Chapter 17 - The Day Daniel Called Him Brother
October brought cold rain.
August's body weakened quickly.
He stopped hiding it.
The cane became a wheelchair some mornings.
His appetite vanished.
His face sharpened.
But he still attended Daniel's school conference.
No one could stop him.
Daniel had been suspended for punching another boy.
August sat across from the principal.
"What did he say?"
The principal frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"The boy Daniel hit."
Daniel stared at the floor.
The principal shifted papers.
"He made an inappropriate comment."
"What comment?"
Daniel muttered:
"He called you a crippled gangster."
August blinked.
Ruth covered her mouth.
The principal looked horrified.
August turned to Daniel.
"And you hit him?"
"Yes."
"Once?"
"Three times."
"Poor technique."
Ruth kicked August's wheelchair.
He winced.
The principal stared.
August became serious.
"Daniel."
The boy looked up.
"You do not defend me with your fists."
"He—"
"I've had grown men try to kill me. I can survive a teenager's vocabulary."
Daniel looked ashamed.
August continued.
"You are allowed to be angry."
"I am."
"You are not allowed to become what hurt you."
Daniel's eyes filled.
"Fine."
"Apologize."
Daniel glared.
"Fine."
On the drive home, Daniel remained silent.
Then he said:
"I don't want people talking about you like you're already dead."
August looked out the window.
"I know."
"They do."
"I know."
"I hate it."
August reached over.
Daniel took his hand.
"I'm not ready."
"Neither am I."
Daniel's voice cracked.
"I spent ten years thinking you abandoned me."
August closed his eyes.
"And now I have to lose you anyway."
August had no answer.
Daniel leaned his head against his shoulder.
"You were my brother first."
August swallowed.
"Yes."
"You were kind of my dad too."
The world stopped.
August turned.
Daniel refused to look at him.
"I'm not calling you Dad. Don't make it weird."
August laughed and cried at once.
"I wouldn't dare."
That evening, Poppy's doctors delivered better news.
Her immune markers had improved significantly.
The experimental treatment appeared to be working.
Ruth cried so hard the doctor had to repeat it.
Months of fear loosened.
Not disappeared.
But loosened.
She rushed home.
August was sleeping.
She sat beside him until he woke.
"Poppy's improving."
He stared.
"What?"
"The treatment."
Ruth laughed through tears.
"It's working."
August covered his face.
His shoulders shook.
Ruth realized he was crying harder than she was.
"She's going to live," he whispered.
"We hope."
"No."
He looked at her.
"Say it."
Ruth understood.
For once, he wanted hope without caution.
"She's going to live."
August smiled.
"Good."
That night, he deteriorated.
Severe pain.
Vomiting.
Fever.
They returned to the hospital.
The oncologist spoke gently.
Days to weeks.
Maybe.
No certainty.
August asked to go home.
Ruth objected.
Then understood.
Howerin House was no longer a tomb.
It was home.
They moved a hospital bed into the library.
He chose that room because Poppy loved it.
Daniel placed the blue horse on the table.
Ethan visited daily.
Walter refused to sleep.
People August had helped quietly over the years began sending flowers.
A dockworker whose son's surgery August had paid for.
A widow whose mortgage mysteriously disappeared.
A former employee whose daughter attended college because of an anonymous scholarship.
Ruth read the cards.
"You said nobody loved you."
August looked embarrassed.
"I said no woman would marry me."
"I did."
"Questionable judgment."
She kissed his forehead.
One evening, Walter brought a locked wooden box.
August knew it.
His father's.
Inside were letters Edmund Howerin had written during the search for Daniel.
One addressed to August.
Never delivered.
Walter explained he had found it in the damaged west wing after the fire.
August opened it.
His father had written:
You will blame yourself because you have always believed love makes you responsible for saving everyone. It does not. Sometimes love is simply refusing to stop looking.
August read that line three times.
Then handed it to Daniel.
Daniel cried.
Ruth watched.
Ten years of guilt finally loosened.
Too late to save August's body.
But perhaps not too late to save the part of him that had remained inside Warehouse Seven.
That night, Daniel stood beside the hospital bed.
"Goodnight."
August smiled.
"Goodnight."
Daniel reached the doorway.
Then turned.
"Love you, brother."
August stopped breathing.
Daniel disappeared upstairs before he could answer.
August stared at Ruth.
"I didn't say it back."
"He knows."
August looked toward the stairs.
"I want to say it."
"Tomorrow."
August nodded.
May you like
Tomorrow.
Again, that dangerous word.
