Page 2 of New Growth
Ryan stood a few feet away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough to shatter what little composure I had left. I held my hand out to her, and she took it reluctantly. We sat together, the three of us, huddled in a corner of the waiting room while Jonathan stood by our side.
Then the door opened one final time.
It was the doctor. He stepped inside, his expression somber, and immediately I knew. I just fucking knew.
“Ms. Sawyer?” he said, his voice steady but soft.
I stood on shaky legs, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest that I thought it might burst.
“That’s me,” I croaked.
He looked at all of us, his eyes filled with a quiet kind of sympathy that I hated.
“I’m so sorry,” he began, and those three words were like a punch to the gut. “We did everything we could, but the damage to his heart was too severe. He didn’t make it.”
The room spun.
I heard someone scream—a raw, guttural sound that didn’t feel human—and it took me a moment to realize it was coming from me.
“No,” I gasped, stumbling back as Jonathan caught me. “No, no, no, no. He—he can’t—”
“I’m so sorry,” the doctor repeated, but his words felt distant, muffled like they were coming from underwater.
Ma broke down next to me, collapsing into a chair as sobs wrecked her body.
Ryan stood frozen, her face blank with shock, before the tears started falling. She turned to me, her face contorted with anger and pain.
“This is your fault!” she screamed. “It’s all your fucking fault, Elliot! You knew he wasn’t feeling well, and you didn’t go check on him! You could’ve told me. I would’ve checked on him!”
I didn’t say anything. I stumbled back again, shaking my head as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Ryan, stop!” Jonathan snapped, stepping between us.
But she wasn’t done. “You could’ve done something! You should’ve done something, Elliot!”
“Ryan Sawyer!” Ma yelled in a sad, sober tone. “Do you think it’s appropriate to do this right now—”
“I don’t care! It’s her fault!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty waiting room. “It’s your fault he’s dead! You did this, Elliot! I hate you!”
The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth to respond and defend myself, but nothing came out. Because deep down, I knew Ryan was right.
And that guilt would stay with me forever.
Misery.
FivedaysafterElijahSawyer’s heart had stopped beating, I asked myself the question:
What was it about grief that made all other emotions feel small?
Anger, adoration, satisfaction, calmness, envy, amusement, pride, and now sadness—all of these feelings were obliterated by the overwhelming bulk and undeniable hole my father left in his absence. The world was off its axis, and all hell had broken loose. The fragile image of the Sawyer family was split open for the world to see, and all I could do was watch.
The church was too big.
That was the first thought that hit me as I stood outside, clutching the folded program in my sweaty hands. The stone facade loomed overhead, its towering stained-glass windows casting long, multicolored shadows on the gray stone steps. This whole production didn’t feel like my father. I hated it already, and Daddy would’ve hated it too. He wasn’t the kind of man who needed elaborate gestures or grandeur. He would’ve preferred something simple—a small gathering of friends and family, sharing stories over beers and barbecue in someone’s backyard.
But Ma insisted.
“It’s what’s proper,” she said. “He deserves respect.”
