17. Ethan
Ethan
Natalie is bright red when she wakes me up. “Your mother saw me coming out of your room.”
“You're adorable when you're embarrassed.” I grab her wrist and pull her down onto the bed beside me. The mattress screams in protest, but I don't care. I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck.
“Ethan, this is serious.” She wriggles against me, trying to escape, but I hold her tighter.
“Relax. My mom isn't going to judge you.”
She manages to squirm free and sits up, her hair mussed and her cheeks still flushed. “It’s embarrassing.”
I rub the sleep from my eyes. “What did she say?”
“She said the floors creak, and then she told me to wake you up because you sleep like the dead.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and wince when the mattress lets out another groan. “My mom's not naive. She knew what was going on the moment she put us in rooms next to each other.”
“Then why didn't she just give us one room?”
“She's traditional, but she's not blind.” I stand and stretch, my back cracking from a night spent crammed into a twin bed with another person. “Besides, after last night, I think the whole house knows.”
Natalie groans and drops onto the edge of the bed, which squeaks loudly in response. “Don't remind me. I still can't believe we couldn't find a single position that didn't make noise.”
“This bed wasn't designed for two adults.”
“It wasn't designed for you.” She looks up at me and dissolves into giggles. “Your feet were hanging off the end.”
“I'm aware,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“And the teddy bear. I'm never going to let you live that down.”
“It's a mascot.”
“It's a teddy bear in a hockey jersey. It's adorable.” Her smile widens. “Big tough Ethan Ward, sleeping with his teddy bear.”
I grab a pillow and throw it at her head. She catches it and laughs.
I get up. “Time to face the firing squad.”
Natalie groans. “Don’t remind me.”
The horror expression on her face makes me laugh.
“This isn't funny, Ethan,” Natalie scolds.
“It's a little funny.”
She throws a pillow at my head. “And please act normal during breakfast.”
Acting normal proves impossible when we're sitting at the breakfast table and getting funny looks from my mother and Lucy. Thankfully, Bella and her boyfriend arrive.
Ted is a firefighter and an easy guy. We've met a few times before, but never for more than a few hours.
“Good to see you, man.” He shakes my hand with a firm grip. “How's the knee?”
The first thing everybody asks is about my bloody knee. I appreciate the concern, but I’d rather forget about it for a few hours. “Getting there.”
“Good to hear, man.” Ted nods with the confidence of someone comfortable in his own skin. “The whole department has been following your recovery. They're all rooting for you.”
“Tell them I appreciate it.”
I pull Bella into a hug. She's even more reserved than me. When she pulls back, her eyes move to Natalie.
“Bella, this is Natalie Cross. She’s my friend and physical therapist.”
“Emphasis on ‘friend’,” Lucy says, making air quotes.
Our little sister has a big mouth. “Shut up, Lucy,” I say mildly.
“What? I'm just saying.” She grins. “These old floors are very creaky at night. I hear all sorts of interesting sounds. Footsteps going back and forth between certain rooms.”
Bella's eyebrows rise. “Is that so?”
“Very mysterious,” Lucy continues. “Almost like someone is sneaking around. But I'm sure it's just the house settling. Old houses do that, right?”
Natalie's face is bright red. I glare at Lucy.
“It's so nice to meet you, Natalie.” Bella shakes Natalie's hand with a warm smile. “Ethan has told us absolutely nothing about you, which means you're important. He only hides the things that matter.”
“I don't hide things.”
“You hid your teddy bear in the closet,” Natalie says.
Lucy gasps with delight. “You found Mr. Pucks? I thought Mom threw him out years ago.”
“Mr. Pucks?” Natalie turns to me with a grin. “The teddy bear has a name?”
“I was six.”
“Mr. Pucks,” she repeats, savoring every syllable. “That's adorable.”
“I hate all of you.”
My mother appears in the doorway with her purse over her shoulder. “Good news, everyone. The hospital called. Your father is being discharged. We need to go pick him up.”
The mood shifts instantly. Lucy claps her hands together, and Ted offers to drive since his truck has more room. Within minutes, we're all piling into vehicles and heading to the hospital.
The discharge process is predictably slow. There are forms to sign, instructions to review, and prescriptions to collect. My mother handles most of it while Bella and Lucy talk to the nurses about home care.
“Go talk to him,” Natalie says to him. “I'll be fine with your sisters.”
I squeeze her hand in thanks and slip into my father's room.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in the clothes my mother brought from home. He looks a lot better. The hospital gown made him look like a patient. The flannel shirt and khakis make him look like my dad.
“Mom's handling the paperwork. Should be ready soon,” I say.
“Your mother could organize a military invasion if she put her mind to it,” he says with a chuckle.
I lower myself onto the bed, careful not to jostle him. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“I know you're angry with me,” Dad finally says.
“I'm not angry.”
He sighs. “I don't blame you if you are. It was stupid. I knew I should have waited for your mother, but I was tired of waiting. I’m so tired of needing help for every little thing.”
“No one minds helping,” I say.
“I've spent twelve years watching my body fail me. Twelve years of losing things I used to take for granted. I can’t walk without a cane, and I can’t drive to the store. Hell, I can’t even get out of bed without assistance.
“A man's got his pride, Ethan. Even when he shouldn't.”
“I understand that.”
“I know you do. You've got the same stubborn streak I do. The same need to prove you can handle everything yourself and the same stubbornness to let anyone see you struggle.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're injured and scared and trying to take care of everyone else instead of letting anyone take care of you. I see how you look at that girl out there. She's special. Don't push her away because you're too proud to admit you need her.”
“I'm not pushing her away.”
He shifts positions with a grimace of pain. “I made that mistake with your mother. When I first got diagnosed, I tried to handle everything alone. I didn't want to burden her with my problems, and I almost lost her because of it.”
“What changed?”
“She sat me down and told me that marriage means sharing the hard stuff, not just the good stuff, and that my pride was hurting her more than my illness ever could.” He shakes his head. “Hardest conversation I ever had. But it saved us.”
I process his words. I've spent so long being the strong one and the provider, but the fact is, I have real worries nagging at me.
“Take care of yourself. Not just your knee or your career. You spend so much time worrying about this family that you forget you're part of it too. You matter, Ethan. Not because of what you provide, but because of who you are. Promise me you'll remember that.”
“I promise.”
He studies my face for a moment, then nods with satisfaction. “Good. Now go tell your mother I'm ready to leave. If I have to eat one more cup of hospital Jell-O, I'm going to stage a revolt.”
I laugh despite the emotion clogging my chest. “Yes, sir.”
I stand and head for the door, then pause with my hand on the frame.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Ted drives with Bella in the passenger seat while my mother sits in the back with my father, fussing over every bump in the road. Lucy follows in her car with Natalie and me, providing a running commentary on Ted's driving that ranges from critical to outright insulting.
“He's going too slow,” she announces. “At this rate, Dad will be ready for his next hospital stay by the time we get home.”
“He's being careful,” I point out. “Dad just had surgery.”
“He's being a grandma. There's a difference.”
Natalie hides her laugh behind her hand.
When we finally pull into the driveway, everyone springs into action. Ted retrieves the wheelchair from the trunk while Bella supervises the transfer. My mother hovers anxiously until my father tells her to stop treating him like he's made of glass.
Lucy runs inside to make sure everything is ready.
I hang back and let them work. There are too many people helping already, and my father's patience for being fussed over is wearing thin. Once he's settled in his favorite spot in the living room, I pull my mother aside.
“Natalie and I are going to head out for a bit. Give you all some space.”
“Take her to the lake. It's beautiful this time of day,” she says.
“That's the plan.”
“Good.” She pats my cheek. “Your father and I will be fine. Bella is staying for dinner, and Lucy isn't going anywhere. Go enjoy yourself.”
I find Natalie in the kitchen, helping Lucy organize the medications the hospital sent home.
“Let's go for a drive.”
“Sure,” she says and grabs her jacket.
The lake is about fifteen minutes outside of town, down winding back roads that I could navigate with my eyes closed. I used to come here with my father when I was a kid, before his diagnosis, when he could still cast a fishing line and row a boat and do all the things fathers do with their sons.
Natalie is quiet beside me, giving me space to think. She's good at knowing when to push and when to let me be.
“He's home,” I finally say, breaking the silence.
“He is.”
“I keep waiting for the relief to hit, but mostly I just feel...” I search for the right word. “Heavy.”
“That makes sense. It's been an emotional few days.”
“When my mom called and told me about the fall, all I could think about was what if.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “What if the surgery went wrong? What if there were complications? What if I got there too late?”
“But none of that happened.”
“No. But it could have.” I turn onto the road that leads to the lake. “Every time the phone rings and it's my mom, my heart stops. I always assume the worst. That this is it. That I'm about to get the call I've been dreading for twelve years.”
Natalie reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh.
“I can't imagine a world without him,” I continue. “He's always been there. Even when his body started failing, even when he couldn't do the things he used to do, he was still Dad.nThe thought of losing him is unimaginable.”
“You won't. Not for a long time,” Natalie says.
“You can't know that.”
“No, I can't. But the MS is progressing slowly, and his overall health is good. This fall was scary, but it's not a death sentence. He's going to recover and go back to driving you crazy for years to come.”
I want to believe her. I want to let go of the fear that's been sitting in my chest since my mother's phone call. But twelve years of bracing for bad news is hard to undo.
We sit in the car for a moment, looking out at the water. The lake is still and calm, reflecting the late afternoon sky like a mirror. Trees line the shore, their leaves just starting to turn gold and red at the edges.
“This place is beautiful,” Natalie says.
“My dad used to bring me here when I was a kid. We'd fish for hours and never catch anything.” I smile at the memory. “He always said the fish weren't the point. The point was being together.”
“He sounds like a wonderful father.”
“He is.” I turn to look at her. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
We rent a canoe from the old man who runs the boat shed. He recognizes me immediately and tries to refuse payment, but I insist. We paddle out onto the lake, the only sound the dip of oars in water and the occasional bird call from the shore.
I guide us toward a secluded cove on the far side of the lake, a spot I discovered when I was twelve and have never shared with anyone. The water is shallow here, sheltered by overhanging trees, and the late afternoon light filters through the leaves in dappled patterns.
“This is my secret spot,” I tell her. “I used to come here when I needed to think.”
“It's perfect.”
I set down the paddle and let the canoe drift. Natalie turns in her seat to face me, her eyes soft in the golden light.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” She leans forward, mindful of the canoe's balance, and presses her lips to mine.
When we break apart, she's smiling.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just like you.”
“I like you too,” I reply, smiling, even though I know it’s more than that, but I don’t want to scare her. She kisses me again, slow and sweet. The kind of kisses I’d be happy to get for the rest of my life.
We spend another hour on the lake, paddling lazily. By the time we return the canoe and head back to the house, the sun is setting, and I realize I haven't thought about my knee or my career or worst-case scenarios in hours.