4. Amos
AMOS
" H ow long have you known?"
Dad paces the length of the dining room, then turns and paces back, his hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back.
"The doctors confirmed it a few weeks ago."
"A few weeks?" I run my hands through my hair. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
"Your mother didn't want to worry you in the field, Amos. You've got enough to worry about out there."
I tug on the ends of my hair, and I take a long, deep breath. It's just like Mom, not wanting to worry me. What she doesn't realize is that I worry more if I think I'm being kept in the dark about things.
Multiple sclerosis. Dad told us the diagnosis when we rushed to pick Mom up off the floor. I helped get her upstairs to her room while Dad called the doctor. Now I'm questioning Dad about why the fuck he didn't tell us earlier.
I think back to the last time I was here and how weak Mom appeared. I thought it was grief from Jake's death. Now I realize she was suffering right under our noses, and none of us noticed.
"What can be done? What are the doctors doing?"
Dad stops his pacing and turns to me. "There's no cure for MS."
My heart sits heavy in my chest. "Is she dying?"
Dad shakes his head. "No, son. Not anytime soon."
Relief floods me, and I sink into an armchair.
"There are treatments," Dad says. "People can live long, healthy lives with multiple sclerosis."
"What kind of treatments? What are we doing?"
"The doctor has her booked in for an infusion tomorrow.
She's having a flare up. She has to learn to take it easy when she's having a flare up.
And you know your mother; that's hard for her.
" He shakes his head and sighs. "It's been stressful here.
The disease is one thing. Then add on dealing with the loss of Jake, and now this surprise grandchild.
" He sinks into the chair next to me. "It's too much. She's got to take it easy."
"When has Mom ever taken it easy?"
"Exactly. She has to listen to her body, and when she feels a flare up coming on, she has to rest. No negotiation."
Dad stares out of the window where the roses bushes are heavy with wilted flowers, the branches tangling together.
Now that I’m aware of it, I see the signs of Mom's illness everywhere.
The rose bushes she loves are growing wild, there's a layer of dust on the windowsills, and the pie served to our 'guest' was in a package from a store and not homemade like she usually would.
"She can't take on a child, Dad."
He keeps his gaze out the window. "It's Jake's boy, Amos."
Dad's mouth is a thin, determined line. My dad's never known his limits either. The problem is, he's almost seventy. And he wasn't around much when we were kids. He's forgotten what six-year-old boys are like.
I glance up at the pictures on the wall of me and Jake as kids. Dad would take us fishing and hunting when he was home. We'd go camping in the woods and sleep out under the stars.
Mom was always ferrying us to activities and playdates, letting us run loose in the yard while she gardened, keeping half an eye on us.
I peer at my dad now, at the lines on his face and his head of white hair. With Mom upstairs resting, there's no way in hell they can take on this boy.
"This kid will have a lot of energy. How will you and Mom cope?"
"We'll manage."
He pushes himself out of the chair, and his knees creak in protest. "I'm going to get started on dinner."
I bark out a laugh, sure he must be joking. My dad can do many things, but I've never seen him cook. He glares are me.
"You're being serious?"
"There are a few things I can do to help your mother, and taking over some of the cooking is one of them."
He presses his lips together, and there's a determined set to his face as he heads through the door to the kitchen.
I shake my head as I watch him go. It might be a good night to give the boys a call and see if anyone wants to meet for ribs and a beer. Dad spent his entire career in the Navy with somebody cooking for him, and Mom cooks at home. I don't trust his skill in the kitchen.
There's a box of Jake's belongings in the corner that Avery took from his house when she and Ed cleared it out. On top is a photo album, and I pull it open and flick through the pages. I put the photo of Sam on the table next to the album.
Alana made a hasty retreat after Mom collapsed and after ensuring she was okay. Seeing the potential new caregiver collapse on the floor doesn't bode well, and I hope she doesn't think he'd be better off in foster care.
I slam the photo album shut. There's no way we're leaving Jake's kid in state care. Whatever it takes, we'll find a way.
If Mom's too sick, then that leaves it up to Avery and Ed. Avery's eleven years younger than me and is just starting her career. And Ed is still mostly nonverbal from the injuries he sustained in the mission that killed Jake.
He grew up in foster care, and he wouldn't let Jake's boy languish there when there's another option.
But how will the silent, recovering Ed cope? He's grumpy as fuck. How will he cope with a six-year-old boy in the house?
It's not an ideal option, but it's the best we can offer.
I go to put the photo album back in the box and pause when I see a pile of letters. Avery mentioned them to me. They're addressed to a Sophia Eaves, but that's not the mother of this kid.
So who the fuck is Sophia, and why was Jake writing to her?
It's just one more mystery about my brother. One mystery too many for the moment.
I put the photo album down on top of the letters and push the box back into the corner.
I think about going to see how Dad's getting on in the kitchen, but I'd rather not witness what he's doing in there.
Instead, I head upstairs. I want to talk to Avery, to see if she's thinking the same thing: that she and Ed will need to take in Sam.
I don't want to disturb Mom, so I tread silently. I'm a big guy, but Navy SEALs learn to move around quietly.
I pause at the top of the stairs as I hear voices coming from Mom's room. I tiptoe down the hall until I'm outside her door.
"You can't take him on, Mom. Not with all this going on."
I'm relieved to hear Avery is thinking the same way I am.
"Me and Ed will step up. We've just redecorated. He can have the spare room."
"No, honey. You'll be wanting to start a family of your own."
There's silence, and I'm about to push my way into the room when I hear Mom gasp.
"Oh my goodness, Avery. You're pregnant!"
I peer through the crack in the door, not wanting to intrude on their moment. Mom's propped up in bed with pillows behind her, and Avery's perched on the side of the bed, holding her hand. She's looking down, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
"How can you tell?"
"I can tell by looking at you, honey. I know my own daughter. How far?"
Avery shakes her head. "We've only known for a matter of days. It was unexpected and too soon to tell anyone. So I don't even want to talk about it yet. But... yeah. I'm pregnant."
Mom clasps her hands together and looks the happiest I've seen her since Jake died.
"Honey, that's wonderful."
Then her face falls. "Oh, but you can't take another kid on. Not with a new baby in the house."
"We will take him, Mom. It will be fine."
Avery's as compassionate as my mother and just as determined.
"But will Ed be fine?" Mom voices the same concern I'm having. "I love Ed honey, but he's been through a lot, and being a father is hard."
"He'll be fine. It will be fine." Avery says it determinedly, like she's trying to convince herself.
It's a lot for Avery and Ed to take on. With a new baby in the house, the last thing they need is a grief-stricken six-year-old.
I don't announce myself. Avery's not ready to share her news, and I shouldn't have been eavesdropping.
I slip back into the shadows and creep down the hallway toward Jake's old room.
On the wall lining the hallway are more family photos. One is the official portrait we had done when I was nine and Jake was six, the same age his boy is now.
My chest tightens as I peer up at it.
Jake's giggling in the photo, his floppy hair falling over his eyes and his mouth wide in a big toothy grin.
That was Jake for you, always laughing about something.
Our entire family is looking at him with grins on our faces. I don't remember the photo being taken, but I'm not surprised Jake is the center of it. His laugh could make us all laugh. Even me.
A smile tugs at my face as I look at my brother.
My brother. The one I couldn't save. Whose child needs saving now.
I stare at Jake's young face smiling out at me, and I know what I need to do.