The next weekend, Donovan and the team had a bye week so both of us drove home. This time he drove with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around my upper thigh. There was no distance between us on this drive, no uncomfortable silence, no secrets.
And because our families were hosting a barbecue and our friends never said no to a free home cooked meal, they were driving in a car behind us most likely gagging every time Donovan leaned over at a red light to kiss me. Still, I smiled every time he pulled away. Even when our friends honked behind us.
Donovan would just lean back over, flip them off in his rear view mirror, and kiss me again.
That drive was probably the longest it had ever taken me to get home.
"I thought I was going to have to send Marcus out after you two, did you break down or something?" Mom asked after she finally released Donovan and I from her death grip she called a hug.
Donovan's blue eyes sparkled. "Or something."
Marcus pretended to gag and he reminded me so much of Danny that I glanced at the Starr house on instinct. Donovan followed my glance and shrugged.
"He said he's feeling up to it," he explained, "so he'll probably make an appearance tonight. Hopefully, not for long."
The oldest Starr boy clearly did not approve of his brother joining us for the barbecue, but I hoped that the youngest would take my advice soon and talk to his brother. At some point, Danny had to tell his family that he knew his own limits. The fact that he was coming tonight, despite their protests, was a step in the right direction.
My mom ushered my friends and I to the backyard where half the neighborhood was already gathered, drinking, eating, and enjoying an unusually warm fall day. One of the last of the season most likely.
Cam and Gisele were Troutman Barbecue veterans but Patrick and Winston were new to the party. The last time Donovan went to one was over five years ago. He came once with his family when we "hated" each other, but we spent twenty minutes bickering before he stormed out.
"D'you remember," Donovan began, passing me a plate, "that one barbecue where you yelled at me for an hour about the electoral college? And then you dumped ketchup on my shoes?"
I winced. "Okay, I maintain the ketchup thing was an accident."
"They were new shoes."
Cam glanced at me as she filled her own plate raising her eyebrows and I rolled my eyes in response. Clearly, he was being dramatic.
"I did not dump the ketchup, okay?" I shrugged, dumping a glob of mac and cheese on the plate. "Your shoes ran into my ketchup."
Donovan laughed and Cam snorted at my response. Both of them seemed as though they were going to respond, but when I glanced back up Donovan's face had fallen and the color left his complexion. I didn't need to turn around to know that his brother was walking into the backyard-- I could tell by the way his body seemed to wake up. Seemed to be ready to rush to Danny's side the moment he needed it.
Tightened shoulders, rapid breathing, and darting eyes. It was hypervigilance.
Early on, when I would go to therapy for my dad's illness, my therapist told me that people reacted differently to trauma. She said that it wasn't as simple as fight or flight. Some people shut down completely and some become so brutally conscious of everything happening around them as if they're waiting for an explosion to go off.
Me? I shut down. But Danny was Donovan's explosion, and lately the oldest Starr boy just seemed to be waiting for him to go off.
Donovan dropped his own plate, discarding it on the side of the table as he grabbed another one and started piling food on it. The plate was meant for Danny, of course, and he would likely eat two bites of it before setting it aside. Still, his older brother tried to shove as much food on the limited surface area as he could.
Cam nudged me as Donovan left the table to give the plate to Danny. The youngest Starr boy was sitting next to his mother in one of the plastic chairs strewn about the yard. His shoulders were curved forward as he tried to regain his breath.
"That's his brother, isn't it?" Cam asked, her brow furrowing into a familiar look of pity.
Donovan would hate that look. He thought of pity as an ugly word, but all I saw on my best friend's face was compassion and sorrow for the neighborhood boy who got out of breath too easily.
I nodded, picking up Donovan's discarded plate to set it on the table beside his mother. She squeezed my hand gratefully, another one of those touches that said all of the words she wouldn't say out loud. Hopefully my answering smile conveyed the same.
When I went back to sit next to my friends, the mood was different than before. Winston was watching his best friend from across the yard, Gisele was trying to politely look anywhere but in Danny's direction, while Cam was watching me with a sad expression on her face.
"I didn't realize—" Winston cleared his throat, "I guess I didn't expect him to look so... not normal."
Unfortunately, Danny's latest bout of chemo was the harshest strain he'd had before. His skin was a sallow sort of gray and his clothes seemed to hang off his figure like limp newspapers. Our friends were seeing Danny at his worst, and it was jarring.
They were also seeing a new side to Donovan— one that still catches me off guard. Reconciling the boy who was the center of every party, made headlines, and fired off jokes like it was his job with the one before us with trembling hands and a furrowed brow was hard. Almost impossible.
"Is he... getting better?" Cam asked, squeezing Patrick's hand subtly.
I glanced over at the Starr family who, unconsciously, seemed to orbit their youngest son. Danny sat, resting his head on his fist while his family flurried around him. He waved a little at me.
I waved back, then turned to my friends. "Not yet."
"Let's play a game," Gisele suggested suddenly. We all stared at her, caught off guard by the change of subject. "I'll go get Danny and Donovan. You have a deck of cards, right Josie?"
"Why do you just assume I have—"
She shot me a look. "You have them in your purse, don't you?"
"I— yes, I do."
Sue me. I get bored easily.
"Excellent," she grinned, "I'll grab the other two and I can teach you all how to play one of my favorite games."
Cam and I made eye contact across the table knowing that we were in for a treat. Or, at least, some mild entertainment. The conversation started to get too serious for Gisele and this was the way she could help. I understood the feeling of helplessness and I understood the feeling of wanting to fix it.
Donovan and Danny joined our table, the two boys sitting on either side of me on the picnic bench. The oldest Starr boy smiled down at me, and I grabbed his hand in my own. This was it. This was how I tried to fix it. Still, it never felt like enough.
"Okay!" Gisele began, "the game is called 'fuck you.'"
"Sorry, what?"
***
"Fuck Donovan!" Winston shouted, slamming the eight of spades down on the table.
"Fuck Donovan!" Patrick agreed, shoving the eight of hearts down.
"What the hell, guys?" Donovan laughed, his eyes watering as the cards piled up against him.
"Fuck Josie!" Danny slammed the ace of hearts down on top of the pile.
I glared at him in betrayal. We'd been playing alongside each other the whole time and we'd been working together. The youngest Starr grinned evilly. Okay, Brutus.
Gisele started counting down and I glanced desperately around the table.
"C'mon! Nobody has anything else?" I groaned.
Gisele reached zero and everybody clapped, laughing as she picked up the giant pile of cards. For every card that was stacked against me, I was required to drink that many seconds.
Fortunately, it was a short round and I had to chug for only twelve seconds. A couple rounds ago, Winston got stuck with twenty-three. Gisele's game changed the mood drastically for our friends, and effectively got them tipsy. The rules were a little fuzzy, but we got to yell 'fuck' a lot and that was entertaining.
Danny excused himself to the restroom before the next round and Gisele continued to deal the cards out to all of us. Donovan put his arm around me, pressing his lips against my temple and the combination of his fingertips and the breeze caused a chill to run up my spine.
"You're cold?" he asked, already starting to shrug out of his jacket before I could even respond. I didn't object when he draped it over my shoulders, wrapping me in his scent and warmth. Blue eyes sparkled as he looked at me. "Hm. That's no good."
"What?"
"I like you in my jacket a little too much for my own good, I think."
He smirked as I shoved his shoulder back, snuggling into his side further as his arm tightened around me.
We played another round before I excused myself to find the bathroom. The warmth of the house hit me first and I rubbed my hands together trying to create friction and warm the tips of my fingers. Marcus was hanging out in the living room with some of his friends from school. One of them seemed to be killing the other three at a video game. Or, at least, it seemed that way as they kept throwing a pillow at the boy sitting furthest on the couch who kept laughing maniacally.
A couple of my neighbors were chatting in the kitchen and I was stuck answering their questions about school, about Donovan, about my plans for after graduation. Eventually, I found my opening and skirted away from them toward the bathroom.
The house was so abuzz with sounds and warmth that I didn't hear the sound coming from the bathroom and I ignored the light under the crack in the door when I flung it open.
"Shit! Danny?" I was on my knees next to him in an instant. "Are you okay?"
His head was hung over the toilet bowl, barely held up by his arm. His body was slumped against the wall as if he were too weak to hold himself up. His skin practically blended into the white wallpaper behind him.
He groaned. "Just super. Can't you tell?"
I ignored the sarcasm.
"Let me go get your mom," I rushed out, starting to get back up. His hand shot out to grab my arm.
"Don't," he croaked, "seriously. I'm fine. It's just the nausea."
"But—"
"Josie," blue eyes met mine. "She's having a good time. They all are."
God damned those blue eyes. I could never say no to his brother's and now I apparently was weakened by his too. He could read the hesitation on my face even though he was barely able to pull his head away from the rim.
"Josie?"
"Fine," I sighed, "but I'm taking you home, okay?"
He nodded, swallowing so thickly it looked painful. I stood, reaching for his arm to help pull him to his feet. He was so light that it required little effort from me. I offered my arm again, but he shook his head.
"I can walk."
"I know," I said with an uneasy smile, "I just need an escort."
He rolled his eyes, but he still let me take his arm as we walked out my front door to avoid the crowd of people in the backyard. We walked in silence down the sidewalk to his house as slowly as possible. The stars blinked above us and the breeze blew us forward. If it had been going against us I would've been afraid that Danny would be knocked over by it.
"I'm not getting better, Josie," he said as though he were commenting on the night air.
"Don't say that," I responded quickly, brushing off his comment. "You're going to be fine, Danny—"
"Just let me say this," he interrupted, stopping to face me.
I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. He glanced back toward the backyard full of noise, and warmth, and love. There was nothing but anguish on his face. My heart constricted. This was the anguish that he would never let his family see, but there was a strange desperation in the blue eyes he shared with his brother. A desperation I hoped to never see again.
"I'm not scared to die, okay?"
The desperation hadn't crept into his voice. His words weren't the source of his desperation, no, he was merely desperate that I hear them.
"Okay, Danny," I whispered, squeezing his hand.
"I'm not scared of dying," he repeated. "But I'm terrified of what it will do to my parents. To Donovan. I need... and I know it's not fair of me to ask this, but they love you. Donovan loves you. So, I think you might be the only one I can ask this of. I need you to promise that you'll make sure they're okay. Make sure that they keep going. Don't let Donovan quit football. Don't let my parents stop asking about him. Make sure they see him. Make sure that they—"
His voice cracked and I didn't let him finish before I pulled him into my arms. Tears welled in my eyes, pooling out onto my cheeks.
"I'm not scared of dying," he said again into my shoulder, "but I'm scared of leaving them behind."
As I felt his shoulders shake, I knew that he was crying too.
_________
Hey guys.
Writing these scenes is really hard, but also cathartic in a strange way.
Thanks for reading.
Stay safe and be kind, my friends.