The Burning Side(53)

Cameron answers quickly. “Definitely not.”

Rachel turns to him, startled. “Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

The young couple stare at each other, and I stare at the trash bag in my hand like I don’t know how it got there. I set it back down. “Have you all been thinking about this?”

Josie scoops dripping slices of fruit from the empty pitcher. “Didn’t mean to start a thing. I’m just getting tested, is all.”

April stops chewing her cupcake. “Seriously?”

At the same time, Cameron asks, “Why?”

“Because I want to know, why else?”

“What would it change?” Cameron avoids his fiancée’s eyes.

April sides with Cameron. “There’s no cure, Jo.”

Josie groans. “I promise I’ve thought it through. I talked to a geneticist, neurologist, and psychologist.” She pauses. “I don’t have to share the results if you don’t want to know.”

Rachel stares at her lap, and April draws closer to her sister. “You really want to know?”

“You really don’t?”

April rakes fingers through her hair. “It’s not like they can stop it or tell us when symptoms will show up, right?” She looks at her sister. “Think of how that could affect you mentally. I mean, what if you have the gene or mutation or whatever?”

“What if I don’t?”

There’s a moment of heavy silence, and I study my children: the caretaker, the pot-stirrer, and the status quo. I can’t predict how Josie will react to this kind of test. But before I can build a case for her to take more time with this, she takes the trash bag from me and shrugs. “To each his own.” And she leaves the room, a bit of chaos in her wake.

Cameron looks at April. “You going to find out her results?”

“Probably.”

“You want to?”

“Not especially, but she’ll want to talk.”

At this, he finally turns to his fiancée with a distinctly adult deference playing across his face. “Let’s go for a walk?”

Rachel nods. She would still marry him. Wouldn’t she? Should she?

Left in the kitchen with Leo and April, I scrunch my nose. “They’re awfully quiet in there.” The three of us go into the living room, where Billy is snoring on the couch, Otto is still engrossed in his grandfather’s keys, and Sadie is generously sorting her brother’s birthday plunder on his behalf.

April whispers, “How is he one? Feels like just yesterday I was winning his first laugh with a bad rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’?”

Leo blinks. “I never knew about that.”

“Yeah,” April says, her eyes on Otto.

I have no idea what went wrong between those two. April was vague when she told us they’re separating. One thing I do know: she will stay with us as long as she thinks we need her. Josie will follow her tours, and Cameron will go start his family, but April will carry this burden as long as I let her. She came here because of the fire, but she won’t leave until I tell her to. She needs to take care of people, to be needed, even if it’s at her own expense.

Above us, the banner droops, so I stretch to fix it. There are etchings on this doorframe where the kids marked their heights over the years. The notches have been here so long that I barely notice them. But I run my fingers across them now, wondering what Billy needs. He sleeps steadily in front of us, his mouth parted. Does he need this house like a string around his finger, tethering him to his memories? Would he decline faster in a new place, or would a community that’s designed for this be better? Not to mention, a way to remove this burden from April, who is trying to end a marriage, and who might or might not have the disease herself. Thinking about what’s ahead for Billy breaks my heart, but to think that any one of our kids could also have this? I can barely breathe at the thought. For the first time, I even imagine the grandkids getting it.

I step forward to cover Billy with a blanket, and Otto raises the keys in his fist to show them off. I offer him a smile as I back up, leaning against the etched doorframe.

Life is a series of wild unknowns, and the past will always leave marks.





APRIL


August 3–5, 2022

I’M AT KROGER BUYING THE green onions Mom had to have. With this many people in the house and a mother this particular about her recipes, we sometimes make multiple grocery runs per day.

Otto is in the cart, and the Goo Goo Dolls are singing over our heads about sympathy. As I compare onions to onions, a woman approaches with a wide smile and gray roots. I recognize her as a longtime patient of Dad’s, but I can’t remember her name.

“April Russo!”

Huh. My maiden name. I inhale. “Hi!”

The woman, overly familiar, grabs both of my hands. “How are you?” Without a breath for me to answer, she focuses on Otto. “Goodness, he’s grown!” She knuckles his cheek, and he leans away. But she is undeterred. “How is Dr. Russo?” she asks.

I blink. This woman and her be verbs. (Though I must admit, her teeth are looking excellent.) I nod. “He’s well.”

“Really?” She’s surprised. “Not too bad with the…” She tap-taps her forehead with her pointer finger. I notice her cart: yogurts and boxed hair dye.