Chapter 15
Daniel knocked once on the hospital room door and pushed it open before anyone answered. The hallway had that too-bright fluorescent light and the smell of hand sanitizer, and inside the room was dimmer, quiet except for the soft beep of a monitor.
The man in the bed looked smaller than I expected. He had the same salt-and-pepper hair as Daniel but thinner, and the same shape to his face under the oxygen tube. He was propped up on pillows, his hands resting on the blanket. When he saw us, his eyes went right to me and stayed there.
Claire stepped in first, her hand on my shoulder. Daniel stayed by the door.
"Hi," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
Michael smiled, and it took effort. "Hey, buddy," he said. His voice was rough and quiet. "You came."
He looked at me for a second longer, not in a weird way, just careful, like he was making sure I was real. Then his eyes got wet.
"You look exactly like someone I knew," he said. The same words Mom had said to Daniel in our kitchen, but his voice was different. It wasn't shock. It was like he'd been waiting to say it and was finally allowed to.
I felt my throat get tight. "Who?"
He laughed a little, and it made him cough. Daniel stepped closer with a cup of water. "Your mom, when she was your age," Michael said when he could talk again. "Same eyes. She had that same look when she was trying not to cry."
Claire made a small sound behind me. I didn't turn around.
Michael didn't reach for me. He just kept his hands where they were, on the blanket, giving me space. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to hug me or anything," he said. "I just wanted to see you. That's enough."
I nodded. I had the folded paper and the photo in my hand, and they were getting damp from my palm.
Daniel had spread the acknowledgment form on the rolling tray by the bed earlier, explaining it on the drive over. It wasn't an adoption paper. It wasn't a name change. It was just a piece of paper that said I knew who he was and that it was okay for him to write, or call, if I wanted. I could say no later. I could say not now.
I looked at Claire. She was watching me, her hands clasped together.
"You don't have to sign anything tonight," she said quietly. "Not ever, if you don't want to."
"I know," I said.
I picked up the pen from the tray. My hand shook a little. I signed my name on the line at the bottom, Ethan Cole, in my normal messy handwriting. Underneath, there was a box that said I agreed to contact. I checked it. I left the box for a legal name change blank.
I slid the tray back toward Michael. I kept the photo. In it, Mom was younger, laughing on what looked like a county fair bench, and Michael beside her had his arm around her shoulders and looked exactly like Daniel did now, just younger.
"I'm keeping this," I told him.
"You should," Michael said. "That's yours."
He didn't try to hold my hand. He just said, "Thank you, Ethan."
We didn't stay long after that. The nurse came in and said he needed rest, and Michael was already getting tired, his eyelids getting heavy. Daniel touched his brother's shoulder and said, "I'll bring him by again when you're feeling better." Michael nodded and looked at me one more time.
"Drive safe," he said.
It was almost ten when we got home. The house was dark except for the light over the stove that Mom always leaves on. We came in through the same hallway Daniel had walked down the first night, but this time the three of us walked together, our shoes quiet on the hardwood.
In the kitchen, the granite island was empty. No envelope. No string.
I went upstairs to my room and put the letters and the photo in the top drawer of my dresser, not hidden under anything, just lying there where I could see them when I opened it. The tan envelope was there too, its wax seal now cracked from where we'd opened it. I didn't put it in Mom's closet or in a box in the garage. I left it in my drawer.
When I came back down, Mom and Daniel were at the island. She had made grilled cheese, the way she does late at night when she doesn't know what else to make, and there were three plates. Daniel had taken off his bomber jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. His watch was on the counter next to his plate, like he'd set it down while he washed his hands and forgot to put it back on.
"You're staying?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "I should get on the road tonight," he said. "I kept my promise. He needed to deliver this when the time was right, and you needed to decide what to do with it. That's done now."
I sat down at the island in the same spot where the envelope had sat that first night. Mom sat across from me. Daniel stood for a second, then sat too.
"I'm sorry I hid it," Claire said. She wasn't crying hard, just wiping at her eyes with the side of her hand. "I thought if I kept it sealed, I was protecting you. But I was just making you carry the not-knowing."
I cut my sandwich in half. I could see the butter had browned a little too much on the edges.
"I need time," I said. "But I want you to just tell me stuff now. Even if it's bad."
May you like
She nodded. "I will. I promise I will."
We ate together at the island where Daniel had first put the envelope down. The kitchen was warm, and outside the window it was dark and quiet on our street. The letters weren't gone. They were upstairs, where I could get them when I wanted, and Michael's paper was signed on his tray at the hospital, and we were all at the same table with nothing hidden in the middle anymore.
