Chapter 81
AN: I’ve been warned to give you a “tissues not included” warning
for this chapter (and the next, while we’re at it). It’s sad.
I’m sorry.
Also, thanks to Jen, the master of tearjerker fanfics in my world,
for reading these two chapters for me ahead of time and offering her
opinions. While I’m at it, thanks to my
UBR Bean, for always doing the same. :)
Several
days into the new year, Claire’s car rumbled to a stop on the curb in front of
a small, green house. This house had
seen its better days, Claire couldn’t help but think as she walked up the
cracked sidewalk leading to the now-familiar home. It was an older home, but until recently, it
had probably been well-maintained. Now
the first signs of neglect were starting to show: the grass was long overdue for a mowing,
weeds had begun to overtake the flowerbeds in the front yard, and the
olive-colored paint had started to chip off of the wooden siding.
Various
toys had been left out – a tiny purple bicycle stood on training wheels in the
driveway, a brightly-colored ball was barely visible on the overgrown lawn, and
Claire had to step over several pieces of a child’s play gardening set as she
climbed to the front porch. But she
didn’t mind. It was nice to see toys
out, signs that someone still played in this house.
She rang
the doorbell and sucked in a deep breath as she stood waiting for someone to
answer the front door. These visits got
harder and harder with passing time, and she’d found that she had to mentally
prepare herself more and more every time.
But she could not turn away or stop coming. She couldn’t do that to Casey. His mother always told her how much he looked
forward to her coming, and even if he wasn’t always aware of her presence, she
would keep on coming, until the end.
The sudden
pounding of feet from inside the house could be heard, and seconds later, the
front door was yanked open. There stood
Casey’s little sister, Catherine, dressed in the outfit she’d probably worn to
school that day, a cute little red dress with ABC stitched on the front.
“Hi,
Catherine,” she smiled down at the kindergartner. “Is your mom with Casey?”
“Yeah, she
said ‘come in’,” Catherine replied, stepping back to Claire could enter the
house.
“How was
school today?” she asked, making the usual small talk while she waited for Mrs.
Brenner to come out.
“Fine. We’re learning letter P this week,” Catherine
announced. “Both my favorite colors
start with ‘p’ – ‘puh-ink’ and ‘puh-urple’,” she added,
emphasizing the ‘p’ sound in each word.
“That’s
right. ‘Purple’ even has two ‘p’s,” said
Claire. “It’s my favorite color too.”
Catherine
beamed. “Wanna play with my Barbies?”
she asked. When Claire had come over to
visit shortly after Christmas, Catherine had gotten to show off the new Barbie
doll Santa Claus had brought her; now she asked Claire to play every time she
stopped by. Claire wished she had more
time to do so, but she was still putting in hours at her dad’s office in
Gainesville, as well as here in Tampa, not to mention getting ready to move
into her new apartment, so her schedule had been busy. She tried to drop by the Brenners’ on the
days she was in Tampa though, and she usually set a few minutes aside to play
with Catherine before she left. She felt
sorry for the child; with her big brother so sick, their mom was preoccupied
and simply couldn’t give her as much attention as she craved. And Catherine was still too young to
understand the full impact of what was happening to Casey.
Before she
could reply, Mrs. Brenner appeared and answered for her. “Catherine, sweetie, Claire’s here to sit
with Casey for a little bit. Why don’t
you bring your Barbies into the kitchen and help me fix dinner?”
“O-kay,”
Catherine sighed grudgingly and stomped off to her room to get her dolls.
Mrs.
Brenner gave Claire a weary look, which Claire returned with a tight
smile. “How’s Casey doing today?” she
asked hesitantly, always afraid of hearing the answer.
His mother
sighed. “Not good. He’s on the verge of a coma. He’s been pretty out of it for days because
of the pain meds he’s on, but until yesterday, he still had periods of
alertness. He was awake to see the ball
drop on New Year’s. But now…” She trailed off, and Claire could tell she
was having difficulty finishing her thought.
“I-I think he still senses what’s going on though. He knows when I’m in the room; he can hear me
talking to him. I’ve been playing his
favorite music and movies in the background… maybe I’m just being silly, but
I’d like to think they help comfort him.”
Claire
swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile. “I’m sure they do help,” she replied softly.
Mrs. Brenner nodded. “I think it’s
helping him just to be able to be here at home, in his own room, his own
bed. Having the home nurse come has been
such a godsend; if you hear from Nick, please, tell him thank you from me
again.”
“I will,”
Claire promised, although she didn’t know when that would be. She hadn’t talked to Nick since that day
she’d run into him at the hospital, before Christmas. “Has Nick visited since Casey got out of the
hospital?”
“Yes, he
came over a couple of times around Christmas, but I think he’s back in Los
Angeles now. I have his phone number
though… he said he wanted to know if… something happens,” said Mrs. Brenner,
faltering at the end.
Claire
simply nodded, hiding her surprise at the fact that Nick was already back in
LA. She quickly changed the
subject. “So… so it’s still okay if I go
and sit with him for awhile?” The last
thing she wanted to do was impose.
But Mrs.
Brenner always seemed grateful for her presence. “Oh, of course. I appreciate you coming by like this… it’s so
sweet of you. I’m sure Casey will know
you’re here too, even if he can’t respond.”
Nodding,
Claire slowly walked down the hall to Casey’s bedroom as his mother turned to
go into the kitchen. The bedroom door
was ajar; Claire stopped just before it and leaned against the wall in the
hallway, trying to steel herself before she went inside. Taking a deep breath, she finally rounded the
corner and entered the bedroom.
At first
glance, Casey’s room looked like a typical eleven-year-old boy’s room. The carpet was dark blue, and the medium blue
of the walls was interrupted here and there by posters – Pudge Rodriguez,
Casey’s baseball player, taking a swing in his Florida Marlins uniform… the
planes of the Navy’s Blue Angels flight team in formation… Lindsay Lohan… (that
one had prompted some teasing the first time Claire had seen it; Casey had
blushed as red as Lindsay’s hair). From
the ceiling hung various model planes that Casey had put together. The bottom half of his bookshelves were
stacked with “Captain Underpants,” Matt Christopher sports novels, and the
“Goosebumps” series; the top with everything from baseball cards and comic book
figurines to school awards and sports trophies.
A few stuffed animals were tucked here and there; Claire had been
touched to find the plush Dumbo she’d once given Casey among them.
Upon a
closer look around the room, it was easy to see that all was not as it should
be. Casey’s bed, adorned with a boyish
blue and green plaid spread, was flanked by IV stands and oxygen tanks, and the
top of his dresser was barely visible beneath all of the medicine bottles and
medical supplies that had been set upon it.
Claire tried to ignore all of that and focus on just Casey.
He was
lying in bed, looking frail and almost lifeless. He didn’t move when she sat down in the chair
that was always pulled up next to his bed, but for a moment, she could have
sworn she saw his eyelids flutter. She
quickly realized it was just shadows from the TV flickering on his pale face in
the dim room. Glancing over her
shoulder, she saw the opening scenes of Dumbo playing on the small
television set in the corner. She smiled
nostalgically; Casey had loved that movie when he was little. Mrs. Brenner must have just put it on for
him.
“You may be
a big-shot eleven-year-old nowadays, but you’re never too old for Disney
movies,” Claire murmured, squeezing Casey’s bony hand. Spotting the TV remote on his nightstand, she
picked it up and used it to turn up the volume a little just as the song “Casey
Junior” started to play. She couldn’t
help but smile, remembering as plain as day the way little Casey’s eyes used to
light up every time he heard his name in the song.
She glanced
over at him, almost expecting to see his eyes open now. But they remained inertly closed. Her smile faded.
She sat
with Casey for at least half of the movie, holding his hand, talking softly to
him now and then. After she’d been in
the room for half an hour or so, Mrs. Brenner popped in to check on them. As Claire watched her pause to tuck the
blankets in around Casey and kiss his forehead, her heart ached for this woman,
who was on the verge of losing her son.
Claire felt
like crying by the time Mrs. Brenner slipped back out of the room, her shoulder
slumped with weariness, but she kept her composure as long as she could,
knowing she had to stay strong for Casey.
She was afraid he would sense it if she let it show how hard this was
for her. But when the time came for
Dumbo to visit his mother in the movie, and the bittersweet notes of the
lullaby “Baby Mine” floated out of the TV, Claire’s eyes prickled with
tears. All of the emotions that had been
building up inside her came pouring out as her tears began to fall, trailing
slowly down her cheeks.
Why? she thought, lifting her leaking eyes towards the ceiling. Why are You taking this little boy away
from his mom… from his family and his friends… from the world?
She knew it
was wrong to question, but she couldn’t understand. Casey was going to die… what good could come
out of that?
***
Five days
and two thousand miles from that time and place, Nick looked down at his
ringing cell phone and saw Claire’s name flashing up at him. A feeling of dread lodged itself into the
bottom of his stomach even before he answered.
He knew Claire had no reason to call him, unless…
“Nick?”
came her voice, thick with tears, once he’d said hello. “I just heard from Mrs. Brenner. Casey… Casey passed away early this
morning.” Her voice wavered and broke as
she added meekly, “I thought you would want to know.”
“Thanks,”
Nick whispered, his throat so dry that he could barely swallow. Later, he would not remember what else he and
Claire said to each other over the phone that day. His only memory of the day Casey Brenner died
was the empty feeling of defeat that shrouded him after he hung up.
***