Page 59 of Beyond the Fame

When I finally compose myself and face Tyler again, he wags his finger at the mess. “Hurry up with that.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I want to show you something.”

“What is it? I'll go get it.”

“It’s not something I can bring you. Just... meet me out back in thirty minutes.”

I frown at my brother’s back as he slowly retreats from the room.

After thirty minutes, I stop cleaning to go meet Tyler. I still have a few things to pick up in the dining room before I move on to my room. I don’t know why Mom insists my room be spotless. It's not like anyone will go in there. My grandparents aren’t even staying with us this time because Lana offered the spare bedroom at her house. The one her parents left her when they died in a car crash when Lana was nine. The one Tyler and Lana had planned to make their home before his diagnosis.

I follow Tyler through the black iron gate of the white picket fence behind our house and walk out to the woods. He has to stop several times to catch his breath and I try to convince him to turn around at least three times, but he refuses. He let me be his crutch at least, leaning on my held-out arm as he leads us down the worn path.

A path I used to walk every day until middle school.

I never come out to these woods anymore. They make me sad. They remind me of how happy I used to be when I didn’t care about the wicked rules of the real world. When I didn’t let others bully me into changing my entire look and personality.

Tyler squeezes my arm when we get to the massive oak tree we used to climb as kids. I used to hang out on the branches until dark. Tyler hung a tire swing on the lowest elongated branch. I remember catching him out here one day, pushing Lana and stealing kisses from her when she’d swing back to him. I remember pretending to be a spy and hiding behind trees, armed with a Nerf gun and ambushing the love birds because they unsuspectedly moved into my territory.

I start crying because now this oak tree that played a big part in my childhood has a treehouse.

“You built a treehouse?” I sob.

We stop and stare up at the small wooden structure. It reminds me of a cabin in the woods—square with a triangle roof. It's small, big enough to fit three, maybe four people. I count two windows and wonder if the other two sides—which I can’t see—have windows too.

Tyler tugs me to his side. “I didn’t build it, but I hired someone.”

“You can’t afford that.”

“You’re right. They actually did it for free.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because I'm dying.” He shrugs and laughs.

“Not funny,” I sob again, hiding my face in my hands so he can’t see.

“Oh, Becca Bear. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...” He sighs and wheezes. “Let’s go up.”

“You can’t...”

“I can and I will.”

He's already leaving my side and closing the distance to the tree, pausing before ascending the nailed pieces of wood because he’s struggling to breathe.

He climbs every sturdy rung, flings open the access door on the treehouse’s floor, and shakily crawls inside before falling onto his back. I’m right behind, collapsing beside him. He’s breathing as if he just ran a marathon.

“Water,” he rasps. I dig in the backpack he handed me before we set out walking and find two bottled waters. He sits up to drink. Once Tyler is done, downing the entire bottle, I stare him down, narrowing my eyes.

“Why did you do this for me?”

He lays back down and takes one deep breath. “Because I know how hard it’s going to be these next few months and the months after I’m gone. You’ll need somewhere to go. Somewhere to escape to.”

The ache in my throat builds.

“Becca, my life is getting cut short and there were so many things I wanted to do, like help people in tough situations. I had hopes and dreams. I wanted to marry Lana and travel the world with her. We wanted to adopt since she can’t have kids. Now I won’t be able to do any of those things.”

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