Hold on to Hope

My heart clutched, and I realized I was starting to drift that way, getting called toward her devastation, knowing I’d been a partner to it, too.

That I understood it in every way.

Differently, but the same.

“There’s no chance of that,” I found myself whispering to her.

Her attention traveled to me. Sadness and love billowed out.

“You didn’t fail him,” I kept on. Like I could patch her up and take it away. “He just got lost somewhere along the way.”

Lost to the fear.

I knew it.

I’d seen it so distinct in his eyes.

“I know . . . I just hate I wasn’t there to help him find his way back.”

My mama touched Aunt Hope’s knee. “Of course, you were there, Hope. Why do you think he’s here? Why do you think when he found himself in trouble, needing help, that he came right back here to you?”

A smile wobbled at the corner of Aunt Hope’s mouth, and I was slowly sitting up, getting drawn into the conversation.

Obviously, they all knew a whole lot more about the situation than I did, considering I’d been hiding myself away for the last three days. Not wanting to know or face it.

My gaze dropped to the little boy.

Everett.

Like he felt me gazin’ at him, he curled up his little nose, making these snorting noises as he grinned.

My spirit clutched. Nerves rattling.

The earth unsettled.

Somethin’ like longing filling me full.

Shit.

But I couldn’t turn away.

“He’s adorable, Hope,” Mama all but whispered, reaching out and fluttering her fingertips through Everett’s hair. The little boy tilted his head back with the connection, like he was hungry for the attention.

For the love.

“Ehvie shovel.” He held up the yellow plastic shovel with pride.

“I see it . . . you have a shovel, don’t you,” my mama was murmuring, still running her fingers through his hair.

Worry filled her expression, those eyes on Aunt Hope. “Is he . . .” I saw her war, hesitate, unsure if she should address the one thing I was sure that everyone was thinking. “Is his heart okay?”

The dread of that answer had been bumbling around somewhere in the back of my head where I hadn’t let it take shape or form.

In that very second, it came into sharp, plain view.

My own seized for a beat.

Stalling out.

I all of a sudden felt like I was suffocating.

Worry shook Aunt Hope’s head. “We don’t know yet. Kale was able to get him into the clinic to do an examination. We got back the results of some preliminary tests, and so far, everything has been normal. He ordered a genetic workup and an appointment with the pediatric cardiologist. Even with Kale pulling some strings, it’s going to be awhile before we know anything for certain.”

My brow pulled together. “Wait. He hasn’t been tested yet? I . . . don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

I mean, wouldn’t they have done that the second he was born? When his mother was pregnant?

Oh . . . that was such not a good vision . . . a young woman round with Evan’s baby. Nausea curled and I was worried I was gonna lose it right there.

Aunt Hope frowned. “Evan just found out about Everett a week ago, Frankie.”

She said it like she’d assumed I’d already been privy to that horrible information.

“What?”

My mind was wracked with so many thoughts all at once.

With worry and dread and a hurt for this man who’d already gone through so much. I was struck with the intense urge to jump to my feet, run right through the camp, and show all my stupid cards and hurl myself at Evan. Hold him and hug him and press my ear to his chest so I could hear the beat of his heart.

Or maybe that urge was to pick up the child.

To do the same.

Protect him when no one had been there to do it.

Silence fell over the group of them, everyone watching this kid coo and babble and drum and offer Aunt Hope a bucketful of sand like he was offering her his heart.

That lump was back. Blocking the flow of air. I turned my attention away, to the group out in the water, which was a terrible idea, too.

Evan was out there, the lake water lapping up by his belly button.

A vision where the water rippled out away from him.

The boy drenched. He lifted the football over his head to toss it to Ryland. Josiah was going in for the tackle, rushing him. Evan darted to one side to get the clear pass.

Body slick.

Sparkling under the shimmering light.

Every muscle highlighted.

Those eyes glinting beneath the glare. But he laughed.

Laughed like there was a way to find happiness again.

That maybe his depression hadn’t fully stolen him away.

Burning up, I turned back to Aunt Hope, and I realized I was being blunt, but I was overcome by the crushing desperation to know. “What do you mean he didn’t know about him until a week ago?”