Page 30 of Deacon

Some of the pressure left the room. Dad looked chastened while Matty grew thoughtful. Across from me, Jade’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced by Jude’s sudden nobility, but she stayed quiet. I did too. By then, I was too relieved that Dad had dropped the subject to care why.

The rest of dinner stumbled forward more carefully. Everyone looked tired by the end, as though we had spent the evening keeping too many small things from tipping over at once. Dinner eventually limped toward its end, the night carrying the overmanaged strain family gatherings sometimes took on when nobody had technically fought, yet nobody had relaxed either.

At the door, I thanked Dad because despite everything, he was still my father, and love didn’t become simple merely because it grew exhausting. He kissed my cheek and said he was only trying to think about my future. I told him I understood, but that didn’t give him the right to choose it. Something shifted in his face at that.

It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

Matty came next with his hands shoved into his pockets and some of his earlier certainty gone. “You good?”

“I will be.”

His mouth twitched. “Still mad?”

“Yes.”

“Fair.” He stepped back and studied me for a second. “Drive safe, Li.” Then he looked toward Jade. “And you behave.”

She snorted. “Absolutely not.”

I smiled despite myself.

Jude stepped forward last. “Goodnight, Lila.”

“Goodnight, Jude.”

That was all. I gave him no invitation, softness, or opening he could turn into something more. He lingered for half a second anyway, as though warmth might appear if he waited long enough.

It didn’t.

Jade moved to my side. “We should go.”

So we did.

Once we were inside the car with the doors closed, I sat for a moment with both hands on the wheel and let the quiet settle around us like something earned. The house filled the windshield, all neat lines, porch light, and good intentions bent crooked. Beside me, Jade buckled her seat belt and released a long, theatrical breath.

“Well,” she said, “that was horrifying.”

I laughed, tired and helpless and real. “A little.”

“You owe me extra dessert for emotional damages.”

“You were not emotionally damaged.”

“Mom. Rude Jude tried to breathe near us.”

Another laugh came easier than the first. I started the car and backed out of the driveway while she muttered about overbearing men, civil compensation, and the heroic labor required to survive family dinner.

We reached the street, and the knot between my shoulders finally loosened enough for me to breathe.

9

Lila

By the end of the first week, visiting Jackson had become part of my shift, as routine as charting, washing my hands before touching a patient, or standing inside a trauma bay and keeping my voice level while somebody else’s world came apart.

It was also the part of my day I had begun building everything else around.

I never had to leave the hospital and come back, which made lying to myself easier. When my shift ended, I signed off, finished the handover, washed my hands one last time, and took the elevator upstairs. I told myself the visits made sense because I was already there. I knew the floor and the nurses. I understood enough medicine to recognize that healing could resemble absolute stillness for a long time while the body fought beneath the surface.