Chapter 39 Max

Chapter 39

Max

Lewy body dementia.

My father's diagnosis rolls in on the heels of the worst month of my entire life.

"Your father has what's known as ‘dementia with Lewy bodies,' or ‘DLB' for short," a young doctor tells me, his light wisps of blond hair a contrast to his dark words.

My eyebrows knit together as anxiety washes over me. "What does that mean?"

Dr. Shay folds forward on the desk across from me, eyes empathetic. "It's a type of progressive dementia. The name comes from the presence of abnormal protein deposits in the brain known as ‘Lewy bodies.' These affect chemicals in the brain, leading to problems with thinking, behavior, and mood." He pauses to allow the information to sink in. "It's different from Alzheimer's, though there can be overlap in symptoms. Your father might experience visual hallucinations, vivid nightmares, moments of alertness and drowsiness, and motor symptoms similar to Parkinson's."

Night terrors. Shaky hands. Hallucinations. Frequent naps. Memory loss.

Everything funnels through me like a cyclone.

Test after test had been coming up inconclusive, and I was beginning to think that my father was going to be okay. Maybe I'd exaggerated his symptoms. Maybe he was getting older, and with age came memory loss. Maybe the trauma of losing his wife, paired with his injury, was simply catching up to him. Maybe he just had night terrors like some people do.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I cup my jaw and close my eyes. "How do we fix it?" I wonder, wanting to check out. I want to disappear, fade away. I wish for the hard office chair to morph into quicksand. "What's the cure?"

Dr. Shay tilts his head with a solemn sigh. "Unfortunately, there is no cure, Mr. Manning. Current treatments can help manage some of the symptoms, but they can't stop the progression of the disease. Our main goal will be to ensure your father has the best quality of life possible, given the circumstances. We'll work together to develop a comprehensive care plan tailored to his needs."

He hands me a brochure.

I stare at it like it's a map of a foreign country I have no desire to visit.

No cure.

No money for treatment.

I'm lucky our state medical plan covered his hospital visits and testing thus far, but I know it won't cover long-term care.

There's only me.

No mother, no brother, no future.

I guide my father to his bedroom when I get home and help him on the bed. I give him the news, just like I had to give him the news about McKay four weeks ago.

Dad stares at me with glazed eyes, his hands shaking in his lap. "You're a good son, Maxwell," he tells me. "You've made me…very proud."

I'm not sure what he processed, but I guess it doesn't really matter.

And, in a way, I envy my father. I envy him because one day, I know…

He won't remember any of this.

I hug him, refusing to let myself cry. Refusing to break down because I'm the only stability he has left. I have to be strong…there's no other choice.

"I think I'll take a nap now," he says, nodding as he glances out the window. "Wake me up before your brother's game, will you? I want to be there."

My eyelids flutter closed as I stand. "Sure, Dad. I'll wake you in an hour."

"That's great, Son." He slips underneath the covers and curls his legs to his chest. "Thank you."

I stare at him for a beat before heading outside and collapsing on the front stoop.

School let out last week.

High school is over, and I graduated with solid grades and a glittering diploma.

And it means absolutely nothing because I've already lost everything.

Two black boots appear in my periphery and I glance up, my gaze landing on Chevy. He stands beside me, two beers in hand, his golden hair fluttering in the summer breeze.

"Hey," I manage.

He takes a seat beside me on the stoop and hands me a beer.

I shake my head.

When he offers me a cigarette instead, I falter briefly before snatching one from the box. "Thanks." I bring the rolled paper to my lips and watch as he lights the opposite end, cupping a hand around the flame. "I mean that, by the way," I add. "Thank you…for everything."

Chevy pockets the lighter with a nod. "No need to thank me. Neighbors help each other out."

"You're more than a neighbor. Always have been."

"Well, you're welcome, then." He sends me a partial smile before glancing out across the street. "Some of my fondest memories are of you two kids playing out in the front yard, tossing footballs, running through sprinklers. Reminded me of my own childhood back in Oregon. I have a brother, too. Not a twin—he's two years younger than me—but he's my better half. My best friend."

I can't imagine Chevy having a better half. He's already the best. "Are you still close?"

His eyes dim. "Not close enough," he says, cracking open the beer I rejected and taking a long pull. "He's in a cemetery near Cannon Beach."

"Fuck," I mutter, dropping my chin to my chest. "Sorry to hear."

"Leukemia. It was a late-stage diagnosis and he never stood a chance. He passed away three months after we got the news. Fourteen years old." Chevy sets his beer on his knee and looks back at me. "Anyway, if you ever need an outlet, let me know. I have a ton of shit lying around that you're welcome to break."

A smile slips as I blow a smoky breath out through my nose. "I might take you up on that."

Nodding, he studies me, the mood shifting again. "I don't know what it's like to lose someone in such a violent way…but loss is loss. Absence is absence. You can't fill it and you can't shake it. All you can do is accept that it's always going to follow you around like a shadow, and you do what you can to live with it," he tells me. "You fill your life with other things. Hobbies, people, dreams. I keep busy because I have to…house flipping, auto restoration, a bunch of random shit. I have a thousand projects going on at once because that's the only way the shadow takes a back seat and lets me appreciate what I still have. It becomes a silhouette." Chevy takes another swig of beer, then dangles the bottle between his knees. "I'll never lie and say it's easy. I'll never pretend like it doesn't suck your soul straight out of you sometimes…but I will tell you that it's still possible to find the light. The loss is permanent, but the darkness isn't."

My eyes fill with stinging tears as I stare across the street at Ella's house.

I think of her.

I think of McKay.

I think of myself submerged in Tellico Lake, staring at both of them as they floated across from me, our eyes locked together while sunlight poured down on the surface above.

Green eyes. Blue eyes.

Hopelessness and yearning.

Time stopped and sound faded as we held our breath and counted down the seconds.

Little did we know, the real drowning would come after we pulled ourselves out of the water.

Chevy presses his hand to my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, severing my bleak thoughts. "She's your light, Max. Trust me on that," he says with conviction, tipping his head toward Ella's property. "Don't let it get away."

With my throat in knots, I stare at him as he stands from the stoop and sends me a small nod.

"My real name's Eli, by the way." Walking backward, he raises his beer bottle with a wink. "Don't tell anybody."

I smile through the tears, a silent thank-you, and watch as he heads back to his house and gets to work on an old RV sitting idle in the front yard.

As I puff on my cigarette, Ella trickles through my mind like a sunbeam forcing its way through gray clouds.

I told her I needed space.

My brother is gone, but so is hers. My world is rocked, but she's in the same boat, getting tossed and thrown among tumultuous waves. We're both victims, both drowning in the shadows, both trying to find the light.

It's hard to think about what she went through that night with my brother. The secret she clung to. The pain she guarded and kept from me as a way of keeping me safe and protected from that same pain. Her spirit was so broken, and I had no idea why.

Never in a million years would I think it was my own flesh and blood who tore her down and rendered her paralyzed.

I'll never say McKay got what he deserved when Jonah put a bullet in his chest— I can't . Forgiveness is a complicated beast, but love has a way of lingering, despite it all. I can't think of the heinous acts he committed without thinking of the sweet, happier moments, too. I'm certain Ella feels the same way about her own brother.

Light and darkness. Yin and yang. Sun and moon.

They coexist.

But I do know what Ella deserves, and it's not this. It's not my radio silence or cold shoulder. She needs my light, my warmth, more than ever.

Chevy is right. She's my light and I'm hers.

My sweet Sunny Girl.

From that first glance in the schoolyard, her smile peeking out from behind a book in the golden afternoon light, I felt it deep inside my soul—she was, and always would be, my sun.

I pull the partially smoked cigarette from between my lips, frowning as I ponder why I ever craved the needless crutch in the first place.

With conviction, I stomp the cigarette beneath my foot, snuffing it out it without a second thought.

And I never look back.