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Chapter 81

AN: I’ve been warned to give you a “tissues not included” warning for this chapter (and the next, while we’re at it). It’s sad. I’m sorry.
Thanks to Jen, the master of tearjerker fanfics in my world, for reading these two chapters for me ahead of time and offering her opinions. While I’m at it, thanks to my UBR Bean, for always doing the same. :)


Several days into the new year, Claire’s car rumbled to a stop on the curb in front of a small, green house. This house had seen its better days, Claire couldn’t help but think as she walked up the cracked sidewalk leading to the now-familiar home. It was an older home, but until recently, it had probably been well-maintained. Now the first signs of neglect were starting to show: the grass was long overdue for a mowing, weeds had begun to overtake the flowerbeds in the front yard, and the olive-colored paint had started to chip off of the wooden siding.

Various toys had been left out – a tiny purple bicycle stood on training wheels in the driveway, a brightly-colored ball was barely visible on the overgrown lawn, and Claire had to step over several pieces of a child’s play gardening set as she climbed to the front porch. But she didn’t mind. It was nice to see toys out, signs that someone still played in this house.

She rang the doorbell and sucked in a deep breath as she stood waiting for someone to answer the front door. These visits got harder and harder with passing time, and she’d found that she had to mentally prepare herself more and more every time. But she could not turn away or stop coming. She couldn’t do that to Casey. His mother always told her how much he looked forward to her coming, and even if he wasn’t always aware of her presence, she would keep on coming, until the end.

The sudden pounding of feet from inside the house could be heard, and seconds later, the front door was yanked open. There stood Casey’s little sister, Catherine, dressed in the outfit she’d probably worn to school that day, a cute little red dress with ABC stitched on the front.

“Hi, Catherine,” she smiled down at the kindergartner. “Is your mom with Casey?”

“Yeah, she said ‘come in’,” Catherine replied, stepping back to Claire could enter the house.

“How was school today?” she asked, making the usual small talk while she waited for Mrs. Brenner to come out.

“Fine. We’re learning letter P this week,” Catherine announced. “Both my favorite colors start with ‘p’ – ‘puh-ink’ and ‘puh-urple’,” she added, emphasizing the ‘p’ sound in each word.

“That’s right. ‘Purple’ even has two ‘p’s,” said Claire. “It’s my favorite color too.”

Catherine beamed. “Wanna play with my Barbies?” she asked. When Claire had come over to visit shortly after Christmas, Catherine had gotten to show off the new Barbie doll Santa Claus had brought her; now she asked Claire to play every time she stopped by. Claire wished she had more time to do so, but she was still putting in hours at her dad’s office in Gainesville, as well as here in Tampa, not to mention getting ready to move into her new apartment, so her schedule had been busy. She tried to drop by the Brenners’ on the days she was in Tampa though, and she usually set a few minutes aside to play with Catherine before she left. She felt sorry for the child; with her big brother so sick, their mom was preoccupied and simply couldn’t give her as much attention as she craved. And Catherine was still too young to understand the full impact of what was happening to Casey.

Before she could reply, Mrs. Brenner appeared and answered for her. “Catherine, sweetie, Claire’s here to sit with Casey for a little bit. Why don’t you bring your Barbies into the kitchen and help me fix dinner?”

“O-kay,” Catherine sighed grudgingly and stomped off to her room to get her dolls.

Mrs. Brenner gave Claire a weary look, which Claire returned with a tight smile. “How’s Casey doing today?” she asked hesitantly, always afraid of hearing the answer.

His mother sighed. “Not good. He’s on the verge of a coma. He’s been pretty out of it for days because of the pain meds he’s on, but until yesterday, he still had periods of alertness. He was awake to see the ball drop on New Year’s. But now…” She trailed off, and Claire could tell she was having difficulty finishing her thought. “I-I think he still senses what’s going on though. He knows when I’m in the room; he can hear me talking to him. I’ve been playing his favorite music and movies in the background… maybe I’m just being silly, but I’d like to think they help comfort him.”

Claire swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile. “I’m sure they do help,” she replied softly.

Mrs. Brenner nodded. “I think it’s helping him just to be able to be here at home, in his own room, his own bed. Having the home nurse come has been such a godsend; if you hear from Nick, please, tell him thank you from me again.”

“I will,” Claire promised, although she didn’t know when that would be. She hadn’t talked to Nick since that day she’d run into him at the hospital, before Christmas. “Has Nick visited since Casey got out of the hospital?”

“Yes, he came over a couple of times around Christmas, but I think he’s back in Los Angeles now. I have his phone number though… he said he wanted to know if… something happens,” said Mrs. Brenner, faltering at the end.

Claire simply nodded, hiding her surprise at the fact that Nick was already back in LA. She quickly changed the subject. “So… so it’s still okay if I go and sit with him for awhile?” The last thing she wanted to do was impose.

But Mrs. Brenner always seemed grateful for her presence. “Oh, of course. I appreciate you coming by like this… it’s so sweet of you. I’m sure Casey will know you’re here too, even if he can’t respond.”

Nodding, Claire slowly walked down the hall to Casey’s bedroom as his mother turned to go into the kitchen. The bedroom door was ajar; Claire stopped just before it and leaned against the wall in the hallway, trying to steel herself before she went inside. Taking a deep breath, she finally rounded the corner and entered the bedroom.

At first glance, Casey’s room looked like a typical eleven-year-old boy’s room. The carpet was dark blue, and the medium blue of the walls was interrupted here and there by posters – Pudge Rodriguez, Casey’s favorite baseball player, taking a swing in his Florida Marlins uniform… the planes of the Navy’s Blue Angels flight team in formation… Lindsay Lohan… (that one had prompted some teasing the first time Claire had seen it; Casey had blushed as red as Lindsay’s hair). From the ceiling hung various model planes that Casey had put together. The bottom half of his bookshelves were stacked with “Captain Underpants,” Matt Christopher sports novels, and the “Goosebumps” series; the top with everything from baseball cards and comic book figurines to school awards and sports trophies. A few stuffed animals were tucked here and there; Claire had been touched to find the plush Dumbo she’d once given Casey among them.

Upon a closer look around the room, it was easy to see that all was not as it should be. Casey’s bed, adorned with a boyish blue and green plaid spread, was flanked by IV stands and oxygen tanks, and the top of his dresser was barely visible beneath all of the medicine bottles and medical supplies that had been set upon it. Claire tried to ignore all of that and focus on just Casey.

He was lying in bed, looking frail and almost lifeless. He didn’t move when she sat down in the chair that was always pulled up next to his bed, but for a moment, she could have sworn she saw his eyelids flutter. She quickly realized it was just shadows from the TV flickering on his pale face in the dim room. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the opening scenes of Dumbo playing on the small television set in the corner. She smiled nostalgically; Casey had loved that movie when he was little. Mrs. Brenner must have just put it on for him.

“You may be a big-shot eleven-year-old nowadays, but you’re never too old for Disney movies,” Claire murmured, squeezing Casey’s bony hand. Spotting the TV remote on his nightstand, she picked it up and used it to turn up the volume a little just as the song “Casey Junior” started to play. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering as plain as day the way little Casey’s eyes used to light up every time he heard his name in the song.

She glanced over at him, almost expecting to see his eyes open now. But they remained inertly closed. Her smile faded.

She sat with Casey for at least half of the movie, holding his hand, talking softly to him now and then. After she’d been in the room for half an hour or so, Mrs. Brenner popped in to check on them. As Claire watched her pause to tuck the blankets in around Casey and kiss his forehead, her heart ached for this woman, who was on the verge of losing her son.

Claire felt like crying by the time Mrs. Brenner slipped back out of the room, her shoulder slumped with weariness, but she kept her composure as long as she could, knowing she had to stay strong for Casey. She was afraid he would sense it if she let it show how hard this was for her. But when the time came for Dumbo to visit his mother in the movie, and the bittersweet notes of the lullaby “Baby Mine” floated out of the TV, Claire’s eyes prickled with tears. All of the emotions that had been building up inside her came pouring out as her tears began to fall, trailing slowly down her cheeks.

Why? she thought, lifting her leaking eyes towards the ceiling. Why are You taking this little boy away from his mom… from his family and his friends… from the world?

She knew it was wrong to question, but she couldn’t understand. Casey was going to die… what good could come out of that?

***

Five days and two thousand miles from that time and place, Nick looked down at his ringing cell phone and saw Claire’s name flashing up at him. A feeling of dread lodged itself into the bottom of his stomach even before he answered. He knew Claire had no reason to call him, unless…

“Nick?” came her voice, thick with tears, once he’d said hello. “I just heard from Mrs. Brenner. Casey… Casey passed away early this morning.” Her voice wavered and broke as she added meekly, “I thought you would want to know.”

“Thanks,” Nick whispered, his throat so dry that he could barely swallow. Later, he would not remember what else he and Claire said to each other over the phone that day. His only memory of the day Casey Brenner died was the empty feeling of defeat that shrouded him after he hung up.

***