22. Twenty-Two #2
“Let me get a hold of Gus,” I say. “I think I have a few more minutes for lunch.” I glance at the wrap that now sits covered in dirt and rocks on the ground. “And I think maybe my meal is over. I’ll just walk down and get my phone so I can text him.”
Wes wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in until I can smell fresh-cut grass and hay. “I can come with you,” he said. “Maybe we can stop at that coffee shop in the city on the way. The one where you interviewed.”
“Ellis still swears by those vegan poptarts. We could get one for him as a surprise. One for Megan, too.”
“Ellis is vegan?” Roe asks. “Didn’t we have burgers last week when everyone was over for a bonfire at your place? I could have sworn I saw her eat one.”
I chuckle, my body returning to a more neutral state. “No,” I shake my head. “She’s just a sucker for cooked apples and pastries of all kinds.”
When I finally get hold of my phone, I see four missed calls from mom, a text from Gus telling me not to worry, and a more detailed text from Megan about what’s going on.
Megan: He has some kind of infection—a complication from surgery. There’s an abscess on his liver that they’re draining. I guess he went septic.
Megan: I’m sorry to dump this on you. I’m not used to… all of this. I was a bit scared. I’m still scared. He looks so thin, Cass.
I take to Google, finding out as much information as I can. It only serves to make me angry—at the doctors, at my mom, at the universe. Sepsis is difficult to survive once, and this is the second time my brother has had it, though that hasn’t been since I was in high school.
I quickly type out a text to August.
Me: Do you want some pastries? Are you hungry?
His response is immediate.
Gus: Hospital food sucks ass. Please bring me literally anything. I’ll take diarrhea from gas station sushi at this point.
Gus: One perk of being the patient is if I shit myself, it’s not really my problem.
Mom was right.
He’s in good spirits, all things considered.
I throw myself into my chores, bringing the ponies into the dry lot off the grass for the evening. It seems that time can’t go fast enough, but I assured Wes and Roe that it’s fine—I’ve been through this before.
And I have.
Plenty of times.
When I hop into Wes’s truck, we drive in silence, the sun lowering on the horizon. Despite it all, I pull out my phone to snap a picture.
In high school, Gus had an infection he’d gotten from undercooked food at a restaurant.
He’d been sick the months leading up to it, in and out of the hospital for a number of issues related to inflammation in his digestive tract.
I’d been a senior, and I still remember getting picked up from the school.
I left my car there, going with my dad to the hospital to find my mother crying in the corner. She looked broken—pale. Dark circles hung beneath her tired eyes, and I remember thinking this isn’t just killing August. It’s killing us all.
It didn’t, though.
The infection had spread, but he was receptive to antibiotics and recovered fully. At least as fully as he could, all things considered.
We’d gotten through it, surprisingly.
But it kept my parents divorced and my dad distant.
“You okay?” Wes asks, his hand squeezing my thigh.
“Yeah.” I toss him a wan smile. “Old news. Mom said he’s okay.”
But is he, though? Would he tell me? I can imagine Gus, being who he is, might feel guilty for all we’ve sacrificed for him. What if he hasn’t been okay, and he’s been hiding it for the sake of letting me live my life? What if I haven’t been there for him in the way I needed to be?
We pull into the parking garage, and I clutch the Pop-Tarts bag like a lifeline.
The sterile scent of the hospital drags up more memories, and I fight to keep them at bay. With Gus, things have been so good. I can’t allow my fear to run me again. I can’t let it cloud the way I think about the conversations we’ve had recently.
We all need some happy, Cass.
I take Wes’s hand, his boots keeping a steady pace on the shined floors. The maze of a hospital takes us on a walk that rivals the steps I get in on the farm. The cafeteria sits nearly empty, a few nurses sitting sporadically around wooden tables, and hard booths—the kind without cushions.
When we enter the floor, I follow the signs to the room number we got at check-in. Four eighty-two.
I park in front of the room, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.
Megan sits curled up on the built-in sofa against the window. Up here, the cars look like ants. I’m glad they picked this hospital—more resources.
“Hey,” I say, voice soft.
Gus sits propped up in the bed, his eyes heavy and face thin. He looks like he lost ten pounds since riding with us a few weeks ago. And he’s always been skinny, so the difference is alarming. I begin to understand what Megan said in her text and swallow.
“My beautiful sister,” Gus says, his speech slower than I’m used to. “Hey, Wes.”
Wes keeps my hand in his, removing his hat and placing it on the chair in the opposite corner. “My favorite of all of Cass’s siblings. It’s good to see you.”
Gus scoffs, wincing when he adjusts his position on the bed. “I’m her only sibling,” he gripes. “You’re lucky I like you, Miller.”
Megan chuckles and rounds the bed to hug me. Her grip tightens, so I tighten my own, the bag crinkling at her back. She’s not used to this, so I try to imagine a younger me—a scared Cassidy being dragged to the hospital after school instead of playing with friends.
“How are you holding up?” I ask into her hair.
She takes a shaking breath, and I hold on—refusing to let her slip. It splits my heart in two to see her like this, but stitches it right back up, knowing this is who Gus has in his corner. This is the person he’s chosen, and she loves him.
She loves him so much.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay.”
When she draws back, Gus scoots to one side of the bed, patting the spot next to him to have her join.
Megan crawls in next to my brother, moving the pouch with tubes connected to his abdomen. It’s filled with fluid—probably from the abscess that caused this whole mess.
“I brought food,” I say, setting it on the tray by the bed.
Gus smiles, running a hand down Megan’s hair where she is nestled into the crook of his arm. “Good,” he says, eyes closed. “This hospital food tastes like ass.”
Wesley chuckles, moving to the couch to take a seat. I can tell he’s nervous by the way he tips forward, elbows on his knees. He wrings his hands together, eyes fixed on my brother.
“I started your blanket,” I start before moving to sit next to Wes. I’m on the edge of my seat, unable to relax in a place that smells so much of death. “It would cover one foot at this point, but I thought you should know I started it.”
“Better finish it, Cassidy,” he teases, a slow smile forming and then falling.
We stay for an hour, chatting with Megan, mostly when Gus falls asleep. Wes brings her some essentials from the pharmacy a mile up the road, stocking their room with snacks and drinks that don’t taste like ass.
When we finally leave, I cling to Wesley. His grip on my hand keeps me present—keeps me from falling into useless worries.
“I’m glad he’s okay,” I whisper, tipping my head back against the headrest.
“Me too,” Wes says, his voice soft. “Me too.”
I stop by the office in the barn, the sun long since set. There’s something quiet about the farm this late. The crickets chirping and the call of an owl off in the woods settle my soul.
“Hey, Rory,” I say, scratching the cat on the chin. She leans into it. “Why don’t you come sleep at my house tonight?” I ask, and she willingly jumps into my arms.
“You could stay up here,” Wesley says from behind me. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Or I can stay with you. Either way. I don’t think you should be alone.” He swallows, looking away. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I nod. “Okay,” I say, planting a kiss on Rory’s head. “Do you think Mud will mind a second guest?”
“He likes that cat,” Wes says. “I’m sure he will be ecstatic.”
I step toward the door, Wes’s hand steady on my back all the way up to the farmhouse.
Before bed, Wes’s shirtless chest gives a steady rise and fall, his dark lashes kissing his cheeks as he sleeps.
Rory curled her way up at the foot of the bed right next to Mud.
I take my phone from the nightstand, careful to keep the plug in, and pull up Gus’s name.
Me: I love you, August.
I stare at my phone, watching the dots appear, disappear, and reappear again. Before I close my eyes, I read a message from my brother.
Gus: Thank you for coming over for a visit. I hope you get lots of rest.
Gus: I love you, too.