Chapter 96 Bonus Chapter 24: The Hand He Finally Held

Chapter 96 Bonus Chapter 24: The Hand He Finally Held
Brandon learned only later that when the mudslide swept Nathan away, Nathan had been trying to protect Alvin.
Alvin told him what had happened afterward.
The rocks had rolled down the mountain, not one or two, but too many to count. Large ones, small ones, all crashing down together like a storm. Nathan had pushed Alvin out of the way and failed to dodge in time.
"I got Nathan hurt," Alvin said.
As he said it, tears fell from his eyes.
Alvin was more than ten years older than Brandon. His hair had gone completely white. His back was stooped, and the wrinkles on his face cut deep into his skin like cracks in dry earth.
Brandon looked at the old man and opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
Nothing came out.
He knew if he had been there, Nathan would have done the same for him.
That child had been like that since he was young. When he saw someone in danger, he did not ask whether he might be hurt. He only thought about how to push the other person out of the way.
It made Brandon proud.
It hurt him too.
He had spent his whole life swinging between those two feelings, pride and pain, back and forth like that old rocking chair, never truly stopping.
When Samantha became ill, Brandon took care of her at home every day.
Her temper grew worse and worse. Sometimes she scolded him, saying he did everything wrong, saying he had been a block of wood his entire life.
Brandon never argued.
He never tried to reason with her.
He knew words were useless by then.
He simply stayed with her.
One night, Samantha suddenly asked, "Do you regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"Letting Nathan marry that girl."
Her voice was very calm. So calm it hardly sounded like her. She stared at the ceiling, where the fluorescent light fell across her face and made every wrinkle stand out clearly.
"If it weren't for her, Nathan wouldn't have become like this. He wouldn't have been injured so badly. He wouldn't have raised a child alone. He wouldn't have waited all these years."
Brandon was silent for a long time.
"No," he said. "I don't regret it."
Samantha turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes had grown cloudy.
"You," she said, "have never understood people's hearts. Not your whole life."
Brandon did not answer.
He did understand.
He simply did not think regret belonged here.
Chloe was a good girl. Nathan loved her, and she loved Nathan. That accident was no one's fault. The landslide had not happened because Chloe wished it into being. Time had not kept moving because Chloe made it move.
You could not say a person should never have existed simply because misfortune had found her.
Brandon sat there in silence for a long time.
Near the end, his lips moved, as if he meant to speak, but no sound came out.
He only sat by Samantha's bed and listened as her breathing slowly evened out. She had fallen asleep.
Still, he did not move.
His hand rested on her blanket. Through the thin cotton, he could feel the warmth of her body.
After Samantha died, Brandon lived alone in the old house.
The house suddenly became huge.
Before, he had thought it was just right. After Samantha was gone, every room grew too wide. The living room was too big. The kitchen was too big. Even the double bed was too big.
Nathan visited often and brought Mason with him.
Mason was around twelve then, sturdy and round-faced, especially like Chloe. Every time Brandon saw the boy, he thought that if Chloe were still here and saw her little brother grown this big, she would be so happy.
Once, Mason ran around the yard chasing a butterfly.
He chased it for a long time and failed to catch it. At last he crouched in the grass, puffed up with frustration, both hands propping up his chin, his little face stormy with offense.
Brandon sat in the porch chair and watched him.
For no reason, he suddenly remembered Chloe crouching in the garage to help him repair the chair.
The siblings crouched in exactly the same way.
The year Brandon fell ill, Nathan came to the hospital every day.
Sometimes he brought Mason. Sometimes he came alone.
Brandon lay in the hospital bed and watched his son move around the room, taking care of everything.
He wondered when Nathan had learned to care for people.
He remembered Nathan as a child, useless at all practical things. He could not wash clothes. Could not cook. Could not even be bothered to clean his room. His socks were always thrown everywhere.
After Chloe disappeared, he learned everything.
One rainy day, Nathan sat beside the bed and thought Brandon was asleep.
Then Brandon heard him speaking softly.
"Dad, do you think she can come back?"
"I don't know."
Brandon's nose stung.
He opened his eyes.
Nathan saw he was awake and froze.
"Dad, you--"
"She will," Brandon said.
Nathan looked at him.
"You waited a lifetime," Brandon said. "She will."
Nathan's eyes reddened.
He pressed his lips together hard. They trembled faintly, as if he were holding something back with all his strength.
Brandon reached out and took Nathan's hand.
It was the first time he could remember doing that since Nathan had grown up.
His own hand was rough, worn by a lifetime of work. His knuckles were thick. The calluses on his palm were hard as stone. Nathan's hand was pale and clean, the fingers long and slender, each joint distinct.
Their hands rested together.
Like many years ago.
When Nathan had still been a child, Brandon had held his hand to cross the street. Nathan's hand had been small then, swallowed entirely by Brandon's palm, soft and hot, like a bird newly hatched from its shell.
He had held him and walked across the crosswalk step by step.
Now Nathan's hand was bigger than Brandon's.
But Brandon still wanted to hold it.
The day Brandon died, the weather was beautiful.
Sunlight came through the window and fell across the hospital bed. Across Nathan's hair.
So much of Nathan's hair had gone white.
Once, it had been dark brown, soft and bright. Chloe had loved touching it.
"Dad." Nathan held his hand. "Don't worry. I'll keep living well."
Brandon wanted to say, Don't wait anymore. Let it go.
But he could no longer speak.
He only looked at Nathan.
Looked into his son's eyes, the same eyes Brandon himself had once had when he was young.
With the last of his strength, he squeezed Nathan's hand.
Then he closed his eyes.