Jake
“What happened, exactly?” Tony demands once we’re on our way. “I still don’t understand.” He’s driving too fast, especially given the road conditions, but this is clearly not the time to mention it. Instead, I push my energy outward, surrounding us in a bubble of safety. It’s a necessary sacrifice, small in the greater scheme of things.
Maggie, riding shotgun, shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know what more you want me to say, Tony. I’ve already told you everything I know. I don’t have a lot of details yet, either. At some point, Tim must have taken Jake’s bike out for a drive and...and crashed it.” She glances into the backseat and shoots me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t know what condition it’s in either.”
“S’okay,” I reply, returning her smile with a rueful one of my own because of course that’s not the important thing right now. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course, he crashed it,” Tony snaps. “Even if he knew what he was doing, which he clearly didn’t, that’s entirely too much bike for a kid like him.”
I nod in agreement, guilt pricking at my conscience, because obviously, if Tim didn’t realize that—which he clearly didn’t—that’s my fault, too. Isn’t it?
Tony smolders in silence for almost a minute—which, if I’d been betting, is about fifty seconds longer than I would’ve given him. Then, “How did he even get it started?” he asks. Glancing in the rearview mirror he skewers me with his gaze. “You didn’t give him a key to it, did you?”
“No,” I reply reluctantly. “I didn’t have to. I’m afraid I left the keys with the bike.”
“You did what?” Two sets of DiCecco eyes meet mine in two separate mirrors. “Why?”
I spread my hands wide. “Well, why not? I wasn’t expecting anyone to take it, was I?”
“No.” Maggie sighs. “Of course, you weren’t. No reason you should.”
But she’s wrong. Given how Tim and I left things? Given that I basically told him the bike was his? Of course, I should have known.
Connie and Dennis are already in the hospital’s waiting room when we get there. Being the least mobile, Pops has elected to stay home with the kids. We’re not there more than a couple of minutes when one of the doctors who’s been examining Tim comes out to talk to us. The news is not good. His words pile up like snow in a blizzard, weighing on our spirits.
A deep silence—thick, heavy, almost absolute—descends over us as the doctor finishes giving us his report. Connie, struggling not to cry as Maggie holds her tight, is the only one whose breathing is even audible. The rest of us…well, we’re all so stunned by what we’ve heard that maybe we’ve forgotten how to breathe?
“This is my fault,” Tony mumbles, breaking the silence.
“Of course, it’s not,” I reply, feeling weary and defeated. I mean, it’s true. It’s not his fault and that needs to be said, but I’m certainly not looking forward to the fight that I know will follow.
“How is it not?” Feisty Tony emerges. The one who lashes out when he’s frightened or in pain. The one I failed to recognize for far too long. Inexcusable. I gaze at him sadly, as the distance between us grows. Because if this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine, I think. But I’m not yet brave enough to put the thought to words.
“I knew that bike was gonna give him ideas,” Tony argues. “I knew I should have insisted that it be off-limits. You should never have taken him to school. I should have stopped you.”
It’s cute that you think you could have, I almost say. Biting the words back, I glance across at Connie, giving her a chance to answer what’s basically a challenge to her authority—hers and Pops. But she’s too absorbed in her own grief. So I guess it’s down to me, then. You’re his partner, I remind myself; or at least you used to be. You owe it to him to be honest.
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” I remind him. “And it wouldn’t have worked anyway. You’d only have ended up making him want to do it more.”
“Well, your approach certainly didn’t work! Riding around like a clown—with no helmet on, like you had nothing to lose!”
Because I didn’t have anything to lose! Or so I’d thought. I thought I was bulletproof, invincible. I was so, so wrong. “I was just trying to help. Besides, I did back you up yesterday morning, didn’t I? I told him it was important that he wear a helmet. And he did. I made sure of it. If he wasn’t wearing one tonight—” I glance at the doctor, whose name I’ve already forgotten, and ask, “Was he?”
Doctor NoName spreads his hands. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. Obviously, he wasn’t wearing one when he was brought in. But that could be because the EMTs would have had to remove it to perform CPR and immobilize his neck. But, based on his injuries, if I had to guess, I’d say there was a good chance that he did have a helmet on. We didn’t see the kind of trauma we’d normally expect to see in someone whose head was not protected. Unfortunately, however, as I just explained…”
“I understand,” I say, raising a hand to forestall him. None of us need to hear it all again, not yet. It’s not his head that’s the problem, it’s his neck.
Tim suffered a broken neck—the second vertebrae. A hangman’s fracture. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet. We don’t know how long he was without oxygen after the crash. We don’t know…a lot of things. Like, will he ever again be able to breathe on his own? Will he be paralyzed? Did he suffer brain damage? But only time will provide the answers.
“Right now, he’s being prepped for surgery,” the doctor says—not for the first time. “As soon as we have any more information, we’ll let you know.”
He pauses once more, glancing at our faces, waiting to see if there are any other questions. When no one says anything else, he nods once then leaves.
It’s Tony who once again breaks the silence. “What I’d like to know is where did he get the stupid idea that he knew what he was doing? He’s never even been on a motorcycle in his life until yesterday.”
“Are you sure?” I’m startled into asking. “Because he kept talking about how he wanted to get one for school. It sounded like something he’d been thinking about for a while.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Tony snaps as his eyes find mine. I think I have my features schooled. Clearly, I don’t. His eyes grow wide. And then— “What did you do?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know that look. You did something. What was it?”
I wish he sounded surprised. I wish he sounded outraged. I wish he sounded any way other than how he does—which is disappointed and quietly resigned. “Tony, I…”
“I knew it.”
It’s not my fault! I think. The thought is instinctual, habitual. I want to scream it aloud, to protest my innocence. But is it true?
No, it isn’t. Tony trusted me. Tim trusted me. The whole family trusted me. And I…rode up here like a clown.
Tony’s words from a minute ago finally land—belatedly, but square on the mark.
Like a clown with a grudge in his heart, a Texas-sized chip on his shoulder, and a totally irrelevant point that he thought he had to make. Yep, that was me. I inserted myself back into this family without a single thought for the consequences—other than my own selfish pleasure, and how I might benefit.
Tony tried to warn me, but I ignored him. I gave no thought to the kind of damage I might do while I’m here, to the hurt that I’ll cause when I leave. Because it is when, not if. I’m leaving. I have no choice.
Why do I keep forgetting that? Why do I keep acting like that’s not the case?
“Excuse me,” I say as I get up and leave the room, unable to sit there, in the accusing silence for another second. Suddenly everything is crystal clear, and I know exactly what I have to do.
“Wait a minute,” Tony calls, chasing me into the corridor. “Where are you going?”
“Never mind. Why don’t you go wait with the others, okay?”
“Are you…leaving? You are, aren’t you?”
That stops me. I turn and walk back to where he’s standing. “In a way…yeah, I guess I am.”
“Now?”
There’s the outraged surprise I thought I wanted. Wrong again. I swear, it’s enough to make a cat laugh. I come to a stop in front of him, rest my hands on his shoulders and lightly squeeze. “You need to stop worrying so much all the time, okay? ’Cause otherwise, you’re gonna start looking washed out and gray, or maybe you’ll even lose all your hair. Is that what you want?”
“Nice deflection, dude. Let’s talk about that some more, shall we?”
“Well, I mean…” I rub my hand over the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “You’re a good-looking guy now, but I’m not sure you have the skull to pull off a shaved head.”
“Funny.”
It really isn’t. “Look, everything’s gonna be okay. All right? I promise.”
“What’s going to be okay? Your situation? This thing with Tim? You don’t know that. You don’t know any of that. And you sure as heck can’t promise it.”
“Sure, I can.”
“Oh, really? So, you— Oh, no.” His face goes pale. “No, Jake, you can’t.”
“That’s something else you might want to work on. You always take on everyone else’s problems like they’re your own. You try to fix things that aren’t yours to fix and for no better reason than that you think you can do it better than anyone else. And, I’ve got a newsflash for you, honey: sometimes you can’t. Most times, actually.”
“Bullshit. It’s not my fault that I’m the only one who can see the rocks in the road ahead, or the cliff someone’s about to drive off of. What am I supposed to do in situations like that—nothing?”
“Well…”
“What about your energy, your ability to manifest, or, or whatever you called it? What about all those things we talked about earlier—your fears, your worries? What’s going to happen to you if you…if you…”
“What if we’ve had it wrong, you, me, even my little angel dude? What if wasn’t you or your mother that I was really sent here to help?” I try to smile, but it’s probably not that good because Tony clutches at my arms—like he thinks he can keep me here by force. I clear my throat and try again. “Maybe I came here for this.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, Jake, that doesn’t make sense.”
“It really does. I mean, if you think about it. I already had my shot—and did little enough good with my life when I had the chance. Whereas Tim—he has his whole future ahead of him.”
“But…”
“It’s too late for me—sad but true. It’s too late for us—and that’s a fucking shame. And I am so, so sorry that that’s the case. But you and your family, you’ve always given me so much, and now it’s only fair for me to give a little back.”
“Stop it. Just stop it.” His expression is wild, feral. His eyes are wide and wet with tears. “You’re my family, Jake. It was you. It was always you.”
It hurts to see him like this. It hurts even more that I can’t be the one to comfort him. Not now. Not anymore. It’s time to acknowledge that truth and move on. Probably past time. “You need to let go, Tony. You need to move on with your life. I want you to be happy. Promise me you will?”
“I love you!”
“I know,” I say, smiling as I cup his face. Then I lean in and kiss him. Softly. One last time. “I love you, too.”
“You can’t do this,” he whispers against my lips. “Please…”
“Sure, I can,” I tease, hoping for a smile. “Just watch me.” But the time for jokes has passed, apparently. Just like a lot of other things. “And, in any case, you’re wrong,” I tell him as I let myself fade from sight. “Because, Tony, if you really think about it? I can’t not do this.”
Tony
I’m clutching empty air. I’m staring into empty space. I’m standing in an empty corridor shocked into immobility, suspended between grief and disbelief, still unable to find acceptance even when my loss—that gaping emptiness right in front of me—is literally staring me in the face. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. The word resounds in my mind like a gong, like a drumbeat, like a funeral march. Before I’ve even realized it, I find myself tramping down the corridor; stepping to the rhythm of that single word as it continues pounding in my head. I’m trying to run away from my thoughts, I suppose. Which is futile, since I carry them with me.
My feet keep moving. I have no direction in mind, no clue at all where I’m headed. If I knew where Jake had gone, you’d best believe I’d be running after him! I’d be hoping to talk sense into him, not that that’s ever worked before! But he could be anywhere—or nowhere at all.
He wouldn’t be visible, right? And if I can’t see him or sense him, how do I stand a chance of finding him?
My footsteps slow. Even if I did track him down somehow, perhaps to the room where they’ve taken Tim, and if I were somehow, against all odds, able to sense him… What then? What would I say? Don’t save my brother’s life? Don’t complete your mission and find eternal rest? Don’t leave me?
That last one is a no brainer. I’d definitely say that. I’d absolutely beg him to stay. But it’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?
“What about Christmas?” I ask aloud. He’d promised he’d stay. There was a second chance, a do-over. But if he’s using up all his energy now, a second time, to heal Tim…what does that mean?
“It means I’m never going to see him again.”
It’s so obvious, isn’t it?” And suddenly, I’m having trouble breathing. There’s no way to fix this—no way on earth, anyway. For two days I’ve carried the knowledge that Jake was dead, but it still hadn’t sunk in. Everything within me was still in open rebellion. Fighting against the idea. Flinching away from the thought as though it were a hot stove, or a razor-edged knife blade. It’s too big, too painful, too dangerous to embrace; my heart refuses to accept it.
But now…I can no longer avoid it.
I pause when I realize that my wandering feet have led me to the chapel. I slip inside, thinking I’ll just sit for a while, hoping to compose myself before I have to go back and face my family. But instead, I immediately break down and start sobbing.
“What am I going to do now?” I cry out to the empty room. Shockingly, it doesn’t answer.
Anyone who sees me now would assume I’m crying about my brother. But I’m not. I have no reason to; there’s not a doubt in my mind that he’ll be fine. I know that for a fact. I have Jake’s word on it, after all. And I trust in that implicitly. I just wish I’d thought to tell him that when I had the chance. Because I think he would have liked to have known that, and I don’t know if he does.
“I’m sorry.” My whisper sounds loud in the quiet room. “I wish I hadn’t given up on us so quickly. I wish I’d tried a little harder. I wish I’d talked to you when I had the chance. Most of all, I wish you really had been sent here to answer my prayers. Because if that were the case, I know what I’d ask for now. I’d ask for a second chance. And, if I got one, I’d never let you go again.”
The room, when I finish speaking, is just as quiet and empty as before. I get no sense that anyone is there, that anyone is listening, that anyone cares. That might sound blasphemous, but it’s also true.
When I finally make my way back to the waiting room, I find it deserted except for Maggie. She’s sitting in the same chair she was in when I left, knitting something. I glance at all the empty seats and ask, “Where’d everybody go?”
“Oh, there you are,” Maggie says, needles pausing as she raises her gaze to my face. “We wondered where you’d got to. Dennis went home to be with the kids—and to give Dad a break. Mom went with him so that she could tell Dad the news in person. Theoretically, they’ll all be back here later. Did you ever find out where Jake went?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. He, uh…” Shit. I don’t know what to say. Noticing the row of insulated coffee carafes set up on a side table I ask, “Hey, would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Actually, yes,” Maggie says. “Thanks. That’s a good idea. They just replaced those while you were gone, so the coffee’s fresh.”
“Okay. Great.”
I take my time with the coffee, then return to the seating area. I place Maggie’s coffee on the table in front of her, then pick a seat for myself, choosing one that’s at an angle to Maggie’s, close enough that we can converse easily, without being in each other’s laps. I watch her work for a moment longer, then ask, “So…did you actually bring your knitting with you?”
“Of course.” She nods at the bag on the seat beside her. “I always try to keep a project on hand for times like these.”
“Times like these?” I repeat in disbelief.
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Okay, not exactly like this, and not exclusively when someone’s in the hospital either. Although, come to think of it, it did start when Dad was first diagnosed. I meant times when there’s nothing to do but I still need to do something, or I’ll lose my mind. This occupies enough of my attention that I don’t think too much.”
“Maybe I should take up knitting then.” I should definitely take up some sort of hobby, because I, too, have nothing to do and thoughts that won’t stop. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You’re not going to ask me what I think is happening with Tim, are you? Or what’s going to happen—because that kind of stuff is just too painful. Your guess is as good as mine, and neither of us know enough to even have an opinion. Also, I’m trying really hard not to think about it.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I don’t want to talk about that either.”
“In that case, go ahead.”
“Okay so, you know me pretty well, right?”
“I’d say so.”
“So would you say that I’m the type of person who’s always trying to fix things or…or people?”
My sister’s needles pause. She shoots me a sideways glance. “Is that a serious question?”
“Yes?”
“In that case, can I ask one?”
“I guess?”
“Have you met yourself?”
“What?”
Maggie drops her hands to her lap and gazes pityingly at me. “Tony. Of course, you’re that type of person. You’re the poster child for that type of person.”
“But…”
“Look, we all feel frightened or helpless from time to time, right? It’s the human condition. And we all deal with it in different ways. That happens to be yours. I knit. Mom bakes things. You try and save the world.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Okay, maybe not the whole world—just your own little corner of it.”
“No. That’s not—"
“Oh, you’re not a crusader; I’ll give you that. Maybe it’s closer to the truth to say you try to beat the world into submission, rather than save it? No, that’s not it either. You micromanage. You have to do it all yourself. If something’s not running smoothly enough for you, you have to insert yourself into the process. It’s like you can’t rest until you’ve done everything you can to set things right. And if it’s a person, or something that you can’t set right, for whatever reason, and they won’t listen to what you tell them—”
“I nag at them until they do?”
“No. The opposite, usually. You tune them out.”
“I…what?”
“When’s the last time you’ve thought about anyone else’s motivations? If someone doesn’t do things the way you want them to, you’re not interested in why they’re doing it that way. You’d rather do it yourself than discuss the reasons or see it done—quote, unquote—in the wrong way.”
“Can I help it that there’s usually a best way to do things? What does it matter why someone wants to do things otherwise? They’re either stubborn or misinformed, or—”
“Or they see things in a way that you don’t.”
“You mean wrong?”
“No. I don’t. Not everything is an attack on your judgment. And while I’ll grant you that there’s a best way to do a few things, most of the time, it really doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. For example,” She gestures toward the cup on the table. “What’s the right way to fix a cup of coffee?”
“It depends on who’s drinking it.”
“Exactly.”
I sip my coffee—perfectly made for me—for a few moments in thoughtful silence. I don’t necessarily agree with Maggie. I mean, I do about the coffee, but not otherwise. But I also don’t feel like arguing about it. Searching for a change of subject I gesture at her knitting. “So, what are you making anyway?”
“A scarf.” She pauses to stretch it out. “That’s all I ever make, really. They’re simple but practical. They can’t solve all the world’s problems—”
“Same as me, apparently.”
“Too true,” she says, shooting me a small smile. “But they can keep you warm when it’s cold out. They can hug your neck and make you feel loved—which is kind of like you. And speaking of you and hugs, where’d you say Jake went?”
I’m so not ready for that discussion. “Let’s not talk about that right now. It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?”
No. It isn’t. Not like this. For a moment I’m tempted to confide in her, because keeping it to myself is just too hard. But where do I even start? When my phone starts to ring it’s a perfect distraction. It’s probably a scam, I think noting the unfamiliar New York number, but I’ve got nothing better to do, so I answer it all the same.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello. I’m looking for a Mr. Antonio DiCecco…Jr? Are you he?”
“Yeah...”
“Wonderful. You know, Tony, you’re a very hard man to track down. I can call you Tony, can’t I? Antonio is such a mouthful and—oh! I can’t believe I said that.”
“What?”
“I know—so sorry. That was a real, ‘that’s what he said,’ kind of moment wasn’t it? Which was not my intention. It’s just that I’ve heard so much about you, that I feel like we’re old friends.
“I’m sorry…who is this?” I ask frowning in confusion.
“Oh, you don’t actually know me. I just feel like you do. My name is Randy McNamara. And I’m a nurse at Mount Sinai Hospital. In Manhattan. Do you know it?”
“I don’t think I—"
“Well, I’m actually a friend of your husband’s—Jake Hennessey.”
Annnnd…here it comes, I think as I get to my feet. This is the phone call I was supposed to have gotten, the one telling me that Jake is gone. And—oh, what fun!—I get to hear about it from Randy! His ex-lover. Just perfect. No wonder it’s taken him this long to get in contact with me. He’s probably as reluctant to have this conversation as I am. Still, I refuse to get all judgy about him. He was Jake’s friend, for some reason, and he’s trying to help. I mean…I assume he is. It’s not his fault that every word out of his mouth makes me want to scream. It’s Heaven I’m angry at. Or Fate. Or whoever, whatever force decided to take Jake away from me. Which I suppose means the person I’m most angry with is myself.
I retreat to the farthest corner of the room, not wanting Maggie to overhear. “Actually, Jake’s my ex-husband,” I murmur. “If we’re going to be precise.”
“Oh well…” I swear I can hear Randy wince. “Let’s not do that, shall we?”
“Do what?”
“Well, be precise, of course. Precision is highly overrated. And that particular detail? That’s not at all important to this conversation. Or to any of the conversations you’re likely to have over the next few days. Frankly the less you say about that the better. So, unless you’re asked, I’d suggest you just don’t bring it up, m’kay?”
This is too painful a conversation to have with Maggie sitting right there. I slip out of the room so I can pace the corridor and not have to speak quite so quietly. “Look,” I tell him, interrupting a flow of words that seems to have no point—not that I’m actually listening. “I think I know why you’re calling me, so if we could cut to the chase, I’d appreciate it.”
“Actually, I don’t think you do know why I’m calling,” the bastard has the nerve to tell me. “This is important, Tony; so, I’m going to need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you. Also, we’re dealing with an extremely tight deadline here, no pun intended, so please let me finish, all right?”
What a jerk, I catch myself thinking. I want to be mad at Jake. It’s his fault I’m having to deal with this. But tears are streaming down my face again. I can’t believe he’s gone.
“So,” Randy says, “as I started to say, Jake was involved in an unfortunate incident here in the city. He suffered some head trauma, which in turn caused his brain to swell. That’s why, when he arrived here, his doctors put him into a medically induced coma in order to facilitate healing. Now, please don’t be alarmed by this. That sort of treatment is not at all uncommon in these cases. However, he is still unconscious even now that the treatment has ceased, which of course is not optimum.”
“Wait…he what?”
“This is also very common. And it’s still very possible for him to make a full recovery—assuming he’s allowed to. However, there are also some legitimate reasons to be concerned about his long-term prognosis and that’s causing some people here—his parents, I regret to say—to overreact.”
“I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Are you saying this is all happening now?”
“Well, of course. Everything is always happening now. Now is the only point in time that actually exists. That’s just basic physics.”
I have to actually bite my hand to keep from cursing. As calmly as I can, I say, “You know, maybe we can shelve the philosophy for a moment and get back to talking about Jake?”
“Yes, of course we— Oh. No, actually, we can’t do that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because right now what we need to talk about are his parents. You see they are strongly of the opinion that what Jake would want, in a situation like this, is for no extraordinary measures to be taken, which might well be the case, in general terms. A lot of people think that’s what they want, until it’s actually happening to them. And, in this case, they’re interpreting that in its very broadest sense. They’re asking that all feeding be stopped, as well as hydration. They want his ventilator to be removed, and for him to stop receiving any additional oxygen—”
“Wait! Stop! Are you saying he’s alive?”
“Currently, yes. Although, as I’m trying to explain to you, I’m not entirely sure how much longer he’ll remain that way. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, I am not in a position to make decisions on Jake’s behalf.”
“Well, neither are his fucking parents,” I whisper shout. “I’m his medical proxy!”
“Yes, so I’ve been informed. However, I’m also not in a position to inform Jake’s care team that that’s the case. And his parents, it seems, are either unaware of the fact or are choosing to ignore it. I refuse to speculate as to which is more likely to be the case, although I do have suspicions.”
“Yeah. So do I!”
“Splendid. So, now that we’re on the same page, and you understand what’s happening, what I’ll need you to do is to get your cute buns up here and rescue your hubby. Obviously, I’m only guessing they’re cute—your buns, I mean. However, having known Jake it seems like a safe bet.”
I did not need to hear that.
“I’m on my way.” I say as I disconnect the call, after having verified the name of the hospital and its exact location. Then I duck back into the waiting room to let my sister know I’ll be leaving.
“Everything all right?” she asks, frowning as she takes in my—I’m sure—rattled appearance.
“No, I— I mean yes, everything’s great. I think. Honestly? I have no idea. But I have to go now.”
“Go? Go where?”
“It’s complicated,” I say as I sprint out the door. “I’ll call when I know more.”
“Nicely done,” Gabe says as he slips the phone out of Randy’s hand and puts it away. “Very nicely done.”
Randy sighs—it’s an old habit, one that he has not yet broken himself of. “But will it be enough, do you think? Will it work?”
Gabe spreads his hands. “That’s not our concern. It’s out of our hands now. That’s how this works; we do our best, and then leave the rest to Him.”
“Yes, I get that, but…” Randy’s voice trails off. He gazes at Jake lying unconscious on the bed then says, “That beard though—yuck. Surely, we can do something about that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know! Get hold of someone? Convince them shave it off, perhaps?”
Gabe shrugs. “Best not to. I think that would just confuse matters at this point.”
“I guess. It’s just that I know he’d want to look his best when his— When Tony gets here.”
“Ah, yes. I forget sometimes the level of importance you people place on appearances.”
“You people?” Randy splutters in disbelief. “Dude. You can’t say things like that!”
“And why not?”
“Because it’s a microaggression. It belittles people; it categorizes them as Other, as Lesser Beings.”
“Interesting. That’s not at all how I meant it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. However, intent does not negate impact.”
“Yes, I know. I also forget how much importance you…mans place on words, as well. Better?”
Randy laughs reluctantly. “A little, I guess. I mean, at least you’re trying.”
“What’s that saying, you’re all so found of? It’s the thought that counts? Does that no longer apply?”
“I don’t know,” Randy replies vaguely. His attention is focused on Jake once again. He reaches out and lightly feathers his hand through Jake’s hair. So very lightly. Not even touching him, actually. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I know you’re doing the best you can. I am too. Just a little bit longer, then we both can rest. One way or another.”
“It’s hard,” Gabe observes.
Randy nods in agreement. “Yes.”
“You’re doing the right thing though. Hopefully that knowledge will ease your pain.”
“I just wish I could see the future. I wish I could know for certain that it would be enough, that it would all work out.”
“It will all work out exactly as it’s supposed to—that’s a given.”
“And yet, not helpful.”
“Why? What does it matter? Would you do things differently?”
“I don’t know—maybe? Perhaps?”
“Really?”
“No. Probably not.”
“Then, as you just told your friend, you’re doing the best that you can. Which is all any of us can do.”
“I guess you’re right,” Randy agrees. He smiles at his mentor. “Thanks. That actually does help.”
“Of course, it does,” Gabe replies. “Because it’s the truth. The truth always helps.”