She knew about the pact.
“I’ll find him.”
His promise now sat like an ember under his skin.
He slowed, looking for the signage to their road, then turned onto the gravel drive. The road threaded through thick forest toward the lake.
He drove up to the house, turned off the car, and got out.
The rush of wind in the trees, the faintest sound of bullfrogs along the shore, the rich fragrance of pine swept over him, an attempt to calm his racing heart.
But there in the driveway sat his brother’s economy Nissan. And beside it, his uncle Norm’s old truck.
His uncle wouldn’t have . . .
But Uncle Norm had experienced the devastation of watching his siblings’ disease advance through them, destroying them from the inside out. Dealt with the aftermath, filling in the gaps their deaths left behind.
Yeah, maybe.
Max went in the side door, flicked on the light. It bathed the kitchen and the main room that overlooked the lake.
“Brendon!” His voice boomed through the house and carried the edge of panic cultivated during the five-hour drive. “Where are you?”
He cut through the kitchen, down the hall. “Brendon!”
“Sheesh, you’re going to wake all of Wisconsin! What’s going on?” Brendon appeared at the door to one of the guest rooms, bare-chested, wearing a pair of pajama pants, his hair askew. “Is Lizzy okay?” He braced his arm on the jamb, blinking into the light.
Max didn’t know whether to hug him or deck him. Instead he turned and hit the wall, everything inside him spilling out hard and fast.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay!” Max rounded on him. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
Brendon held up a hand. “Chill, Bro. It never rang. You know we get spotty service out here—”
Max let out a blue word, something that brought his uncle Norm to his door. “Max!”
He turned to his uncle, still hot. “Uncle Norm, seriously—Brendon takes off, leaves a note for Lizzy saying he’s gone fishing, and—”
“And we’re fishing, son. You should see the freezer. Brendon landed an eight-pound walleye.”
Max wanted to hit something again as he stared at his uncle, his brother. But he turned away, stalking down the hall, his hand to his head.
He sank into the old recliner, scraping his hands down his face. Fishing. He could still taste his heart in his mouth, despite his efforts to swallow it down.
He heard the floor creak and looked up to find the duo staring at him like he might be the crazy one.
Then the realization clicked on Brendon’s face. “Oh . . . wow,” he said, sinking onto the tweed sofa. “You thought . . .”
“What was I supposed to think?” Max might never flush the anger from his voice at this decibel. He took a breath, schooled it into something less threatening. Something that contained the horror he felt. “Lizzy told me about the tests.”
Brendon flinched one eye and looked away.
His uncle sat next to him on the sofa. “What tests?”
Max shook his head, wishing it all away. Wishing he’d had the courage to stand beside his big brother and raise the money to fight this. Wishing his mom didn’t have to go through this again. Wishing . . .
Wishing he were back with Grace, caught in a place where he could forget . . . or at least hang on to someone a little stronger than himself.
And there she was, her words in his head. I want more out of life than just . . . just staying where my fears trap me. I want to know all that God has for me—His love, His power, His grace.
Yeah, he wanted it too. More than wanted it—he hungered for it.
Grace. Power. Especially courage.
Uncle Norm turned to Brendon. “How bad is it?”
Brendon’s hands shook and he stretched them out, swallowed. “It’s bad. It’s progressing faster than I’d—we’d hoped. But it’s not so bad that you needed to drive here, Max, and stop me from . . .” He shook his head. “I love Lizzy and Ava and I want every second I can have with them. I’m not going to do it.”
“Do what?” Uncle Norm asked.
Max took a breath. He couldn’t—
“We made a pact after Dad died,” Brendon said softly. “It was stupid, my idea. But I was scared and angry and . . .”
“We agreed to help each other end our lives once we started showing symptoms,” Max said quietly. “Either by not stopping each other or . . . assisting.” Now he couldn’t look at his uncle, at the disbelief, the horror on his face. “I’m sorry, Uncle Norm. But you don’t know what it’s like, looking ahead, knowing—”
“Yeah, I do, son. Your dad came to me when you were born. He told me how, when he married your mother, he told her he had the gene. She knew she’d lose him, and she married him anyway. That took him apart, but he lived with the specter of the disease so far out in front of him, he didn’t consider how it might touch him until you were born, Max. See, they planned Brendon. And then they found out he had the faulty gene, and they vowed not to have another child. Suddenly it became real, and your dad started to panic. He started to think like you, and the idea of him suffering and then passing that along to his son undid him. He went through a terrible darkness.”