I'm still walking funny when I re-enter the hospital's main entrance, my butt having gone numb a long, long time ago, sitting across from Casey's cross. My legs are stiff, the bottom of my jeans pretty dirty, but something feels... lighter.
Breathing is easier, the air ready in my lungs, unlike how I've felt for so long, drowning even above the water.
When I approach the waiting room, I scan it quickly, inhaling steady and slow through my nose. Holding for a few seconds, I spy Dad sitting alone, his face in a magazine. Releasing my breath, I keep looking until I find Mom.
I've circled the entire waiting room, finally giving up on finding her and wondering where she is, by the time I notice Dad is looking right at me.
The force of his stare is so unexpected, so unnatural now, that I nearly jump back. Somehow, maybe due to the imaginary therapist-Jax sitting on my shoulder, telling me to try and listen, I don't run for the door.
Not even as Dad's lip curves up at one corner, just like Casey's used to, in a sad smile. Not even as he stands and closes the distance between us, until he's right in front of me, looking down at me in a way he hasn't in years.
"Dylan." His voice is soft, like he might break me. Like he doesn't realize I've already been destroyed and haphazardly crammed back together before falling apart again just in the last few months alone.
"Are you okay?"
His question almost brings a laugh to my lips. Almost. It would, if it wasn't so sad that he can't tell how his own daughter is barely surviving.
Looking him in the eyes, I keep as much resentment as I can from my voice as I answer him honestly. "No, Dad. I'm not. I've been far from okay for a very long time."
Surprising me, he flinches, but doesn't drop his gaze. Even more surprisingly, he continues speaking, more words than we've exchanged since Casey died in these few moments than the years since.
"Me neither, Dylan. None of us have been." A gentle smile, one more time, maybe even an attempt to cross this bridge between us, to make amends. Something in my chest starts to crack. "I think it's about time we start talking about that."
He takes the words from my lips and I'm left gawking at him. Snapping my mouth shut, I glance around the waiting room another time.
"Mom..."
"She had to take a work call, she's in the car. Grams is asleep, we were waiting to tell her goodbye before we left. Mom will be back and we'll all talk together then, but... If it's okay, sweetheart-" He shakes his head just slightly, "If it's okay, Dylan, I think I have some things I need to say to you, first."
My mouth opens and closes, my mind racing. Yes, I have a lot I need to say to him, too. No, I didn't plan on facing him alone, without Mom's snappiness to cut through the heaviness that sits between my father and me.
No, I don't know what he'll say, and yes, I'll admit that I'm afraid of what I'll hear.
What if he tells me all the ways I've disappointed them since Casey passed, confirming every terrible thing I already knew? What if he tells me how hurt he's been and how I've only made it worse?
What if, what if, what if...
But somehow, I nod slowly anyways. "Okay."
His face lightens, just briefly, before turning serious again. Pivoting on his heel, he exits the hospital, assuming that I'll follow.
I do.
Right until we're outside and he takes a seat on one of the old, wooden benches in front of the parking lot. People rush in and out of the entrance, some in white coats, others simply visiting. As I watch them go about their business, I feel Dad's eyes on me.
Waiting, inviting me to sit beside him. Stiffly, reluctantly, I do.
As I face the cars pulling in and out of the cramped spots in front of us, feeling his eyes on my face, watching for a reaction, waiting for me to break maybe, I can't help but feel that it shouldn't be like this.
Sitting beside my father shouldn't make me uncomfortable. Hearing him say my name, feeling him looking at me, shouldn't break my heart and set my mind racing the way that it does.
But it does, and here we are.
"So." Dad says and I finally turn to face him, holding my breath as I take in his features, features that have aged years and years, more than they should have.
"So..." I repeat, cursing myself for sounding small and weak and not at all like how I was when Jax and I practiced together during our sessions.
"So," Dad repeats, "It's come to my attention that you might think your mother and I..." A quick clearing of his throat. "That I don't love you anymore."
My gasp is audible, my chest clenching tightly.
Since Casey's passed away, I've reminded myself of the ways he was similar to our mother, forgetting that he came from this man, too. That his bluntness, his straightforwardness, wasn't something he crafted himself, but something he inherited, learned, from our father.
Before Dad lost his voice, that is.
"Or that maybe you think you don't measure up to your brother in some way." He continues and I close my eyes, reminding my lungs how to breathe.
Maybe he hasn't lost his voice after all.
In and out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow.
I stare at a deep blue minivan ahead, a mother trying to squish three kids in the back seat. I watch them shove and giggle, fighting for the window spots.
In and out Dylan, it's easy.
When I don't feel close to hyperventilating, I glance back at my father, trying hard not to imagine how similar Casey would look if he'd ever gotten the chance to grow up, and shrug my shoulders.
I ignore his second question, the nagging sensation that I will truly never live up to Casey still not settled. Perhaps not ever settled. Instead, I answer the first, one that comes much easier.
"How can you love me? Before today... I doubt you'd even be able to tell what I looked like."
"Like your brother." Dad answers immediately, finally, finally after so many years of avoiding me, looking me directly in the eyes. "So, so much like your brother. More and more as you get older."
My mouth pops open in surprise but he continues, pointing to his own eyes. "The crinkles beside your eyes when you smile - too infrequently now, I'll admit. Those are the same."
I roll my eyes, despite the tears building there.
"And that, too. You make the same face when we're bothering you."
His smile is soft, like he's remembering. Like he didn't just use present tense when only one of us still makes that face at all.
Unable to return his smile, to say anything at all, I pull at a frayed strand of denim at my knee, glaring at it intently.
Don't do this, I beg, Don't tell me how much I remind you of him. That whenever anyone sees me, they just miss him.
"Maybe I shouldn't be completely honest with you, Dylan."
Please do. Please, it's what got us here in the first place - all the lies. I can't take any more.
"But..." He continues, perhaps feeling the desperation rolling off me like ocean waves. "I think when people go through stuff like this... There never is a right thing to do. So I'm going to be honest with you because I know you can take it." A proud smile? A deep, sorrowful breath. A defeated sigh. "It hurts to look at you, Dylan. It does. Looking at you is a reminder of my son that never got to grow up."
I nod, furiously wiping at the tears that have spilled down my cheeks, before wrapping my arms tightly around my torso. The crack from before deepens, my heart breaking so painfully it steals all my breath.
Of course. Of course I'm just a painful reminder.
Imagine having a golden child stripped away from you far too soon, a girl like me all that's left in his place? A girl with dreams not as big, goals not as high, potential not as great. But still there. Still there and reminding you with every look and word of your loss. Your massive, huge, painful, unfair loss.
A rock lodges in my throat.
"But if I let you believe I stopped loving you..." Dad's voice shakes a little, snapping my head back so that I can stare at him in disbelief. His fists clench against his jeans, his jaw straining as he shakes his head again. "Well Dylan, that's my fault. And shame on me for it." A silence. "Shame on me."
Not knowing what to say, I stare ahead, gnawing my bottom lip nearly clean off. This isn't what I expected to hear, an acknowledgement that he let me down. My tears continue to run.
"It's hard when you lose a child, honey. You want the other one to keep growing. To get to do the things your lost child can't. But you're afraid, too, more than ever. Because you're never supposed to lose a child and you already did. And if the world can be cruel enough to take one away, what's to say the other one won't be ripped away from you, too?"
I hug my knees, watching patients get into cars to go home. I stay silent, his words churning over and over in my head. Then a warmth on my forearm and I realize Dad is touching me, grabbing my wrist like he's afraid to let go.
My opposite hand almost covers his when he speaks again.
"We couldn't tell you, Dylan."
"Couldn't?" My voice cracks, my hand drops back into my lap. "You act like you didn't have a choice. You did, you chose-"
"He was your hero, your best friend. We couldn't take that from you... We couldn't..." Dad clears his throat, his eyes getting misty before he blinks it away, face solemn once more, his hand still firmly on my arm. "Casey deserves to be remembered that way, by you at the very least. At least that's what we thought."
"But it was all a lie, wasn't it? Who cares if he's remembered that way, if none of it is true?" My anger from at Casey's cross returns, aimed this time closer to my parents for keeping this illusion of him alive. For not letting me see the reality of him, everything - the good, the bad, everything that made him who he was.
Dad stares at me a moment, head cocked to the side. "Now do you really believe that?"
My chin raises stubbornly but he continues too quickly for my argument.
"Do you remember who taught you to ride your bike?"
"What? You did-"
A quick shake of his head. "It was Casey." A moment. "Who bandaged your knee the first time you fell?Who brought you fishing at the pier the first time? Every time after?"
I shake my head, breathing becoming even more uneven the harder I try to inhale and exhale slowly.
"Who chased Tommy Gold around the schoolyard that day he made fun of your shoes? Your shoes, Dylan."
I sniffle too hard to form words.
"Who gave you your first driving lesson? And watched movies at home with you when you were sick? And picked you up after homecoming when your date got too comfortable? Who-"
"Enough! Enough, okay? Stop it," I sob.
Of course I remember, of course I do, of course I do, of course I do. I can't stop. I can't...
"Do you think that boy," My father has to force the word out, like his mouth knows it's unnatural to still call him that, when his son should be a man now but will never be, " Just went away because he made a mistake?"
"He could've killed Luke!" I gasp, "He killed himself, and he could've hurt so many other people, he could've..." Could've, could've, could've.
Shouldn't have.
"He could've, Dyl, you're right. And if he were alive, he would've had to learn his lesson and pay the price for those actions. But the way it worked out, he didn't kill anyone else and he never got the lesson, either. He hurt Luke, it's true. Still, he bore the ultimate price. And we, his family, the ones still here... We bear it too. But we can still love him, Dylan. You can. He wasn't a monster. Your mother and I just ... We didn't want you to think of him like that. We were protecting -"
"Me?" I snap, furious that he can act like this is forgivable or okay, "Or Casey?"
Dad doesn't get mad, he only smiles sadly. "Can't it be both?" His eyes search mine, "We love you, Dylan. We'll do anything to protect you. Whatever it takes. We might mess that up sometimes, it's true. But we did the same for our son." A deep breath. "For his memory."
Anger seizes me, setting my jaw and clenching my fists. "You made Luke a murderer."
"I know." He at least has the decency to look remorseful, torn.
"You made me hate him."
Dad nods.
"When he was all that I had, you made me hate him."
"We thought-" His face contorts and I see it then.
Mom thought, I realize the correction, realize the lengths she was willing to go for her son, but that dad didn't approve of. Went along with, understood. But didn't want, not the way she did.
"We thought that in the grand scheme of things... it wouldn't be so bad. You'd move on and..." His voice trails off.
Get over it, my mind fills in the blanks.
"Well I didn't."
"No." Dad sighs, "No, I don't think any of us did."
We're silent for long enough that dusk starts to settle. I wonder about Mom's work call and if there ever was one, if Dad really just needed this time to talk to me. Dad who couldn't look at me but now hasn't stopped talking.
Telling me things I'm not sure I can, or even want, to understand. Things that make no sense, but somehow do. Things that make me angry and hurt. Things that make some of this a little easier.
When I think we might be done, nothing truly resolved, Dad puts a finger under my wobbling chin and forces me look at him.
"I love you, Dylan. More than anything." A tear slips from the crease of his eye. His hand drops. "I still remember the days you and Casey were born, down to the minute. You know, there's nurses running everywhere, the doctor's still doing whatever he needs to do to your mom... But then they hand you over, and you, both of you, were just such... lights in the world. You were just so perfect and every hope and dream I'd ever had came to those moments... And then the world shifts. And you realize, this tiny, helpless creature, this thing you love most in the entire world, is so small and defenseless and vulnerable. Everything in the world can hurt them and it's your job to protect them, to keep them safe.
And then they grow up a little and you think it'll get easier as they need you less... But it doesn't. The little baby who woke you up crying at night turns into the preschooler who needs a kiss when they skin their knee, into the nine year old who still needs you to remind them to be brave at the dentist... To the teenager who was driving home when he shouldn't have been."
He looks away then, maybe unable to watch the full fledged sobs shaking my body, but still keeps going.
"As parents, Dylan, your mother and I's worst fear came true that day: we couldn't keep our child safe. We didn't. We failed him. And now... now I worry that we're failing you too."
Without thinking about anything except all the things I should've told Casey the night he left and never did and will never get to, of the pancake stacks we never got to eat the next morning, of the guilt that's buried me since then, that must be burying them, too, I grab Dad's hand in mine and squeeze hard.
"But you have to understand, Dylan, from the moment you were born, you were his. During morning feedings, he'd sit right beside Mom and watch over her arm, just looking at you. He was trying to get you to play before you even knew how and once you did, your mother and I could never catch up to the two of you. You were best friends, a team. You looked up to him so much..."
Something in the air shifts and Dad gives my hand a squeeze back.
"Maybe it was wrong, and I'll never stop being sorry for it, but once he was gone, we couldn't take that from him. Or from you."
Who knew Mr. Anderson really had so much to say? What're your thoughts on this lengthy, super sad chapter? My heart hurts writing these conversations but Dyl needs this...
Love you all!