urge to give in to tears was overwhelming. But I didn't give in, had to be sensible, responsible. I said, "I'll send Aidan for you."
"Good. Thank you, child."
"How did it happen?" There had to be an explanation of how a little boy could die without warning.
"They think it was a heart attack. The doctor said it happens sometimes with undiagnosed heart conditions." She took a deep breath, which rattled down the line. "They'll know for sure after they complete their tests."
Chapter 10
Long QT Syndrome , the doctors had said. A fancy name for Brody's death. A reason why his bright light was extinguished. Their words told me nothing, so I checked the internet. It explained about irregular heartbeats in kids that sometimes go undetected. Until one day the patient just dies.
I shed all my tears alone. Izzy huddled in my arms on the porch swing until Aidan and Ms. Custer returned from the hospital. Aidan gently led the distraught old woman up the steps to the front door. She fumbled with the latch. Her hollow eyes made me tremble, made me feel again the emptiness of the house without Brody.
Izzy followed Ms. Custer through the door, grabbing on to her hand. Aidan and I stayed outside on the porch swing, which would never hold the two squabbling boys again. Ms. Custer retreated to the dining room, making calls, preparing for the funeral on Saturday, trying to figure out what would happen next.
"He didn't just die, you know," I said to Aidan, now that Simon couldn't overhear. "I knew he was going to die. I could have told someone."
The swing creaked, laughing at my cowardice.
"And just what were you planning on saying to them? He had no known health issues, Bryn." He faced me, his features masked by gathering grey darkness. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, touched my cheek before pulling me closer. "How were you going to convince the doctors? By the way, Doctor. Brody's going to die. I just don't know how or when or why, but please check him out? "
Aidan rubbed my arm and turned to stare out into the darkness beyond the porch. Silence owned the next few moments and I mulled over the stark truth of his words. Then he shook his head, speaking so softly it was almost as if he were talking to himself. "No, they would have thought you were insane. Probably committed you. You’re a ward of the state, you know. One wrong move and you are dust."
I bristled, despite knowing he was right. My history with psychiatrists would have colored the doctors' judgment. I could never have warned them about Brody or Aimee or anyone, not without risking the best home I'd ever had.
***
The days all blended into one indistinguishable week. The day of the funeral arrived and the house was swathed in silence. Poor Izzy couldn't even crack a smile. And yet the sun shone on the fall afternoon, as if blessing us with a burst of golden light to say farewell to our little brother.
I was sick of golden light.
Brody had an open casket, revealing his cute little smiling lips and corkscrew curls. Many well-wishers managed a sad smile when they bid the little boy farewell.
And Brody still shone.
The little boy still radiated lustrous gold so bright it speared my eyes, drawing hot tears. I steeled myself, lowered my head until I regained control. Nobody would know the depth of my anger, the intensity of my guilt. My grief had grown into a solid, black lump in my chest. Fed by anger, and hate. Hatred for myself, anger at myself. Even Aidan's words didn't assuage my guilt.
That night, the dreams made it all worse. For the few hours of sleep I managed to get, every unconscious second was violated by dreams. Dreams of wings flapping, thrusting against my face, lifting my hair. Of muzzles twitching, dark eyes shining, reflecting the white moon. Those eyes bored into me. Knowing eyes. Intelligent, human eyes.
***
The week after the funeral crawled by. A week in which every minute was weighed down with my tears and my anger. The dreams worsened
"Good. Thank you, child."
"How did it happen?" There had to be an explanation of how a little boy could die without warning.
"They think it was a heart attack. The doctor said it happens sometimes with undiagnosed heart conditions." She took a deep breath, which rattled down the line. "They'll know for sure after they complete their tests."
Chapter 10
Long QT Syndrome , the doctors had said. A fancy name for Brody's death. A reason why his bright light was extinguished. Their words told me nothing, so I checked the internet. It explained about irregular heartbeats in kids that sometimes go undetected. Until one day the patient just dies.
I shed all my tears alone. Izzy huddled in my arms on the porch swing until Aidan and Ms. Custer returned from the hospital. Aidan gently led the distraught old woman up the steps to the front door. She fumbled with the latch. Her hollow eyes made me tremble, made me feel again the emptiness of the house without Brody.
Izzy followed Ms. Custer through the door, grabbing on to her hand. Aidan and I stayed outside on the porch swing, which would never hold the two squabbling boys again. Ms. Custer retreated to the dining room, making calls, preparing for the funeral on Saturday, trying to figure out what would happen next.
"He didn't just die, you know," I said to Aidan, now that Simon couldn't overhear. "I knew he was going to die. I could have told someone."
The swing creaked, laughing at my cowardice.
"And just what were you planning on saying to them? He had no known health issues, Bryn." He faced me, his features masked by gathering grey darkness. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, touched my cheek before pulling me closer. "How were you going to convince the doctors? By the way, Doctor. Brody's going to die. I just don't know how or when or why, but please check him out? "
Aidan rubbed my arm and turned to stare out into the darkness beyond the porch. Silence owned the next few moments and I mulled over the stark truth of his words. Then he shook his head, speaking so softly it was almost as if he were talking to himself. "No, they would have thought you were insane. Probably committed you. You’re a ward of the state, you know. One wrong move and you are dust."
I bristled, despite knowing he was right. My history with psychiatrists would have colored the doctors' judgment. I could never have warned them about Brody or Aimee or anyone, not without risking the best home I'd ever had.
***
The days all blended into one indistinguishable week. The day of the funeral arrived and the house was swathed in silence. Poor Izzy couldn't even crack a smile. And yet the sun shone on the fall afternoon, as if blessing us with a burst of golden light to say farewell to our little brother.
I was sick of golden light.
Brody had an open casket, revealing his cute little smiling lips and corkscrew curls. Many well-wishers managed a sad smile when they bid the little boy farewell.
And Brody still shone.
The little boy still radiated lustrous gold so bright it speared my eyes, drawing hot tears. I steeled myself, lowered my head until I regained control. Nobody would know the depth of my anger, the intensity of my guilt. My grief had grown into a solid, black lump in my chest. Fed by anger, and hate. Hatred for myself, anger at myself. Even Aidan's words didn't assuage my guilt.
That night, the dreams made it all worse. For the few hours of sleep I managed to get, every unconscious second was violated by dreams. Dreams of wings flapping, thrusting against my face, lifting my hair. Of muzzles twitching, dark eyes shining, reflecting the white moon. Those eyes bored into me. Knowing eyes. Intelligent, human eyes.
***
The week after the funeral crawled by. A week in which every minute was weighed down with my tears and my anger. The dreams worsened
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