For Mac (14 page)

Liam’s smile lit up his face. “Of course. I enjoyed the last time too.”

Branson told Liam that he planned to spend the entire weekend with Mac, so he didn’t think Mac would mind if Bran didn’t stay the whole evening on Monday, even with the abbreviated schedule. They made an appointment to meet in Mac’s room at 6:30 p.m. on Monday—which would give the brothers an hour to visit—and go from there.

M
ONDAY
’
S
DINNER
was fantastic for both men. They talked about everything and nothing, and it was like the rift from the day after that last dinner out had never happened. They made a point of planning dinner for Friday of that week. Branson gave a brief thought to the idea that having dinner on a Friday would look more like a date, but he forcibly put that out of his mind. He knew Liam wasn’t asking anything of him… and wouldn’t. And he certainly wouldn’t insinuate to anyone that they were dating. What anyone else thought would be their problem. Branson couldn’t see why two male friends couldn’t go out to dinner—even on a Friday—without everyone thinking they were gay.

The rest of the month was a rollercoaster ride. Things with Liam continued to be great, but Mac had horrible days of fevers, seizures, and vent problems and had contracted pneumonia again. By the end of October, he was having a stable period, but Branson wasn’t getting his hopes up that it would last long.

Branson was particularly glum come Halloween. It had always been one of Mac’s favorite holidays. He’d go all out for the kids in the neighborhood. He’d plant plastic gravestones in the front yard, put piles of dirt in front of them, and have hands seemingly coming out of the graves. One year he dug a shallow hole in front of one and covered his legs and chest with dirt so he could rise up and scare the kids coming past to get candy. He only did it for a couple of groups of kids that year because it took a lot of effort and too much time to get the dirt reset and ready for the next group. But he was always thinking of bigger and better ways to scare the kids.

Branson would dress up too and hand out candy. He’d get a thrill seeing his brother acting like a kid. He could never recall another time in their life when Mac actually acted like a kid, not even when they were kids. Mac had always been the serious one, the responsible one, saddled with a kid brother to raise far too early in his life. Branson always felt guilty about that, though he knew it wasn’t his fault. He thought that was probably one reason why he was so dead set against doing anything that would disappoint Mac. It was like he had stolen his brother’s life, and now he felt he had to live his life for Mac the way Mac would want. Intellectually he knew that was bullshit, but emotionally, he couldn’t get past feeling that way.

The staff had done their best to try to get into the spirit for their patients. Everyone had dressed up, and they trick-or-treated in reverse, giving out candy or small trinkets they thought the patients would enjoy. Several other patients in the facility were comatose, like Mac, but many were awake and aware to varying degrees. Branson appreciated the effort, and he made a point of putting the little stuffed pumpkin into Mac’s hand, but it only brought home to him how much things had changed since this time last year.

Liam came in that evening, apparently determined to lighten the mood if he could.

“Hey there.” He showed up in the doorway around six o’clock, complete with Dracula cape and carrying a brightly colored Halloween bag. “There are my two favorite people.” Before Branson could return the greeting, Liam brought the bag over and set it on Mac’s bed. “Mac, me pal, Andy told me how much you get into Halloween, so I brought some stuff to help you get into the spirit.”

He set a mechanical witch on the bedside table and then waved his hand in front of her. She cackled uproariously. “Motion sensitive,” Liam explained as he continued to set out Halloween decorations. He replaced Mac’s lap blanket with a black and orange one, put a stuffed Dracula in Mac’s other hand—the pumpkin was still in one of them—and brushed the lock of hair out of Mac’s face before putting a Rambo-type bandana on Mac’s head.

“Whatcha think, man?” he asked Mac. “Best I could do on short notice. Andy only told me yesterday how much you liked Halloween.”

Branson felt like crying, but he wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad. Seeing Mac lying so still, especially now, decked out for Halloween, made him feel like they were being cheated out of what they would have had for this holiday. But Branson was also touched that Liam thought to do all that for Mac. He was always doing things like that: including Mac in the conversation, bringing movies he thought Mac would like, reading westerns to him during down times now that Branson wasn’t there all day—that part, Branson had heard from Andy. Sure, it was Liam’s job to care for the patients and treat them with respect, but Branson felt that Liam went far beyond the call, and he appreciated every gesture.

“You know.” Branson finally got himself under control enough to speak and tried to keep the lightened mood Liam had been trying to create. “Mac would be doing his best Stallone impersonation right now, if he could.” Then he placed his hand atop Mac’s and spoke directly to his brother. “Not that your Stallone was ever very good, mind you.”

“What’s with brothers and impersonations, anyway?” Liam asked. “Patrick thinks he can do all these impressions—Jimmy Durante, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Humphrey Bogart—but frankly, they all just sound like Patrick with a head cold. None of us can convince him of that, though. He thinks he’s the best impersonator of all time.”

Branson chuckled. “Well, at least Mac only has the one impersonation, but he did always think it was a lot better than it was.”

Silence fell for a moment, but Liam didn’t let it stay that way for long. He dug into his bag again and talked to Mac. “Now I didn’t know what type of Halloween movie you might like to see. Are you a Freddy Krueger sort of person?” He held up a fistful of
Nightmare on Elm Street
movies. “Or do you lean toward Jason? You know, I almost got you the hockey mask instead of the Rambo threads, but I decided against it. Still brought all the
Friday the 13th
movies, though.” He turned back to the bag and paused while he said, “But I’m really hoping that you are more of a classic horror sort of person. I have in me possession the original black-and-white versions of none other than—” He paused for effect and whipped out three movies with a flourish. “—
Dracula
,
Frankenstein
, and
The Wolf Man
!”

Branson reached for the last three movies, practically lunging for them. “Those! I vote those!” He patted Mac’s hand. “Sorry, bro, you don’t get a vote this time!”

Liam put
Dracula
into the DVD player and pulled up a chair beside Branson’s. “And”—he reached into the bag a final time—“a different kind of corn this time.”

Branson took the whole bag of candy corn and pulled it away every time Liam tried to take a handful.

By the time the first movie was finished, it was past visiting hours, and the night staff came in to kick them out as politely as possible.

But Liam wasn’t going to go quietly. “Now, Sarah Jane,” he drawled. Branson could swear that he was playing up the Irish lilt for effect because the accent was more pronounced than usual. “I’ll have you know that it is sacrilege to watch one monster movie without the other two. You wouldn’t have us be breakin’ tradition, now would you, lass?”

“Liam Sullivan.” Sarah stood her ground. “You know that Irish charm and little-boy smile doesn’t work on me. Now get yourselves gone, and take all that stuff with you.”

“Nah.” Liam shook his head. “Can’t take
all
the stuff with us. Some of it’s a gift, and you wouldn’t have me to be takin’ back gifts now, would you, lassie?”

Sarah put her hands on her hips, tapped her foot, and tried not to smile. “Off you go now, Sullivan.”

Liam hung his head. “Well, bud, I tried me best, so I did. But I guess we’ll have to finish this another night.” He turned to Mac. “Sorry, me pal. Nurse Attila has spoken.”

“You know, Sullivan.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “If you weren’t so cute….”

“Ah, ’tis part of me charm, it is.”

“If you play up that beautiful accent of yours any more, you’ll have to break into Gaelic.” She was still trying to be stern, but the twinkle in her eye wasn’t helping her cause.

“Nah.” Liam scooped everything back into his bag. “Me Gaelic is rusty at best. I know some endearments and how to cuss, and that’s about it.”

Branson leaned over and kissed Mac’s forehead and told him good night. He followed Liam out of the room and down the hall before he said what he had been thinking. “You know,” he began, but then got tongue-tied. “We could… I mean, you know, just as friends… but, well, we could… I have a DVD player at home… and I haven’t seen these movies in forever, and I’d really like to watch the other two tonight, and….”

“I would love to continue our movie night at your house, Bran.” Liam smiled. “And of course, I know it’s only two friends watching a movie. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”

“I know.” Branson blushed. “I wanted to be sure… um… I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“No misunderstandings.” Liam tried to change the mood. “But you know, we’re out of candy corn, so we are.”

Branson smiled. “We can switch to popcorn. I have some of that at home too.”

When they got to the parking lot, Liam automatically walked to his own car. Since it was closer than his, Branson went with him.

“I’m parked over there. Give me a minute to get the car going and then follow me to the house?” Liam nodded, but Branson was digging in his shirt pocket. “Here’s the address, in case we get separated.” He handed Liam his business card, which had his home phone number and address on it, despite the fact that Mac and Andy had both tried to talk him into new ones without that information. Branson liked the cards the way they were. So far no one had misused the information, and it came in handy for times like this when he would have otherwise had to write the information out.

Branson watched Liam smile as he got into his car. He could tell, though, that his own smile was just as bright.

Liam

T
HEY
GOT
to Branson’s house without getting separated, and Liam followed Branson into the living room.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Branson pointed to the DVD player. “You go ahead and put the movie in, and I’ll go start the popcorn.”

“Sounds good, man.” Liam had taken the two movies out of the Halloween bag before getting out of the car, so he opened
Frankenstein
and put it in the DVD player.

While Branson was in the kitchen, Liam looked around the living room. There were photographs everywhere—hanging on the walls, sitting on the mantle and end tables. There was even a book of photographs on the coffee table. Liam walked around the room taking in all the pictures of the two brothers throughout the years. It was obvious that Mac was very protective of his younger brother, and Bran absolutely adored the ground his big brother walked on.

“Of better days,” Branson stated as he came back with the popcorn.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Liam explained. He and Branson were more at ease with each other these days, but he was still worried about crossing an invisible line. He didn’t want to do anything to push Branson away again. He had hated it when Bran was avoiding him. And that hadn’t been something he had control over, so he tried to make sure he took care of the things he did have control over and tried not to do anything Branson didn’t like.

Branson cut him off. “It’s not prying to look at pictures on display. They’re clearly there for people to look at.”

“Even more proof that you two w—
are
extremely close.” Liam picked up the photograph on the end table. “Me brother used to give us all shoulder rides too. Even once we got pretty big. Prides himself on still being able to lift us. Of course, he can barely lift me now, but he can get me a few inches off the floor. Still can give Lizzie and Katie shoulder rides. But he mostly sticks to putting the kids on his shoulders these days.”

Branson smiled. “Yeah, I think that and wrestling were the only ways Mac could express how much he cared. I think he was physically incapable of hugging, and he had no clue what to do when I got emotional, but he’d tackle me, and we’d wrestle until he had me pinned, or he’d put me on his shoulders.” Branson waved a hand indicating the scene in the picture. “I think that was supposed to solve everything.”

Liam looked at the photo album on the table but wasn’t sure if he should ask to see it. Branson seemed to know what he was thinking and picked it up. “I’ve been getting out the old photo albums lately. This one has some of my favorite pictures in it.” He handed the album to Liam.

There were several pictures of the boys in younger years, but most of the pictures had one or the other of Branson’s parents in them. “Your ma and da, I take it? You were a teen when they died. Do you still remember them?”

“Some.” Branson nodded. “They didn’t have much time to spend with either of us when I was young. It was mostly Mac and me long before it had to be Mac and me. But they tried. We had some good times. There’s a picture in there of all of us in the backyard wearing Mickey Mouse shirts the day we got back from Disney World.”

Branson sat beside Liam and tried to find the picture he was talking about. Liam made himself remember that they were only friends, that Branson would not appreciate any other thoughts. Liam vowed to keep his emotions hidden, but being this close to Branson, with their legs touching and their heads bent over the same book, it was particularly difficult to keep mere friendship in mind. Branson was everything Liam wanted in a life partner. He was fun and easy to be with, and they had loads in common. He was beautiful and sexy without trying. Sure, he was going through a tough time right now and was depressed a lot, but something had drawn Liam to Branson from the moment they met and he would love for their relationship to be more. But he was also straight, or at least he was trying like hell to be, so if Liam valued Branson’s friendship—and he did—he was going to have to keep those thoughts to himself.