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  “Bishop…when was the last time you had something to eat?”

  The question almost confused Bishop as he turned to Pam. “Eat? Shit…I don’t know. Like last night I think.”

  “You haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, correct?”

  “I can’t.”

  “I know you’re suffering right now, but I need you to know that my colleagues are outside the room. We’re going to take care of your brother. I need you to take care of yourself…can I buy you a cheeseburger?”

  Wiping his eyes, Bishop looked to his brother once more. “I guess. I don’t want to leave him though.”

  “The cafeteria is open until ten. Will you walk with me there…just to stretch your legs and eat?”

  Her soft touch on his shoulder had Bishop nodding his head as the two walked past the bed. Bishop looked to Nathan yet again—finally, the feeling of isolation was somewhat lifted thanks to this stranger—this sweet woman named Pam.

  Chapter Four

  Parched and fat in her mouth, Alex’s tongue sat swollen and dehydrated as she forced her eyes open. Aching, her feet begged her to remove the shoes she’d sported the previous evening. The only bedtime preparation Alex had put effort toward, was falling face-forward onto her mattress in a drunken frenzy.

  Blinking toward the wall, regret temporarily flooded—it was soon replaced with relief. It was over…she accomplished her goal. Alex Ayers: Registered Respiratory Therapist. She did it…she took Tyson’s advice and kicked the test’s ass. The celebration that followed was now kicking hers.

  Rolling from her bed in her clothes, she was quick to dismantle the ensemble she’d carefully constructed only twelve hours prior. Sweats and a zip-up sweat jacket in replacement, she exited her room to hear her mother’s voice coming from the kitchen.

  Teeth brushed and hair in a sloppy bun, she struggled down the hall to the conversation. Although at any given point in time she found herself longing to bitch-slap the shit out of her mother, the smell of fresh coffee lured her.

  Seated at the cluttered kitchen table was an exhausted appearing Tyson—dressed in a pressed shirt and new jeans. The boy puffed slightly in between petite bites of Cocoa Pebbles.

  “Good morning, Ty.” Offering her brother a kiss on his cheek, her lips were met with cool, clammy skin and her ears a soft wheeze.

  “Morning, Sis.”

  “Where are you going?”

  The walk to the coffee pot was silent—no response. “Tyson…why are you dressed up?”

  “I’m taking him to the field.” Her mother’s husky voice cut through the quiet.

  “Field?”

  “I’m taking him to the field, Alexandra.”

  Momentarily halting her quest for caffeine, Alex stared at her mother in disbelief. “What? The field? Why? Mom it’s snowing outside. Are you talking about the baseball field?”

  “Calm yourself, Alex. The car has a working heater.” Reaching for a mug, her mother poured Alex a cup of coffee.

  “Ty…why today? Is something going on up there today?”

  Chewing with his mouth pried slightly in an obvious attempt to entrain additional air-flow, Tyson merely shook his head.

  “This makes no sense. There’s absolutely no reason for you to be out of bed. You don’t need to go to the field today. Mom, help me out here. I can’t be the only voice of reason—”

  “I wanna see it one last time, Alex.” His strained words hit her harder than any hammer possibly could. His words knocked any remaining noise from the scene—leaving it lifeless and soaking in a cruel reality…Tyson was actively dying.

  Looking to her sibling, weak and eyes all but pleading pathetically, she crumbled inside…it all crashed. The months of maintaining strength, of holding out for a second chance had boiled into this. This was real. This was the type of real that left nothing to rebut. This was life and it was theirs.

  If she hadn’t previously come to the realization of how truly precious time was—she’d have sworn it was standing still. Her gaze heavy on his as she finally allowed his previous words…statements…to sink and settle—“I’m okay, Alex. It’s going to be okay. You…are going to be okay.”

  Swallowing loudly, she smiled proudly at the brave young warrior seated before her. “Okay, the baseball field.”

  ***

  There was no field, only a blanket of snow and a thousand memories dancing in her brother’s eyes. His smile—classically beautiful—was perfection. Absent their mother and sitting in the warmed car nestled to the chain-link fence, Alex and Tyson silently watched the numerous snowflakes falling fat from the sky to cover their world. There was no wind—no biting, bitter agony about the atmosphere. There was only a calming peace that nearly resembled acceptance.

  Taking her brother’s hand, she squeezed it lightly. “Tyson Kade Ayers…you have no idea how proud I am to be your sister. You’re my everything.”

  “You know…” His words all but trailed. “That statement might get us arrested. Incest…is…frowned upon.”

  Chuckling, she kissed his cheek as his eyes remained fixed on the mound. “You were amazing out there, Ty.”

  “Were? Let go of my hand, woman. I can go nine innings right now.” His sarcastic, raspy comments—soft and slow—had her teetering—her eyelids nearly spilling her emotions onto the somber scene. Completely aware that this very conversation would be ever etched on her memory all her days, she carefully contemplated her next words…before they left her mouth, a phone was vibrating.

  Looking toward the gearshift, a 0000 flashed on the smartphone screen. “That’s my boss with my new schedule—”

  “Alex…that’s my phone. That could be Dr. Jones.”

  Reaching for the phone in frantic fashion, Alex pressed the green accept button. “Hello.”

  “Alexandra?”

  “Dr. Jones?”

  “Is Tyson with you?”

  “Yes, we’re at the baseball—”

  “You’re in town, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need you to come to the hospital, now…nine one one. It’s happening.”

  The female physician’s words seemed more a cruel joke than a potential pardon.

  “You’re…you’re serious?”

  “Alexandra! Tyson, to the hospital, now!”

  “Holy shit! We’re on our way!”

  Hanging up the phone, she looked to her brother, his skin was a ghostly, pale white—illuminated by the blinding snow behind his beautiful face.

  “Alex…” His lip quivered—a sliver of hope cracked through his eyes.

  Grabbing either side of his face, she pressed her grinning lips to his forehead. “We’ve got to go now, Baby-Ty.”

  “Is this really happening, Alex? Is this…oh my God. Is this really happening?”

  His smile—the smile one gives upon learning returning a death sentence might be an option, was beautifully crafted on him.

  “Let’s go, Ty.”

  “Wait! Alex…just…just wait.”

  “Ty, we can’t.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What if…what if I don’t wake up?”

  The fear in his eyes was acute—something dreadful only now realized.

  “Tyson…”

  “I’ve…I accepted it, Alex. I accepted I’m gonna die. But not today. I need my month…I need my weeks. They can’t…they can’t wave this in my face now…why now?”

  “Tyson…I need you to look at me. I know you’re heart’s racing and you’ve got a million worries running through your beautiful head. This could be it, Baby-Ty. This could be your ticket to thirty. You’re talking about months and weeks when—”

  “I don’t wanna die today, Alex.” His soft pitched proclamation coupled with the welling tears in his buzzing eyes sent Alex reaching for him. “I don’t wanna die…I don’t…I don’t wanna die.”

  Hugging him, she eyed the oxygen tank in the floor board. She instantly replaced the idea of his wake with his return to the pitcher
’s mound. “You have been so brave for so long…if you can just be brave today…and if you can’t it’s okay because I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens I’m not going anywhere, Tyson.”

  “I’m so scared, Alex.” His fear shook through in their embrace—it seemed every ounce of her brother was saturated in an awful horror. “I can’t be brave, I can’t be strong anymore…” His words left him in a soft, nearly breathless cry.

  “I can, Ty.” Pulling away slightly, she kissed his wet cheek. “We have to go.”

  Chapter Five

  Seven Months Later

  Perhaps it was the patriotic aspect of it. They were born in South Africa but had grown up in the States. Maybe it was the countless, enriched traditions. Nah…it was what it was. It was blowing up ant dens, the rich smell of hotdogs and burgers on the air with a hint of Black Cat smoke. It was water guns and grinning kids with sparklers in the twilight—running about the green grass. The totaling factors equated to a majestic scene year after year…equated to Nathan’s favorite holiday—Fourth of July.

  This year the holiday was hollow and drenched in vodka at three in the afternoon. Sporting a smirk and half-tucked button-up dress shirt, Bishop urinated near the pool of his parent’s second home—much to his mother’s dismay. The beautiful fifty-four-year-old woman watered her plants as Bishop watered the bushes.

  Bishop was less than modest in front of either of his parents; however, his all-but-belligerent intoxication had his mother, Constance Holloway, irritated.

  “Bish, there are facilities indoors, dear. Please, Son.”

  Zipping his zipper, he walked to the shade. His mother offered a loving kiss on the cheek beneath the pergola as he poured another drink, he hoped she didn’t notice his slight stumble. “Yep.”

  “You hungry, Bish? I want to feed you supper.”

  “Yep.”

  In a less than intrusive manner, she gently removed the glass from his hand—setting it within reach on the grill. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she embraced her son. “I love you, Bishop. I love you so much.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  “Have you…have you thought about it anymore? If now’s not a good time—”

  “I have. I’ll go.”

  Almost instantly the woman pulled away, looking up at her son with an undeniable smile. “You’re…you’re not just saying this because of the drinks, are you? Bish?”

  “Nah, Momma. I’ve thought about it. I can’t…I can’t be here by myself. And I sure don’t wanna be here by myself when the snow comes back. I’ll go.”

  “Oh! Oh, Bishop!” Hugging him once more—squeezing him, Bishop felt the breath being forced from him.

  “Jesus, Mom…you trying to squeeze my intestines out?”

  She lifted her face to meet his, her eyes boasted a wet pain that Bishop was all too familiar with. “I don’t wanna leave you here, sweet boy. I can’t. I need you with me. I need you safe.”

  “Okeydoke.”

  “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

  “I’m…I’m actually happy about it too, I think. I think I’m over this place, Mom.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. I need a new scene. I need a zebra and a giraffe or two in my life.”

  “You need to rest. You need to let me tend to you.”

  “Nah, Mom. I need a job. I need to stop freeloading and get my shit together.”

  Her soft hand aside his face, Bishop relaxed his cheek into her palm and closed his eyes. She was a constant source of comfort. Bishop actually enjoyed his mother’s company and would pass up evenings at elite clubs with friends just to sit at home and sip red wine while playing cards with his mom. Her views, intellect, and unwavering loyalty had resulted in a fortified bond. Although he’d left her to wonder a day and a half…he knew without a doubt he’d be leaving the United States for Cape Town, South Africa. There was no reason to stay with both his parents primarily living there and with Nathan diminished to ash.

  “You could study. Relax…surf…study and read.”

  Smiling at the idea of the ocean breeze and his board in hand, he found himself yawning as his mother ran her fingers through his hair.

  “Study what?”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  “Hmmm…medicine?” Smiling largely, winking at his mother, he waited for her reply.

  “If you wish to do so.” Her soft eyes focused on his. “Study architecture, English, engineering, or education. Study humanities if you wish. Just learn…always learn, precious boy.”

  “I’ll be twenty-four in eight months. I can’t just study indefinitely and expect you and Dad to take care of me—”

  “You’ve never expected anything from us, Bish. Your father and I have worked hard to give you boys…to give you the life you have because you are our life.”

  “Mom—”

  “Stop thinking about it so much. Leave here. Slow down. Smile and laugh. Let me cook your breakfast and do your laundry. I need this too, Bishop.”

  There was never an urge to argue or even debate. Bishop only needed clarification as to what the expectations were.

  “My sweet boy. The freckles on your nose are darkening…your hair is getting lighter…I love summer. Ek het jou lief.”

  “Ek is lief vir jou ook ma…I love you too.”

  Kissing her forehead, he turned for the door.

  “What are you hungry for, Bishop?”

  “Meat.”

  “Steak?”

  He turned and offered a sarcastic smile, then nodded and walked through the door. Through the immaculate kitchen—dazzled with granite and hardwood—and up the spiral stairs to his semi-transparent bottle of anti-depressants, which blatantly warned against mixing with alcohol.

  Glancing about his bedroom, he popped the cap and downed two pills with vodka and tonic. Soon he’d be numb—but only physically. Physical sedation was better than absolute awareness—he’d take it. Walking down the hall, his glance traced the wall opposing Nathan’s bedroom. Although the bedroom door remained open, nothing within it had been resituated. Unable to look on the contents, Bishop looked away from it, as though it were a gruesome animal splatter scene on the highway, every time he passed the room.

  Through the bathroom door, he’d no sooner glanced at his reflection when an alarm beeped from his pocket. Dammit.

  Removing his phone, his heart raced as he read,

  Interview with Melony Readers—17:30.

  “Shit!”

  Opening the bathroom door, Bishop headed for the staircase, his belly woozy from the alcohol and summer sun. The doorbell resounded through the two-story house—she was here. Melony was here from the college to conduct the interview.

  Down the stairs and to the front door, he opened it to a short red-headed girl and tall kid with a bag.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello! Bishop Holloway?”

  “Yes.”

  Basically forcing her way past Bishop, the girl looked about the beautiful home. “Is this where we’re setting up?”

  “Um…sure.”

  “Are you wearing that?”

  “Uh…is this going to be on camera? Are you filming this—”

  “You goof! Yes. This story is my two birds, one stone feature. It’s also been selected to air on Tuesday at six. News Channel Sixteen.”

  “What? Oh, I can’t go on film. I look—”

  “You look natural and relaxed. You look perfect. Where will you be sitting?”

  Watching Melony and her cameraboy unpack, Bishop felt a nauseating anxiety brewing.

  “I…I guess here.”

  “Ya know…when I first got the lead and read you and Nathan were from South Africa, I foolishly assumed you were both black.”

  Her crass statement and bulldog approach had Bishop wanting to evict her. Watching the doorway, he prayed his mother would appear from the kitchen and demand they leave.

  Ten minutes later, a medium-sized camera and an ambitiou
s journalism student were both staring Bishop down. Bishop’s mother did finally appear, but only to say hello and smile as if she were looking on playing children. She excused herself to the yard and the grill to prepare supper for herself and her son.

  “Bishop, you’re a recent alumnus and your brother was a freshman, correct?”

  Feverishly pressing his sweaty palms together, Bishop composed himself and forced a smile. “That’s correct.”

  “Is it safe to say you enjoyed your academic experience?”

  “Um…yes. I feel it’s prepared…prepared me for the next phase in my life.”

  “Excellent. Bishop, you and your family recently suffered a significant loss, correct.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Silence filled the room as Melony’s prodding eyes worked to elicit additional details.

  “My brother…my little brother, Nathan, shot himself last December.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Bishop. Where did this take place?”

  Swallowing hard, Bishop inhaled deeply and passively allowed his breath to escape him. “Near the woods on campus.”

  “And you, Bishop, were actually on the phone and engaged in conversation with him when this tragedy took place, correct?”

  “Yes…I was talking to him when it happened.”

  “Now, Bishop, tell me, were there any signs leading up to this? Did you ever think your brother would do something like this?”

  The question was coupled with the numbing effects of the antidepressants—warm and swimming in his belly and blood. “Nah…I never thought that this would happen. I never thought he’d do that.”

  “And how well did you know him?”

  Instant irritation took over—nearly replacing the resident anxiety. “How well did I know him? He was my brother and my best friend.”

  “Okay. So you feel he would have told you, or perhaps you would have picked up on clues?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How has this tragedy affected you and your family? How have you moved on?”

  Words can choke—Bishop only just now realized this. So much behind one question. So much pain under one answer. “My family has been devastated. We’re just, I dunno…we take it day by day.”