Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [100]
“She has faith that it’ll all work out.”
I hesitated. “Do you think that’s enough?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
Thankfully, my sister made it through her pregnancy uneventfully, and in May 1994, she delivered healthy twin boys she named Cody and Cole. Within a week of her delivery, she was back on her antiseizure medication, and she began taking care of the babies in the cramped room she called home. Micah and I sent her money, and somehow it was enough for her to survive. Dana and the twins slept on a fold-out mattress on a wooden floor for two months; by the end of the summer, however, my sister had reconciled with Bob and had decided to move in with him so the boys could live with their father. Surprising us, she hadn’t told him that she’d been pregnant until right before the twins had been born.
During that time, my dad devoted most of his time to working with the dog. Despite my sister’s apparent good health, his anger only grew worse. In that six-month period, he began to estrange himself from the rest of his extended family. He refused to take calls from his mother, father, or siblings; if they sent a letter, he returned it unopened. Nor would he talk to me—or Micah and Dana—about his reasons for cutting them out of his life. If we asked him what was going on, he grew furious with us—right to Nuclear Launch—and through gritted teeth would tell us that it was “none of your damn business.” For whatever reason, he’d begun to blame his family for all the problems he had in his life. At the time, however, I’d been through so many ups and downs that I somehow believed my dad would get through this as well.
My father, I eventually found out, began seeing a psychiatrist around that time, which both my brother and I thought would help. But my dad, I alone seemed to recognize, had been maintaining a Jekyll-and-Hyde existence for years. He could fool people—indeed, no one at work ever mentioned that anything seemed amiss—and I think he was able to fool the psychiatrist as well. Instead of putting my father on antidepressants, which I think would have benefited him, the doctor instead prescribed Valium, which only made matters worse.
With Dana and Bob back together, the twins healthy, and dad limiting—though not cutting off—contact with us, Micah concentrated on work, excelled at his job, and continued to date.
As for me, three thousand miles from the rest of my family, life went on as usual with one small exception. Right after Cat and I celebrated our fifth anniversary, and using my wife’s grandparents as inspiration, I began writing again.
Throughout 1993 and 1994, my brother and I saw quite a bit of each other, despite the distance between us. The pharmaceutical company we worked for would hold national sales meetings to promote their new product releases. In addition, training sessions were conducted out of the home offices in New Jersey, and Micah and I would inevitably end up in the same sessions. He also visited me in North Carolina and I would make it out to California at least once a year. As always, we would talk about Dana and my dad. Because my brother was the conduit I used to follow the goings-on in the family, I needed to talk to him. Because I was the only one with whom he could speak freely, he needed to talk to me, too.
In late 1994, we were at a national sales conference and relaxing after a day of meetings when the same subjects arose.
“How’s dad doing?” I asked.
“Who knows. But I think he’s met someone new and he’s dating again.”
“Does he ever go to see the twins?”
“No, not really.”
“Have you asked him why?”
“He’d rather spend the weekend with his dog.”
“He didn’t say that.”
“Not in so many words. But that’s the way he acts. It’s like the dog and this new woman are the only things he cares about anymore.”
“Any word on why he won’t talk to his family?”
“No.”
“But he’s dating?”
“Yeah. Can you believe it? Half the time, I think he’s getting better. But when you look at the whole picture . . .” He trailed off. “I hope he snaps out of it,