“I know.”
“He promised!”
Wade closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Promises are supposed to work!”
That sentence stayed with Wade for the rest of his life.
Promises are supposed to work.
He held her while she learned the first unbearable truth of childhood.
Sometimes the person who breaks a promise wanted desperately to keep it.
Death simply did not ask.
Lily cried until medication and exhaustion pulled her back to sleep.
Wade did not.
At 6:40 a.m., Aaron’s attorney arrived.
Gray envelope.
Exactly as promised.
The documents were real.
Aaron had updated them six weeks earlier.
Will.
Temporary guardianship designation.
Medical authorization.
Life insurance beneficiary trust for Lily.
Instructions.
One handwritten page for Wade.
Wade refused to read it at first.
The attorney insisted.
“Aaron told me you might.”
“Then Aaron knew better.”
“He usually did.”
Wade glared.
The attorney handed him the paper.
Bear,
If you are reading this, I’m gone or somebody has finally convinced me planning matters.
First: breathe.
Second: do not make any decision about Lily during the first seventy-two hours unless it involves keeping her safe.
You are going to try to find someone better.
Stop.
I already looked.
That sounds cruel. It isn’t.
My sister loves Lily but cannot give her stability. You know why. The rest of the family is either gone, distant, or unknown to her.
I chose you because you stay when staying is hard.
You will say you don’t.
I know the evidence better than you.
You stayed with me when my father broke my jaw.
You stayed with Rebecca’s mother at the funeral when you wanted to disappear.
You stayed sober after Maya died even when being drunk would have hurt less.
You stayed alive when you did not want to.
You confuse being damaged with being dangerous.
They are not the same.
Lily does not need perfection.
She needs someone who understands that grief makes people ugly sometimes and loves them anyway.
That is you.
Do not turn her into a memorial to me.
Let her be annoying.
Let her fail math.
Let her hate you at thirteen.
Let her dye her hair some terrible color.
Let her become somebody I never imagined.
That is the whole point.
If, after seventy-two hours, you truly cannot do it, tell Marlene and the attorney and find her the safest home possible.
But give yourself seventy-two hours before you run.
I love you, brother.
And I’m sorry I asked the hardest thing after I was no longer around to argue.
Aaron
Wade read it twice.
Then folded it.
The attorney asked:
“Well?”
Wade looked toward room 417.
“Seventy-two hours.”
The attorney nodded.
“Good.”
Wade pointed at him.
“That is not yes.”
“I know.”
“It’s three days.”
“I understand.”
“After that, we find somebody.”
“Of course.”
The attorney smiled in a way Wade disliked.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That face means something.”
“Aaron warned me you’d say exactly that.”
Wade muttered something inappropriate for a pediatric floor.
The attorney laughed.
Lily remained hospitalized four more days.
The first day after her father’s death, she barely spoke.
The second, she asked the same questions repeatedly.
“Did Dad hurt?”
“Did he know?”
“Was he scared?”
“Could I have stopped him from leaving?”
Wade answered only what professionals told him was appropriate.
No invented comfort.
No graphic details.
“He was with doctors.”
“They tried.”
“He loved you.”
“The accident was not because of you.”
That last one required repetition.
Children built magical connections between events adults thought obviously unrelated.
Lily remembered asking Aaron to retrieve Patches.
Therefore Aaron was driving because of her.
Therefore:
“If I didn’t want Patches…”