My father walked into the living room. “Timothy, your sister’s fashion show is on Youtube. Anna just showed me. Do you want to see it?”
My voice went low. “Dad.”
The boy stopped drawing and gazed up at my father with a smile. “What’s the link?”
“Don’t worry about that, buddy.” My father gave Timothy his phone. “Look on mine.”
Shocked, I shook my head. “His sister? Me?”
The ghost remained silent.
“Who else would it be? I had a fashion show.” I stayed where I was as Timothy pressed on the video. My charity fashion show played on the phone.
“She’s good with fabric.” Timothy nodded. “How does she know what to mix colors and patterns with?”
“Her mother was a seamstress and always had a talent for matching and coordinating.” Dad shrugged. “All I know is that Ivy didn’t get it from me. Your old man can’t put together an outfit to save his life.”
“This is my brother. The baby my mother killed herself over. The reason for everything.” I walked in front of the teenager and studied him. “This is him. And his name is. . .Timothy.”
He continued to watch the show. Meanwhile, my father watched him as if he were scared something would happen.
Another woman strolled in with a tray of pills. From what I could tell, she was definitely Hispanic. She had a tan complexion. Long silky black hair framed her face. “Okay. Time for your medicine.”
Timothy frowned. “But Mom, I’m looking at Ivy’s show.”
“You can look at it and take your medicine at the same time.”
Timothy exhaled. “What would it matter? I’m just going to die soon anyway.”
Both my father and she froze in horror.
I held my hand to my chest. “What?”
My father frowned. “Please, Timothy. Never say that. Not only are you wrong about that, but it also hurts us.”
Timothy shut off the phone and placed it on his lap. “I think it’s better for all of us to accept the truth so that we can move on.”
Rage crossed his mother’s face. “You don’t know what God has in store, so just stop it.”
Timothy shook his head. “I know that I won’t be here much longer. I can feel it.”
“Enough!” His mother dropped the tray of pills and then she dropped to the floor to pick it all up. “I’m sorry. I just can’t—”
“I’ll get it, Anna.” Dad watched her. “Go ahead and take a break. You’ve been on your feet all day doing meal prep.”
Her eyes watered. She rose and turned around.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Timothy said.
“It’s fine, honey.” Tears left her eyes as she hurried away.
Timothy looked up at Dad. “I wasn’t trying to make her sad.”
“When you talk like that, it’s hard for both of us. We love you so much.”
“But I’m okay with death.” Timothy sighed. “The doctors said I would be dead at ten. I’m now almost eighteen. As far as I’m concerned, every day, week, and year is a blessing. I’m the most blessed boy in this world.”
Dad lowered and hugged him. “I love you, Timothy.”
“I love you too.”
Dad rose and gave him a sad smile. “But. . .as you already said, the doctors were wrong. No one knows what will be in the future but God. Let him show us. Don’t try to predict.”
Timothy nodded. “I love Mom and you. I just. . .worry about you two.”
“You worry about us?”
“I’ll be fine, Dad.” Timothy displayed a bright smile. “I know where I’m going and it is a beautiful, magical place. But you two will remain here, and Earth is not that easy.”
Dad gave him a sad smile. “It isn’t.”
“Promise that you both will take care of each other when I’m gone.”
“We have a long time for me to make a promise like that.”
“Please, Dad.”
My father’s eyes watered. “I promise.”
With a sad smile, Timothy returned to the phone and pressed the screen.
“I’ll be back. I must finish packing.” My father walked out of the room.
The ghost pointed at him. “Let’s go.”
“I would rather leave. This is sad.”
The ghost walked off.
I followed Dad and the ghosts into the bedroom.
A suitcase was open on the bed. Folded clothes were inside. His new wife sat on the bed with her hands covering her face.
“Darling.” Dad went to the bed and sat right next to her. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How?” She moved her hands and wiped her tears away. “I’m so scared.”
“The doctor said he’s doing better.”
“But every time Dr. Taylor just extends his life expectancy for a few more months.”
Dad gathered her in his arms. “And every time Timothy surpasses it. At some point, we must give our faith to God and not Dr. Taylor.”
She leaned her head against his chest. “Do you have to go again?”
“I have to try.”
“Each time you try to see her it ends up being a waste of time. She runs off or—”
“I have to try, Anna. She’s my daughter. I’ll never give up.”