tomorrow,” he said. “I need to prepare.”
His grandfather looked disappointed, but nodded and walked him to the door.
“It was good seeing you,” Benash said as Graeden stepped out onto the porch.
“You, too, Granddad.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“You, too.”
Graeden shook his grandfather's hand and strode off to his car without looking back.
Chapter 3
GRAEDEN WAS halfway home, deeply absorbed in patient data on his tablet while his car operated on autopilot, when an icon on the dash flickered, showing he had an incoming call. With a sigh, he tore his eyes away from the report he was writing and checked the call source.
“Great,” he grumbled, lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “Now what?”
He rested his glasses back in place, set the tablet aside, and touched the icon to answer the call, the video screen popping up over the navigation system.
“Hello, Mother,” he greeted.
“Hi, sweetie,” Saira Crawford replied. “How are you? I called the hospital, and your apartment, and–”
“I was at Granddad's.”
“Oh, good! It's been months since you did that. I'm sure he loved seeing you.”
He nodded noncommittally and asked, “Did you need something? I'm rather busy at the moment.”
“Oh, sorry.” She frowned. “I just wanted to see how you were. You haven't called home in weeks.”
“I've been wrapped up with work.”
Saira nodded. “Alright. Well, your fat
her and I just wanted to know if you're going to be joining us all at the concert next week.”
Graeden resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Granddad just asked me that. I already told him no.”
“Grae, sweetie, I really wish you'd make more time to see him. You know he…probably won't be with us…for much longer. At least, not physically.”
She sniffed, her eyes looking dangerously wet, and Graeden sighed. “Mom, please don't cry. Please? I'm sorry. I just…I'm so busy. I can't just be running off to the theater on any given evening. My patients need me.”
“Maybe your family needs you, too.”
“Mother.” Graeden took a deep breath and sighed again. “Alright, maybe if we do a family dinner or something, I'll see if I can make time. But the theater? Please. I can't go through that embarrassment again.”
“What embarrassment?”
“You know. Granddad's whole…invisible date thing that he does. It's embarrassing. I'm sorry, Mother, but I won't play along in this ridiculous charade.”
“Graeden, I've told you, it's not a charade,” his mother replied with extreme patience. “If you would just listen for a moment–”
“No, Mother. I'm done catering to his silly whims. He's losing his mind. Can't you see it? He needs a doctor.”
Saira raised an eyebrow at him.
Graeden rolled his eyes. “A psychological doctor. Hells, who knows? Maybe a medical doctor, but he won't let me examine him.”
“Because there's nothing wrong with him!”
“Mother,” he growled. “He speaks to someone who's not there. How can you say there's nothing wrong with him?”
“And how do you know for certain that she's not there?”
“Mother, please. I'm a man of science. Ghosts do not exist.”
His mother stared at him, giving him that look that only mothers seemed able to conjure up when trying to impart a lesson to a stubborn child.
“I see her. Is that not enough for you?”
Graeden looked at his mother, trying to judge whether she was being serious, but he saw no amusement in her eyes.
