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It had now been twenty-four hours since Melody raced out of the Montana hospital and sped off in a taxi. Since then, Grant had called Melody’s cell twenty-five times, Casey’s twenty-seven, and Donnie’s eighteen. Not a member of his nuclear family had answered. It was as though they’d collectively decided he’d died. It seemed fitting, here in the white-washed walls of the hospital, as he waited for his older brother’s nurse to finish up the sponge bath and re-open the hospital room for visitors. The clock on the wall ticked forward. In the corner, Henrietta grumbled that she had to head home to check on the cat.
They were out of the woods, physically speaking. Henrietta seemed exhausted at the prospect of what came next. Her husband had very nearly succeeded in taking his own life. Would he attempt to do it again? Would he manage it the next time?
“I’ll call you if there’s anything you should know,” Grant told Henrietta as she gathered her purse and made her way down the hallway. She seemed unable to bend at the knee these days and tip-toed toward the glass door.
Grant tried again to text his daughter.
GRANT: Hey, honey. It’s Dad. I just can’t understand what happened yesterday. It was so awesome to have you here with us. I hope you’ll tell me what happened and give me a chance to explain.
Grant heaved a sigh and then composed another text. It felt like throwing darts and missing every time.
GRANT: Your uncle woke up yesterday afternoon. He was groggy for a few hours before he went back to sleep again. I should be able to talk to him more today. I hope I’ll get a better read on his mental state.
GRANT: If there’s one thing I truly believe in, it’s that we have to help one another forward. We have to lift each other up.
GRANT: Love you, sweetie.
Quintin’s nurse stepped out of the hospital room fifteen minutes later and reported that Quintin was “all set.” Grant stood on shaky knees and headed in. Since yesterday, flowers and balloons and candy boxes had come pouring in from members of the community, and Henrietta had loaded them up on the side table. A red balloon was caught in the draft from the heater and banged against the wall gently but ever-presently. Grant longed to pop it.
“Hey, little brother.” Quintin blinked his eyes open. His hospital bed leaned halfway back, and his chapped hands were positioned on his chest of his hospital gown. His purplish face had faded the slightest bit, as had his bloated cheeks. Even still, he was a shadow of Quintin Griffin’s former self.
“Hey, big brother,” Grant echoed. “How are you feeling?”
“How would you feel if you just had a male nurse give you a sponge bath?” Quintin tried to joke.
Grant lent him a half-laugh as he dropped into the chair nearest the bed. The brothers locked eyes for a moment as the air shifted between them.
“I know I’m the biggest screw-up on the planet, Grant,” Quintin admitted finally, his voice cracking.
Grant’s lips parted in surprise. He hadn’t expected pure honesty this fast out of the gate. Tears rolled down Quintin’s face and lined his lips.
“Tell me I wasn’t always like this,” Quintin murmured.
Grant furrowed his brow. The last thing he wanted to do was make Quintin feel worse. This was a fragile time and he had to think carefully of the words that would come next.
“You’ve always been an incredible human being, Quintin. I always looked up to you. You’ve just had a hell of a few years. Nobody could have seen that coming.”
Quintin cleared his throat as his eyes grew blank. “It’s true that things shifted when Frankie died. But dammit, I was on the way down before that, and you know it. Gambling right and left. Partying like my life depended on it. Henrietta threatened me with divorce more times than I could count. She doesn’t have any idea of where she’d go, which is why she’s stuck around this long. She took one wing of that big mansion while I took the other.”
Mention of the house drew a direct line to Casey and the love Grant had lost. He shivered with sorrow.
“The truth is, Grant, I ruined my life, and I’ve been working hard to ruin yours, too,” Quintin continued gruffly. “I’ve been nothing but a burden. I can see it in everything I do. And there’s no reason for me to stick around and make everything worse.”
Grant’s heart seized. He reached for his brother’s hand and held it gently. He probably hadn’t touched his brother in years and maybe never this tenderly. He wondered why men weren’t allowed such softness. Why did they always have to pretend to be so hard?
“When I gave you that black eye the night before Thanksgiving...” Quintin continued. “After you left, I just sat there in the silence of myself and got drunker and drunker. I think my grandson came in and found me and tried to play with me. I just turned him away. Is that the kind of man I am now? The kind that punches his brother in the eye and...” He trailed off. “I don’t want to live like this anymore, Grant.”
Against the wall, there was the same thump-thump of the red balloon. Everything seemed remarkably sad.
“You don’t have to, Quintin,” Grant told him. “You have to change your ways. There’s no other way but forward. There will always be a brighter day, somewhere in the distance. We’re all here for you and we love you.”
He wasn’t sure if he said the words to Quintin now or to himself. Regardless, he was pretty sure neither of them thought the words held any layer of truth.
Grant tried his darnedest to come up with something else to say, some other topic that would distract Quintin from the failure of his life and the failure of his death. Instead, after ten minutes, he said he’d run off to the cafeteria to grab them both glasses of soda. Quintin nodded and said, “I’d like that.”
This was at least a start.
Grant stepped into the hallway and nearly ran headlong into Alyssa Limperis, who carried a nine-month-old baby strapped across her chest while pushing a two-year-old and a four-year-old in a double stroller. Alyssa, who was thirty-two years old and had grown up just down the block from Grant and Quintin (a full fifteen years after Grant himself was born), had been something of a beauty queen around their Montana community, frequently participating in talent and beauty competitions and often winning them. Seven years ago, her long-time fiancé had died of cancer, and since then, her eyes had grown shadowed and far away.
“Grant! Hi.” Her smile retained its electricity, its brightness, even as her lips quivered at the edges.
“Good morning, Alyssa.” Grant gave her a soft side-hug and eyed the baby, whose closed eyelids were nearly translucent, blocking the beautiful blue eyes beneath.
“And how are you two doing this morning? You giving your momma a hard time?” Grant greeted the two-year-old, Greta, and the four-year-old, Dean, who gave him silly smiles in return.
“They’ve been very good to me today. Surprise, surprise,” Alyssa replied simply. “Miracles do happen, I suppose.”
Grant nodded sadly as they eyed one another. It was difficult to know what to say, especially as so many hospital staff members and visitors bobbed around them with inquisitive eyes.
“How’s he doing?” Alyssa asked finally.
“He’s okay,” Grant returned. “I’m headed to grab him a drink. I’m sure he should only drink water from here on out, but—”
Alyssa shrugged. “Might as well give him what he wants right now.” Her eyes dampened with tears that she didn’t allow fall.
Grant’s throat tightened. He glanced around as Alyssa’s eyes widened. He wasn’t entirely sure he was equipped to handle the intensity of this emotion.
“Henrietta went home to check on something,” he said finally.
Alyssa nodded as her hand cupped the baby’s head. She glanced toward Quintin’s still-closed door as though she wasn’t sure where to place her gaze.
“I hate saying this to you right now, Grant. I really do,” she breathed.
Grant furrowed his brow. “What’s on your mind?”
Alyssa’s voice lowered to something less than a whisper. “I tried to get money this morning, but the ATM said the account was frozen. I went inside to ask the bank teller, and she said the same thing.” Her eyes widened as fear permeated her face. “Don’t tell me you’re...”
Then, she trailed off as Grant’s face contorted with sudden understanding. His lips parted in shock.
“You’re out of money,” Alyssa affirmed. “I should have known. I should have known rather than...”
“No, Alyssa. I’m not out of money,” Grant returned in a cheeky tone. He reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet, where he retrieved seventy-five dollars in cash and passed it over to her. “I’ll get the account worked out. Don’t you worry about that.”
Alyssa furrowed her brow with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I have to run, Alyssa,” Grant said firmly. “I’ll be in contact.” He then lurched down the hallway and sped toward the double-wide door, which kicked him out into the frigid air of a December day in Montana.
He almost vomited from the shock. How did everything end up this way? It was utter chaos!
How the hell had Casey learned about the account? Perhaps the lawyer she’d hired had done some digging? The world whizzed around him as his thoughts raced. He felt terribly dizzy. He stretched his hand out across the brick of the building where he’d entered the world, just a screaming baby with nothing to show for himself.
When Melody had come back into the hallway and said, “How dare you?”
It seemed obvious, now. She’d learned of the bank account. She’d learned of Alyssa and the kids.
God, he needed to get back to Maine as soon as possible. He reached for his phone and typed up a text message to Stacy, his secretary, with a request to book him a flight back to Portland. But just before he sent it off, he remembered that actually, he’d fired Stacy four months ago when she’d come on to him at a company party and he’d told her that that sort of behavior was inappropriate. “I’ve wanted you for years, Grant. You must know that” she’d sobbed as she’d packed up her things. This was a story Grant had shoved into the back alleys of his mind, as it made him feel guilty that he’d had to fire her. But he’d had no other choice.
Instead, he booked a flight for early tomorrow morning himself. With the ticket purchased, he dropped his head back and let out a wild, sharp scream. He’d never felt this far away from himself before. He’d never felt so painfully confused.