Page 65 of My Return to the Walter Boys
“Then what?” Coaxing answers out of him was like trying to get Alex to do his homework, Isaac to behave, or Cole to stop flirting—nearly impossible.
“I had another seizure at the start of summer,” he finally admitted. “It was right after you and Danny left.”
Understanding slammed into me like a battering ram, followed swiftly by confusion. The day Nathan ended up in the hospital was seared intomy memory—it hit too close to home for me to forget—so why hadn’t I considered his recent diagnosis as the root cause of his moodiness?
Nathan went on to explain that his neurologist had changed his prescription but warned him there would be an adjustment period until they found the right dose. Which meant that even though he was old enough to start driving, something he’d been anticipating, Nathan had to forgo getting his learner’s permit; only once he was six months seizure-free could he legally get behind the wheel. Despite the setback, adjusting his medication did the trick—Nathan hadn’t experienced a seizure since June. All he had to do now was make it one more month, and then he could start driver’s ed.
He paused again, and I could tell by the way he squeezed his eyes shut that on top of everything he’d already told me, there was more to the story.
“You had a third seizure,” I said, the final piece clicking into place. “When?”
“Homecoming,” he whispered. “It was when I was getting ready for the dance. Luckily, I’d already gotten out of the shower, but I fell and spent a solid ten minutes smashing my head against the bathroom floor. Felt like I was hit by a bus when I finally came to.”
“Does…does your mom know?”
“Yeah,” he said, his jaw visibly clenching at the mention of his mother. “She’s the real reason I stopped running, by the way. She wouldn’t let me go alone while you were gone, and nobody wanted to get up early to go with me.”
A knot of emotion formed in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Nathan.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” A single tear dripped off the end of his chin. “I know it’s pathetic to cry over this, but I just feel so… What if my doctor can’t find the right balance for my meds?”
I pursed my lips. “There’s nothing pathetic about this.” My tone dared him to challenge me, but he didn’t, so I relaxed and added, “I hope you don’t mind, but I did some reading on epilepsy treatment this summer. There are so many medications out there, Nathan. I’m sure your doctor will find something that works, and you’ll be cruising around in the Buick in no time.”
Not my best pep talk, but I didn’t know how else to reassure him. Words didn’t seem good enough.
“Yeah, well, I did some reading too. Did you know it’s not uncommon for a regimen you’ve been on for years to stop working out of the blue?” He sounded so bitter, but that was to be expected.
This was about so much more than learning to drive or having the freedom to go on a run; Nathan’s disorder would affect the rest of his life. He probably felt like he was losing control, and that had to be terrifying. Which made me wondered if all this—Nathan’s diagnosis and its aftermath—was the reason why he wasn’t playing music anymore. When I asked him, he confessed he was struggling to find inspiration and that he needed time to get over what had happened.Thatwas a feeling I understood, so when he started crying again, I did too.
“Hey, Nathan?” I said once our tears dried. “I promise not to sign up for driver’s ed until you can.”
He cracked a smile. “Did you even have plans to get your license?”
“Nope,” I replied, “but now we can take the class together. It will be fun.”
This seemed to cheer Nathan up. Hoping to take his mind off things, I convinced him to come inside and watch a movie with me. As I was climbing out of the car, something silver caught my eye. I leaned over to get a better look and—
“Oh!” I gasped, scooping the familiar piece of jewelry off the floorboard.
“What’s that?” Nathan asked as I inspected it for damage.
“My mother’s necklace.” It was no wonder I’d lost it; the jump ring connecting the clasp to the chain had broken. “It was missing, so I decided to check the car. I can’t believe it was actually here.” Just as I was about to slip the necklace into the safety of my pocket, an idea came to me. “Here,” I said, pressing it into the palm of Nathan’s hand.
“You…want me to have this?” A small furrow creased his brow “Why?”
“My mom had breast cancer when I was in grade school,” I told him. “Her chemo treatment was rough, so my dad wanted to give her something special to get her through it. The lavender symbolizes healing, and she eventually went into remission, so it must have worked. Maybe it will help you too.”
Nathan’s chest hitched.
Then, fingers trembling, he unclasped his own necklace, added the pendant to the chain, and let it fall into place against his guitar pick.
***
“Keys, keys. Where are my keys?”
Looking up from my cup of coffee, I spotted Katherine muttering to herself as she scoured the island, lifting Jordan’s diorama of the Amazon rainforest, followed by a baseball glove, a loaf of bread, and a pile of receipts. There was a frenzied, desperate sort of energy about her, like she was running low on gas but had miles to cover before reaching her destination. Over the course of the past week, she’d been working relentlessly in preparation for the rummage sale, which started in two days’ time. Her job as one of the coordinators was to organize and price all the donations, but watching her flit around the kitchen gave me cause for concern. When was the last time she took a break?
“Katherine?”
