Page 25 of Shadows of Recovery

"Anytime, Soph. Now get some rest."

Feeling somewhat comforted, Sophie lay back down, her heart still heavy but her mind a bit more at ease. She closed her eyes, hoping Tristan would be on his way back to her soon.

Nine

Tristan sat in the New York funeral home, the overpowering scent of flowers filling his nostrils, a stark reminder of the somber occasion. The room was filled with the muted whispers of mourners and the soft rustle of black fabric. Seated in the front row with his mother, brother and two sisters, grief pressed down on him. His father, Richard Blackwell, lay in a handsome casket before them, the finality of death stark and undeniable.

He greeted family and friends with a forced smile, each condolence a fresh stab to his aching heart. The small comfort of having made it home in time to see his dad before he died was overshadowed by the years of guilt for staying away from Manhattan for so long. Now, he was back under the worst of circumstances.

As the day wore on, Tristan found himself cornered by Dr. Conrad Altman, an old family friend with kind eyes and a serious demeanor. The older man rested a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, drawing him aside with a gentle but firm grip.

"Tristan," Dr. Altman began, his voice low and laden with a mixture of sorrow and earnestness, "I’ve been thinking. With your father gone, there’s a void in this community. Have you ever considered creating an institute here in New York? Something to honor his legacy?"

Tristan blinked, the question pulling him from his fog of grief. "An institute here?" he repeated, struggling to process the idea. "I’m honored by the suggestion, really, but my work is in South Dakota at the Blackwell Institute... It’s where I feel I can help people the most. I am able to oversee the treatment of physical and emotional trauma there. It’s what Dad always supported me in doing."

His mother, overhearing the conversation, stepped closer. Her eyes were red-rimmed but alert. "Tristan, your father loved giving back to this city. It was his home, his life. Maybe this is something worth considering."

His younger sister, Claire, chimed in, her voice soft but insistent, "It would be a way to keep his memory alive, Tristan. Dad always worked to help people. He was so proud of the work you’ve done in Waverly County, but maybe now it’s time to bring that passion back home."

Tristan looked from Dr. Altman to his mother and sisters. He took a deep breath, struggling to articulate his feelings. "I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that. My work in Waverly County is very important to me. Like Dad felt about New York, South Dakota is where I feel I can make the biggest difference. The patients there come from all over the United States; the struggles they face with trauma... I feel like that's where I belong. And Dad loved South Dakota too."

His older sister, Amelia, placed a hand on his arm, her grip firm. "Dad would want that. Maybe a framework for James, Amelia, and me to follow here would satisfy everyone.”

James walked over. “We’re here to say our goodbyes to our father, not to burden Tristan. Can’t it be about that only? Is it any wonder why Tristan lives in South Dakota?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bro.”

Tristan nodded at him, noting his brother’s uptight tone. Was it just grief?

Dr. Altman nodded, his expression earnest. "Your father was a great man, Tristan. He believed in you, in the difference you make. Maybe giving your sisters a framework is your chance to honor that belief, to continue his legacy in a way that will make a lasting impact."

Tristan felt their words settle over him like a heavy shroud. He glanced at his father’s casket, which held the man who shaped him, instilling in him the values he now held dear. The pain of loss was raw and visceral.

"I’m honored by the idea," he said finally, his voice cracking with emotion. "The work I do at the Blackwell Institute and in the emergency department is so important. Dad was my number one supporter in that. I think he would want me to continue that work. I will consider the idea of the framework once I get back and have some time to put things in perspective."

Millicent reached out, wrapping her arms around him. "We understand, Tristan. Just know that, whatever you decide, we respect your choice."

As the family gathered around him, Tristan felt gratitude. The idea of an institute in New York was touching. But his commitment to the Blackwell Institute, to treating trauma, and now his commitment to Sophie were all unwavering.

* * *

In the quietof his father's study, Tristan sat with his brother, the loss hitting them both hard. The room was filled with their father's presence, from the books lining the shelves to the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Tristan sipped his scotch, the amber liquid a small comfort in this moment of grief.

James broke the silence, looking at Tristan with curiosity. "Have you told Sophie about Dad?”

Tristan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes, she asked if she should fly out, but I thought it best to spare her the family drama."

James chuckled, shaking his head. "You knew our sisters would have something to say to her about her being younger than them."

"Exactly," Tristan agreed. "I didn't want to throw her to the wolves. But I still want everyone to come out for Easter, spend some time with us and get to know her."

"I'm in." James hesitated, then looked down, his expression troubled. "Before all this happened, I was going to ask you about the prospects for neurosurgeons out where you are."

Tristan met his brother's sad eyes, concern etched in his features. "What's going on?"

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I love medicine, but the competition in these big city hospitals is killing me. I have no life, no special person, and I can't even remember what my apartment looks like."

Tristan looked at him with empathy. "Can you get a couple of weeks off? Fly back with me. The house is big enough; come stay with Sophie and me. You have your license through the physician compact, right?" The compact was an agreement states could participate in to share licensure.

James nodded. "Yeah, Dad made sure all of us did. I think he envisioned a family compound of doctors."

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