Author's Note: I needed to write something entirely new, and I got the idea for this story while listening to the song "Eve, the Apple of My Eye" by Bell X1. I'm not sure if this will be continued, since it can stand alone, but everything is subject to change. Please enjoy the story and leave a review.
Daddy's in the garden again.
He's stooped over the fine-cut grass with taut shoulders, sprinkling water from the hose onto those funny little flowers he's so fond of. Yarrows, if Alfred recalls correctly. They have pointy, jagged leaves, and their petals look fluffy from a distance.
Daddy's got them in all colors—pink, white, red, and a sunglow yellow that covers the front yard in a haze of gold whenever sunset comes around. Each flower is tended to with the utmost care, and Alfred often wonders why he goes through all the trouble; they're just going to wilt by the time autumn arrives.
But he watches as he works anyway because there isn't much else to do, and Daddy's always in a better mood afterward. Maybe they'll go get ice-cream later since the trucks are doing their rounds again, greeting the beginning of summer.
"Are we going to have lunch soon, Dad?" he asks, spreading out his arms and legs like a starfish at the head of the lawn.
Daddy doesn't even lift his head to look at him. He doesn't look at very many people in general anymore. "Go inside and get yourself a snack, Alfred."
"But it's almost two o'clock!" he whines just as the inside of the house erupts with a screech. Matt's crying again, and Daddy stands up right away to check on him. He yanks off his gardening gloves and storms upstairs to the bedroom.
They've been through this before, so Alfred isn't as surprised as he wishes he was. He tiptoes his way down the corridor and lingers by the doorway, hugging the wall as he sees Daddy push back Mattie's hair to feel his forehead. The man presses a kiss onto his brother's clammy skin, shushing him with sweet coos and gentle words that almost sound like helpless pleas.
"Shhhh, poppet. It's all right. You're all right."
Daddy takes a bottle of medicine off of the counter and feeds the pills between Mattie's dry lips, watching with deep concern as they are swallowed with the help of some cool water. "It'll be all better soon," he promises in a strange voice, taking a second to clear his throat. He always says the same thing, tiring the words themselves with the near constant repetition.
Alfred slides down the length of the wall and sits on the carpet in silence—out of sight and out of mind as he waits for Daddy to give up his vigil. They will be in this position for a while, he knows, but nothing can be done about it now, and he doesn't mind all that much.
Remarkably, he's caught in his hiding spot prematurely when Daddy abandons the bedroom with unexpected haste. The green eyes roam over his blue ones in the hallway, searching for an explanation as Alfred refuses to offer him one.
"Why don't you go and talk with your brother?"
Alfred trembles at the question and only shakes his head with grief.
He doesn't know why Daddy gets angry at this, but he does, and it makes his heart feel like a watermelon in his chest. "Not everything is always about you, Alfred."
It's an accusatory and hateful remark, and Alfred feels the need to cry but doesn't have the strength to do so. His eyes follow Daddy as the man ambles into the garden once more and eventually returns to the bedroom with a vase full of fresh yarrows.
He sets the flowers down on Mattie's bedside table and grasps the boy's hand with his own. "For health," he whispers to him.
"They're for good health."
Alfred's there when Mattie goes for his next doctor's appointment. His brother's frail form is perched upon the shamrock hued examination table, shirtless and shivering as Daddy and the doctor converse with one another. Under the fluorescent lights, Alfred can finally see how much Mattie has changed. His limbs are lanky and skeleton-like, and his face is sunken from countless nights of pain and tears. The once thick and feathery blond hair on his head now comes out in wads, leaving ugly spots of naked scalp.
It hurts a lot to look at him, so Alfred stares at his shoes instead.
The doctor uses big words as he presses an icy stethoscope onto Matthew's hunched back like "acute lymphocytic leukemia", "bone marrow", "terminal", and "radiation therapy". Alfred doesn't understand very much of it, and all he really knows is that Mattie has been sick for a while. Daddy told him it would take a long time for him to get better, but Alfred isn't sure how long a "long time" really is.
"It is unlikely that you will be a match," the doctor warns Daddy as he hops up onto the table beside Mattie. "Siblings, however, have about a twenty-five percent chance of being viable donors for bone marrow."
Daddy rolls up the sleeve of his white dress shirt and gives Mattie a reassuring kiss on the head before flickering his eyes over to Alfred. "Come here for a moment, lad. The doctor is going to have a look at you too."
Startled, Alfred wrings his hands and rocks on the heels of his feet. He hates going to the doctor's, and he doesn't trust the anticipatory look in Daddy's irises. With a bit more coaxing, however, he approaches the table and Daddy lifts him up, seating him on his left while Mattie stays to his right.
They're all sitting before the doctor now—as though facing him together will chase away the problem.
"Am I sick?" Alfred ventures to ask as the doctor swabs the crook of his elbow with alcohol. "Is my hair going to fall out too?"
Daddy sends him a sharp look, conflicted between fear and fury. "No, you're not sick, Alfred, but you might be able to help Matthew."
"How?"
"You can give him the good cells in your body."
"Huh?"
Daddy sighs and gets his blood drawn first, at which point Alfred grows squeamish. He tries to make his escape before the doctor can do the same to him, but Arthur has already secured a firm grip around his arm to keep him still.
"No! I don't wanna!"
The butterfly needle pinches his skin and he lets out a wail as Daddy rests a hand around the back of his head and brings his face to his chest. Alfred doesn't hesitate to bury himself in the proffered shirt, sniffling as the needle is removed and a bandage is deposited over the injury.
"All done," Daddy murmurs, and Alfred can't remember the last time he was held with such tenderness and affection. "It's all over…"
Unfortunately, he soon realizes that this is meant to be a comforting lie because no more than a week later, he is assaulted with another series of needles, and lets out sleepy sobs of protest as his blood is collected in a bag that will replenish Mattie with some hint of life again, no matter how small and temporary that life may seem.
He does get ice-cream upon request, so, despite the inconvenience, he is rewarded for his bravery and assistance. His curiosity gets the best of him and he watches as his marrow is transferred into Mattie's fragile frame, sparking a glimmer of energy in that languid expression that his brother has been chained to for many months.
"They call the disease ALL," Mattie manages to say when Alfred is caught staring at his bony wrists for a fraction too long. "I think it's because it makes me feel like I'm going to throw up all of my breakfast."
Alfred's not sure if he's allowed to laugh at that, but he does anyway, and it feels good. The laugh rumbles in his diaphragm for a few seconds and rattles his whole form, filling him with a joy that he didn't know he'd missed. The accompanying grin fills his cheeks with a burning heat, and when Daddy comes to see what all the banter is about, he leaves them be, straining to hold down his own smirk.
Mattie wasn't always like this, he remembers. There were days when they hunted for monsters together in Daddy's office and laughed at more jokes, but now Mattie is usually too sick to ever leave his bed, and Alfred is too scared to speak lest he makes matters worse.
So, Alfred goes on his own adventure around the hospital as they wait for Mattie to be discharged, making friends with the doctors, nurses, and even some of the patients while Daddy chugs down gallons of coffee to remain alert. When his father falls asleep beside Mattie, he kindly asks one of the nurses for an extra blanket to cover him with because, contrary to what Daddy thinks, he does care.
In fact, sometimes he thinks he cares so much that his heart is going to burst.
The cluttered columns of papers on Daddy's desk a month later explain exactly how his mind feels. They scream more words than those that could ever be strung together, and Alfred feels as though he is intruding upon something very important when he creeps into the room with caution.
"Dad? What are you doing?"
His father massages at the migraine in the center of his forehead and plops into his rolling chair. "I'm working on a case…"
"I thought you weren't working anymore?"
"Well, someone has to pay for Matthew's medications," he snaps, catching himself before his foul temper could get even more out of hand. "I'm quite busy at the moment. Why don't you play in the yard for a bit, hmm?"
Alfred frowns, considering the words. "How much do they cost?"
"The medications? That's for me to worry about," Daddy assures, evading the question as he skims through the first pile of documents. "You just behave yourself, my boy."
"What medicine are you buying?"
Daddy furrows his brows at him, stunned. "And why on earth would you ask that?"
"I just want to know!" Alfred chimes, mimicking the angelic smile that he's been rehearsing in the mirror.
"Well, one of them is an experimental drug, Silandrox. It might be able to target the bad cells that are making Matthew ill," Daddy explains, even though he knows better than to overwhelm Alfred with too much information. He needs to share at least a smidgeon of his worries with someone before he goes mad.
"Oh…" Alfred remarks with a hum. "I'm gonna go play in the garden!" he decides after a minute of contemplation. Daddy seems thoroughly perplexed by his mood, but doesn't press the subject further as he runs off. Sometimes his questions are better left unasked.
"Don't trample the flowerbeds!"
The whole process of Mattie's gradual treatment is confusing for Alfred, but he trusts Daddy and knows that things will turn out for the best—they always somehow do. Yet, he can't ignore the weariness in Daddy's movements, the sadness that seems to have seeped into his bones and sucked out all of the fun and happiness that was once inside of him.
In a way, when Mattie got sick, Daddy did too.
And maybe… Maybe getting the medicine for Daddy will make him better as well.
So, Alfred double-checks that Daddy isn't watching him from the window before he sneaks his way down the driveway and across the street. He isn't allowed to go anywhere without an adult, but he supposes that this will have to be an exception. With tendrils of nervousness fleeting up and down his spine, he heads toward the pharmacy a few blocks away—he knows the route because he's visited the place with Daddy many times in the past, and it hasn't changed one bit.
Soft acoustic music plays through the speakers as he enters, and the air-conditioned atmosphere feels nice against his skin. It soothes his anxiety somewhat as he walks up to the pharmacist's counter. He has to stand on his toes for the woman to see him, and when she spots him, she smiles with a cordial brightness.
"Hello, dear! Where's Mommy or Daddy? You didn't get lost did you?" the woman wonders with slight bewilderment.
Alfred shakes his head at once and reaches his hands up to grasp the edge of the counter. "No, ma'am, I'm not lost. I need some medicine."
The pharmacist tilts her head to one side, swishing her ponytail. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"No, it's for my brother."
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but I can only give medicine to adults. You shouldn't be here alone," the woman reasons, stepping around the counter and guiding Alfred toward the cash registers. She peruses the area and waves at a nearby employee. "This boy is here without a parent."
The two exchange some hushed words and separate, upon which point the employee takes Alfred by the hand and leads him to the manager's office. "You have to sit here for a little while, okay?"
"But why?" Alfred asks with water-logged eyes. "I have to get medicine for my brother! Please!"
Within ten minutes, the police arrive, and Alfred breaks into a fit of whole-hearted crying, restless and inconsolable as a pair of officers approach him and try to get to the bottom of the situation.
"Son, can you tell me where your parents are? We're not going to hurt you," one of the men mutters, fiddling with the walkie-talkie attached to his belt. "We just want to help."
Alfred swipes a hand across his eyes and blinks at the two men. "Daddy says I should never talk to the police, not even for a little bit."
"Huh," the other officer says with an amused smile. "Got a lawyer for a dad? Why don't you tell me his phone number and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?"
It doesn't sound like a bad suggestion by any means, so Alfred accepts the offer and tells the men his father's phone number. They talk to Daddy first, explaining the trouble that Alfred has gotten himself into, and now he worries that Daddy will be even more stressed than he already is.
After a minute or so, one of the officers hands the phone to Alfred, who isn't too sure if he wants to talk anymore.
"Alfred?
"Uh-huh?"
"Don't 'uh-huh' me! What in the world were you thinking? I thought you had been abducted!"
"I'm sorry!"
"Stay put until I come down there."
It's a brief wait but an arduous one, and when Daddy finally arrives with Mattie balanced on his hip, he feels more than a tad ridiculous.
"I'm extremely disappointed in you. What you did was very dangerous!"
It's then that it dawns upon his father just why Alfred had meandered into the pharmacy all alone, and he sets Mattie down for a moment to embrace him instead.
"My God, Alfred. Don't ever do such a thing again!" Daddy scolds, sounding as though he would be the one crying next. He tightens his hold around Alfred's waist and breathes in the scent of his hair. "Oh, Alfred… My sweet, sweet, sweet boy."
Daddy holds him for a bit longer and then lets go to talk to the officers. "Arthur Kirkland," he introduces himself, shaking their hands in a professional manner. "I apologize for all of the trouble."
The policemen cast occasional glances at Mattie's feeble form and nod their heads in understanding. "It's not a problem. We're just glad to see that everyone's all right. Take care of yourselves."
After another round of formalities and thanks, the trio leave the pharmacy in uncomfortable silence and walk the distance back home, except for Mattie, who is granted the privilege of a piggyback ride on Daddy's back.
It's enough to bring a smile to all of their faces once more.
Hope is stupid, Alfred thinks. It doesn't do anything, and even though Daddy tells him that you're supposed to pray for sick people, he's rather certain it isn't helping, and that frustrates him to no end. He can blab at the sky all he wants, but he has a sinking feeling that none of it is worth any actual good.
When the sun comes out after almost an entire week of rain, Daddy lets Mattie lounge on the lawn with Alfred. They sunbathe and discuss nothing and everything as Daddy plants more flowers to keep himself busy. Alfred knows that there are cases piled up on Daddy's desk waiting to be dealt with, but the man seems to be ignoring them.
And that's okay because they can wait and Mattie can't.
Sitting around idly gets boring rather quickly though, so the boys procure a ball and begin kicking it around, ignoring the hurried reminders from Daddy telling Mattie not to exert himself. They eventually try bouncing the ball with just their knees, and when Alfred ends up hitting himself in the face during one attempt, they both laugh hysterically, falling to the grass with fits of hiccupping giggles.
Daddy comes to join in on the fun as well, and they have a makeshift game of soccer, shouting chorales in the driveway as the neighbors complain about the noise. Neither of the boys knew that Daddy was good at sports, so they're thoroughly shocked when he manages to run circles around them with the ball.
"Cheater!" Alfred shrieks when Daddy suddenly snatches him up as he's passing the ball to Mattie. He's lowered to the ground and attacked with tickles while Mattie watches beside them with a toothy grin. "Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater! Ah-hah!"
Daddy releases him after a couple of seconds and smiles in a way that is so genuine and unfettered that Alfred can only dream of days when he can always see his father so carefree. "I am not. I think you're the cheater, Alfred."
When he's able to steady his breathing again, Alfred props himself up on his elbows and sticks his tongue out at Daddy.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Mattie supplies, letting out a squawk of disapproval as Daddy nuzzles his neck with his nose and stubbly chin. "I surrender!"
That's when Daddy suddenly grows serious and says, "No, Matthew. You have to keep fighting."
"Mmm…"
There's nothing left to be said after that.
Mattie comes down with some type of flu in the fall, and it adds new meaning to the word "debilitating". He's flushed with intense fever and breathing heavily. Within a matter of hours it becomes too worrisome for comfort, so he's brought to the hospital, where a chest x-ray reveals the pools of fluid in his lungs.
And all Alfred can do, once again, is watch as Daddy paces back and forth in the waiting area of the ICU. He's cursing and drenched in his own sweat from sheer nerves, unable to keep still, even when a nurse asks if she can get him anything.
"Sir, would you like some water or coffee?"
"No."
"How about a chat?"
"No, thank-you."
Alfred sits on one of the many chairs around them, kicking his feet back and forth as they wait for an update on Matthew's condition. Daddy bought him a chocolate bar from the gift shop an hour ago, but he's hungry again, and the grumbling in his belly isn't getting any better.
He wants to say something to make the frown on Daddy's face go away, but he's not sure if it'll work or if Daddy will only get angrier, so he waits quietly and tries to keep himself entertained by counting the tiles on the ground. They're white and speckled with green dots, so he counts those as well, feeling sleepier with each passing minute.
After what seems like an eternity and a half, Mattie's doctor comes around the corner and approaches them. Alfred jumps to his feet and stands behind Daddy, hiding behind his legs in case he ends up having to get another shot.
The doctor puts a hand on Daddy's shoulder, and he doesn't have to say anything for Daddy to start crying sloppy tears that coat his cheeks and drip from his chin.
"We performed a tracheotomy, but he's still having difficulty breathing, I'm afraid."
More big words that Alfred doesn't understand. He trails behind Daddy as they make their way toward Mattie's room, but gets stopped at the door.
Daddy wipes at some of the tears on his face and lets out a little cough, straining to keep his composure for Alfred. "Why don't you wait here for a few minutes, love? I'll go and see Matthew first."
"But—"
"Alfred."
It's not fair. Mattie is his brother and he should get to visit him no matter what, but Daddy is adamant and stern, so he bites back his protests. He stays with one of the nice nurses and she tells him all about her own son and how good of an artist he is. She shows him some of the pieces he's worked on from the pictures in her phone. Alfred's favorite is one of a winding valley with a happy couple skipping down the path.
Daddy comes over to the nurses' station about fifteen minutes later with swollen eyes and a pale face. He wraps his arms around Alfred's sturdy shoulders. "What are you two up to?"
"I was just showing him some artwork," the nurse replies, giving Daddy a sad smile and rubbing his back with one hand. "Why don't you go and see your brother now, Al?"
Daddy scoops him up into his arms, and Alfred notes how wonderful it feels to be picked up in his father's arms again. The two enter Mattie's room a moment later, and there's his brother—lying on the bed like paper with a machine breathing for him. He seems to be sleeping, but Alfred just wants to scream and grab him by the neck so that he can force the life back into him.
He doesn't realize he's crying too until Daddy runs a thumb under his eyes and kisses his brow.
"He's not going to get better, is he?"
Daddy's face scrunches up in pain as more tears find their way to his eyes. Finally, he shakes his head and tucks his chin in Alfred's hair. "No, love. He isn't."
"I didn't get to talk to him."
"I'm so s-sorry, poppet. He knows you love him very much."
"But I didn't get to tell him," Alfred emphasizes around the boulder in his throat. "Can I tell him now?"
Daddy nods his head and seats him beside Mattie's heaving figure. He cups a hand around his brother's ear and whispers, "I love you, Mattie. Now you don't have to be so sick anymore. You can have all the breakfasts you want in heaven and never get sick because of them."
Daddy is crying harder now, and it has turned into unabashed weeping. He can barely keep his balance on his own teetering two feet, and a nurse soon comes in to guide him outside once more.
The war is over.
When they return home from the hospital the following afternoon, Daddy immediately clambers out of the car and staggers into the glowing garden. He rips out fistfuls of yarrows from the soil and tosses them down the driveway, careful to make sure he gets their roots as well as Alfred stands, terrified, by the front door.
The man mutters violent words under his breath and claws up another bundle of flowers, letting out a loud whimper like Mrs. Robin's dog from down the street. When he can't find the strength to continue, he falls to his knees and moans painfully, eyes closed and hands covered in dirt.
The loss etched on his face is inexplicable, and Alfred can't help but cry again as he sees his father so upset. Daddy is supposed to be the strong one. Daddy rarely ever cries. Daddy places kisses on scrapes and brings tissues to runny noses. He soothes fevers and cures illnesses. He chases away nightmares and sings lullabies. He isn't supposed to be so fallible.
"He was just a boy…"
"D-Dad?"
"Why would you take a little boy?"
Alfred wrestles with his own sob before he drags his feet over to his father and gives him his own kiss on the cheek, hoping it'll make Daddy stop ruining the beautiful garden that even the heavens envy. "It's okay."
Daddy is shaking, but he pulls Alfred to his side anyway and cradles him close. He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.
Alfred speaks for him. "He's safe… I know it."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Brothers just know," Alfred assures, climbing onto Daddy's lap and earning himself an appreciative kiss atop his head. The tears water the crusty soil.
Once again, words fail them both, but there's nothing wrong with this silence. In fact, they will be silent for a long time.
When spring comes around, they will replant the garden—together. And the world will be in awe of how beautifully they have loved and will love.
Because the garden says more than enough, and it can stand forever.