whitening. Hands shaking, she reached out to check Brody's pulse.
"He's breathing, but so shallow I almost missed it." I heard the tears gathering at the edge of her heart, pooling, ready to spill over. "He won't wake up."
The lights blazed, yet grey, cold shadows seeped into the room. Simon, who shared the room, stood on the far side of Brody's bed, blue eyes paled to a sad grey, shivering against the gathering cold. He stared at Brody, whose features glowed with a serenity and peace that stabbed molten pokers into my gut.
Aidan's phone beeped as he dialed 911. He spoke fast, his voice void of emotion. Izzy appeared at the doorway, her eyes widening and then filling with tears and fear as Aidan spoke.
"Ambulance is on its way. Not long now." His gaze, like everyone else's, fastened on Brody. Aidan and I were the only ones already grieving for the little boy. The only ones who knew he would soon be leaving us forever.
This shouldn't be happening.
It was too soon.
The glow, no brighter than yesterday, confused me. My head ached with fear and guilt and confusion.
The paramedics came and left in a blur of urgent and strangely calming activity. Ms. Custer went with Brody. His little body lay prone and vulnerable on the stretcher. I put Simon to bed, snuggling with him, stroking his blonde curls, until his breathing deepened. Creeping out of the bed, I unhooked his fingers from my neck, tucked him in and stemmed the urge to sob aloud.
How will he handle being alone? They made such a troublesome yet adorable pair. Not brothers in blood but in every other way that counted.
I pulled the door until a thin shaft of light from the hall illuminated the room in case Simon awakened and called out for us. He wouldn't be frightened by the dark, and I'd hear him call. I went to check on Izzy but her room was empty. I hurried down to the front room, finding Aidan checking his phone, probably for the eleventy-fifth time. Izzy huddled in Ms. Custer's favorite armchair, clutching a pillow close.
I gave her a weak smile and turned to Aidan. "Any news?" I asked, tugging my cardigan close, hoping for good news.
"No, I thought I'd ring Ms. Custer but . . . she doesn't need us annoying her with phone calls."
I stared at Aidan. His eyes were ringed with worry and weariness, but a quiet strength enveloped him, projecting a confidence he didn't possess. I kept my grief at bay, aware too that he might be thinking too much, being too sensible.
And Ms. Custer would never be annoyed if we rang to check on little Brody.
"I will call her." His head shot up. "She would expect us to call her. She's there all alone. She'd need the company a little, I guess."
I dialed and waited for her to pick up. On the final ring, seconds before it went into message, she answered, her voice raspy.
"Hey, it's me."
"Hello, honey." I pictured the teary smile.
"How is he?" It'd been less than an hour, but felt like an eternity.
"Bryn, you have to listen to me, child." She paused, to blow her nose and sniff, the sounds coming through loud and clear.
Right, Bryn, don't go all hysterical on her.
"Okay, tell me what's wrong with him." Pressure built in my chest. Aching, frightening pressure.
"He didn't make it, Bryn." Her voice shook, filled with tears and grief. The first fingers of hysteria slipped around my lungs. I sank onto the floor, leaning against the coffee table, my legs refusing to take me the two steps to the couch.
Aidan rushed to me, crouching beside me, one hand on my shoulder. Izzy rose to her feet, still clutching her pillow.
"What?" I asked, but my voice failed me and the word ended up a disbelieving whisper.
"He's gone, baby." Ms. Custer's tender voice came down the phone to soothe my pain. I loved her more for her generosity of spirit. And I ached to comfort her too. But anger still enclosed my grief in chains of black iron. I didn't ask how she was, if she needed anything. "I'm just signing some papers," she said. "I'll be home soon."
The
"He's breathing, but so shallow I almost missed it." I heard the tears gathering at the edge of her heart, pooling, ready to spill over. "He won't wake up."
The lights blazed, yet grey, cold shadows seeped into the room. Simon, who shared the room, stood on the far side of Brody's bed, blue eyes paled to a sad grey, shivering against the gathering cold. He stared at Brody, whose features glowed with a serenity and peace that stabbed molten pokers into my gut.
Aidan's phone beeped as he dialed 911. He spoke fast, his voice void of emotion. Izzy appeared at the doorway, her eyes widening and then filling with tears and fear as Aidan spoke.
"Ambulance is on its way. Not long now." His gaze, like everyone else's, fastened on Brody. Aidan and I were the only ones already grieving for the little boy. The only ones who knew he would soon be leaving us forever.
This shouldn't be happening.
It was too soon.
The glow, no brighter than yesterday, confused me. My head ached with fear and guilt and confusion.
The paramedics came and left in a blur of urgent and strangely calming activity. Ms. Custer went with Brody. His little body lay prone and vulnerable on the stretcher. I put Simon to bed, snuggling with him, stroking his blonde curls, until his breathing deepened. Creeping out of the bed, I unhooked his fingers from my neck, tucked him in and stemmed the urge to sob aloud.
How will he handle being alone? They made such a troublesome yet adorable pair. Not brothers in blood but in every other way that counted.
I pulled the door until a thin shaft of light from the hall illuminated the room in case Simon awakened and called out for us. He wouldn't be frightened by the dark, and I'd hear him call. I went to check on Izzy but her room was empty. I hurried down to the front room, finding Aidan checking his phone, probably for the eleventy-fifth time. Izzy huddled in Ms. Custer's favorite armchair, clutching a pillow close.
I gave her a weak smile and turned to Aidan. "Any news?" I asked, tugging my cardigan close, hoping for good news.
"No, I thought I'd ring Ms. Custer but . . . she doesn't need us annoying her with phone calls."
I stared at Aidan. His eyes were ringed with worry and weariness, but a quiet strength enveloped him, projecting a confidence he didn't possess. I kept my grief at bay, aware too that he might be thinking too much, being too sensible.
And Ms. Custer would never be annoyed if we rang to check on little Brody.
"I will call her." His head shot up. "She would expect us to call her. She's there all alone. She'd need the company a little, I guess."
I dialed and waited for her to pick up. On the final ring, seconds before it went into message, she answered, her voice raspy.
"Hey, it's me."
"Hello, honey." I pictured the teary smile.
"How is he?" It'd been less than an hour, but felt like an eternity.
"Bryn, you have to listen to me, child." She paused, to blow her nose and sniff, the sounds coming through loud and clear.
Right, Bryn, don't go all hysterical on her.
"Okay, tell me what's wrong with him." Pressure built in my chest. Aching, frightening pressure.
"He didn't make it, Bryn." Her voice shook, filled with tears and grief. The first fingers of hysteria slipped around my lungs. I sank onto the floor, leaning against the coffee table, my legs refusing to take me the two steps to the couch.
Aidan rushed to me, crouching beside me, one hand on my shoulder. Izzy rose to her feet, still clutching her pillow.
"What?" I asked, but my voice failed me and the word ended up a disbelieving whisper.
"He's gone, baby." Ms. Custer's tender voice came down the phone to soothe my pain. I loved her more for her generosity of spirit. And I ached to comfort her too. But anger still enclosed my grief in chains of black iron. I didn't ask how she was, if she needed anything. "I'm just signing some papers," she said. "I'll be home soon."
The
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