Part 4 — The Boy Cody Had Been
That evening at the hotel, before Grant touched the recordings, I stopped him.
“Give me a minute with him, okay?”
Ethan was lowering himself onto the bed.
I crouched in front of him.
“How are you feeling? Really.”
“Tired.”
“Dizzy?”
“A little.”
“Nauseous?”
“Not much.”
“Pain?”
He hesitated.
“Three.”
“Three, or three because you don’t want me worrying?”
His eyes met mine.
“Four.”
“When did you take your last meds?”
“At the stadium.”
“Then you’re due soon.”
“Grandpa, I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask whether you were fine.”
That stopped him.
I pointed toward the pillows.
“Lie back for ten minutes. Then tell me what you want for dinner.”
He glanced toward Grant.
I caught it.
“Don’t perform for anybody. Not him. Not me.”
The fact that he kept answering told me enough.
On a good day, he’d have stopped me by the second question.
“Soup, Gramps.”
“Soup I can do.”
“And fries.”
“Then that’s what you’re getting.”
He lay back.
Only then did I turn toward Grant.
He hadn’t moved.
“You’ve been doing this alone?” he asked.
“For 14 years.”
“I meant this part.”
“So did I.”
I shook my head.
“I’d just lost Sasha. Ethan had lost both parents. One day I was his grandfather. The next, I was the person he cried for at night.”
Grant said nothing.
“I didn’t have a plan. I was terrified. Ethan became my whole world before I understood what that meant.”
I held Grant’s gaze.
“So no, I didn’t decide to erase you. I made the decision I thought would keep him steady.”
Grant nodded.
Ethan spoke from the bed.
“Can we watch the video now?”
“After your meds.”
He held out his hand.
Grant watched me pass him the cup and waited until Ethan settled back.
Then he connected the recording.
Cody appeared on the screen at 15.
Ethan smiled.
“He looks like me.”
Grant sat down.
“More than you realize.”
For the next hour, we traded what each of us had.
Grant knew the boy Cody had been.
I knew the man who chose Sasha.
Ethan carried pieces of both.
When Cody threw both hands up at a referee, Ethan laughed.
“I do that too.”
Grant looked at him.
Ethan turned to me.
“Did Mom hate it? Football?”
“She hated losing arguments more.”
He smiled.
Later, Grant stood to leave.
“I don’t expect anything,” he said.
Ethan looked at him.
“Call me next week.”
Grant’s eyes filled.
“I will.”
After the door closed, Ethan looked at me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m learning that loving you doesn’t mean deciding everything before you get the chance.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “You still get to worry.”
“I was planning to.”
