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ChapterOne
NATHAN
“Son, you need to come home.”
I frowned at my phone. Though my dad was a man of few words, he rarely demanded or urged me to do anything. Unlike my mother, he got the most done through cajoling, suggesting, and humoring people. This deviation from his normalmodus operandistartled me.
He especially never called me during working hours on a weekday. If anything, he would text:Son, I need you to get your brothers and sister together for your mom’s birthday.Or,make sure to call your grandma. She needs help with her garden.Things like that.
I looked at the clock on my computer. It was one o’clock in the afternoon on a Friday, and I had just spoken to him and Mom the previous evening. “Why do I need to come home? Dad, I just got back from lunch, and—”
“This is not up for discussion.” His hardened voice cracked on the last word. “It’s your mother.”
Cold dread seeped into the very marrow of my bones, making me turn away from the computer. Before I knew it, I had my suit jacket on and was halfway across my office.
“What happened?” I asked, swallowing around the knot in my throat.
He sighed, and I could hear the shakiness of it. I moved faster, crossing to the elevator of the building in what felt like the blink of an eye.
“Just come home,” he said.
By the time I got to my parents’ house, I could see all my siblings’ cars parked in the driveway. There were five of us in total: me, Brandon, Damien, and the twins, John and Mackenzie. Most of us either lived in Hemingway or in neighboring towns. We were a close-knit family, coming home for Sunday evening dinners or participating in town events together. No matter where we were in the world, we always made it back for each other’s birthdays. And my parents were the center of it all.
When I opened the front door, I was greeted with silence. It was eerie because it was never quiet, even when all of us had moved out. There was always a TV on or laughter in the kitchen or music playing somewhere deep in the house. People from town came in and out because my mom, as my dad fondly said, took in strays. The absence of noise was stark, the loudest sound I had ever heard.
I walked to the back of the house, where the living room was and found everyone sitting in that same weird silence. Mackenzie—Mack—was sitting at the piano, but she wasn’t playing anything. John and Brandon were watching a basketball game on mute. Damien was standing by the window with his girlfriend, Alex Taylor, speaking in hushed voices. And my dad was looking through a photo album, tears streaming down his face.
The only person I didn’t see was my mom.
When I entered the room, everyone’s eyes turned toward me. My dad lurched from his chair toward me, and I met him halfway, hugging and holding him tight.
I could wrap my arms fully around him. It didn’t make sense; my dad was a powerhouse of a man at six feet, five inches, two hundred and sixty pounds. Even though our family was a matriarchal one, my dad held his own and had a strong presence. To feel him be so weak was startling at best, panic-inducing at worst.
What the hell is going on?
“I’m glad you could make it, Son,” he said into my shoulder.
“Of course,” I answered. “What’s going on? Where’s Mom?”
He pulled away, and when I looked into his eyes, that same dread washed over me again.
“Nathan,” he said, his voice holding my name in equal parts severity, gentleness, and gravity. “Your mother…she died late this morning.”
I shook my head. “No.”
As I stepped back, Dad stepped forward. “Nathan…”
“No.” I held out my hands, keeping him and everyone else at arm’s length. “She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. I just spoke to her last night.”
My dad stood in place, watching me with sad, understanding eyes. “I know.”
“She wasfine.Sheisfine. Are you sure there wasn’t a mistake?”
“I—” he took a deep breath, bringing his fist to his mouth before letting out a shaky breath to continue— “I was there. I checked her myself. She’s gone, Nathan. She died in her sleep.”
“From what?” I yelled. “She was healthier than any of us. She was healthier than you, and you work out several times a week. Did she have health problems that none of us knew about? You’re a doctor; how could you let this happen?”
Though his posture was stiff, his eyes reflected what was roiling inside me: anger, confusion, a deep sense of guilt. “These things just happen sometimes,” he said, holding out his hands in a helpless gesture. “The doctors that checked her this morning think it was a brain aneurysm. Besides, after a certain age, you have to be ready for your time to go. It was just her time.”
