Page 6 of Edge of Unbroken

“You don’t understand, all he does is sleep. Day and night. I can’t get him out of bed. I couldn’t even wake him for his therapy session yesterday. But it’s not the typical teenager sleeping until noon. I can see the exhaustion in his face and body. I can hear it in his voice. I’m scared. Really,reallyscared.”

She stayed silent for a minute while either my dad or Doctor Seivert were talking. “Oh, come on, this is nonsense,” my grandmother said, her voice no longer calm. She doesn’t usually yell, but she was agitated, her voice strained and tight. “Talking clearly isn’t working, Doctor. He didn’t talk about it all his life; how can we expect him to suddenly shed light on all the terrible things he went through and then miraculously be okay?” she asked, and there was more silence on her end.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Frank! I know my grandson, he’s a hell of a fighter, but we’re losing him. Do you understand me? We’re losing him,” she said, her voice full of authority. “No, you stop that right now, Frank. I can tell you that he’s worse now than he was two weeks ago, heck, even just one week ago. You did the thing. You sent him away from the place where Rica hurt him. He’s in therapy, but it’s not working.He’s not getting better. And I won’t accept that. I won’t sit idly by as he descends further into darkness. Every day that passes I fear he’s being pulled further away from us, and I won’t lose him, so tell me what I need to do—now!” she said, and deep inside me a flicker of warmth broke through the numbness.

I walked back to my room quietly and crawled back into my bed without getting that water, and for the first time in a long time, I prayed.

There was a knock on my door twenty minutes later. My grandma always knocks, even when my door is wide open.

“I brought you some food, baby boy, and it would make me very happy if you tried to eat, okay?” she said softly and set a tray down next to me. “I made you Irish stew.” She rubbed my back like she used to when I little.

“Thanks, Morai.” My voice was raspy from lack of use, and I turned to face her. “Sorry I’m such a burden.”

Her face was filled with warmth when she placed her hand on my cheek. “You’re not a burden. You never were a burden. I love you more than all the stars in the sky. I know you’re hurting so much, and I know you’re tired of fighting,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I wish I could erase everything your mother has ever done to you.”

Her thumb stroked my cheek. “We’ll get you through this. I promise,” she said, and her brow creased before she forced a smile onto her lips. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, and I hope to see that bowl empty.”

She got up and left me to eat. I did manage to eat some of the stew and bread, but I wasn’t able to force all of it down before sleep overcame me once again.

I’ve honestly lost track of days and sometimes even struggle discerning day from night. All I know is that I’ve been in Montana over a month now. My flight landed in Missoula late in the afternoon and when I finally managed to get out of the plane, grab my bag, and hobble out of the terminal on my crutches, my grandfather was already there waiting for me. He’s always been a man of few words, mostly observing people, analyzing the situation, and that’s exactly what he did. He hugged me tightly before we started the two-hour drive to my grandparents’ ranch in near complete silence. I dozed off pretty quickly, actually, feeling drained and achy.

My grandmother was already waiting in the door when we finally pulled up to the ranch, and she came storming out to the truck while my grandfather helped me clamber out of the cabin.

“Baby boy,” she whimpered, her eyes full of emotion as she pulled me against her, holding me for a long moment before studying my face. “Perry, why don’t you take Ran’s bag to his room,” she said to my grandpa, her gaze trained on me. “I made some food for you.”

I shook my head. “Morai, if you don’t mind, I just want to take a quick shower and go to sleep.”

I could tell she wanted to protest, wanted to feed me, keep an eye on me, but my grandfather gave her an imploring look. In the end, she relented, letting me slowly make my way up the stairs and to my room where I’ve been staying—mostly in my bed—for the majority of the past five weeks, unable to muster up the energy, the strength, the will to get up and wander farther than the bathroom or occasionally the kitchen to grab some water. It’s only been getting worse and I find myself sleeping away the vast majority of the day and night, hoping that, just maybe, I won’t have to wake up at all.

***

My grandfather’s voice yanks me out of my nightmare, and I jerk awake to near-total darkness, heart pounding, my skin clammy with sweat, my sheets damp. I’m gasping for air like I do each night, fighting through the panic brought on by that feeling of internally drowning, of suffocating. I still remember it so vividly, and I go back to that place every damn night.

“You’re okay,” my grandfather says in his deep voice. “Deep breaths, Ran. You’re safe. Breathe! Atta boy.”

He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, affectionately patting my knee while I try to shake my nightmare and slow my intake of air. It takes me a minute, but once my head catches up to the fact that everything was just a dream, that I’m safe, that there’s no danger, I’m able to steady my breathing and my heart rate.

I wish it was Cat who appeared in my dreams instead of my mother. I’d prefer the pain that would come with Cat’s image dissipating as I wake rather than the terror that accompanies the nightmares. I can bear the deep emptiness left by my separation from Cat because I know it derives from the undiluted happiness I feel when I’m around her. To me, Cat is the personification of love. There’s no hurt, no fear, no pain—only peace.

My grandfather watches me intently, then seemingly comes to a decision. “Okay, Ran, let’s go,” he says matter-of-factly.

I give him a quizzical look. “What?”

“Let’s go!”

I don’t move, and he chuckles at my confusion. “It’s four-fifteen in the morning. Time to get up,” he says, looking at his watch. Only then do I notice that he’s already fully dressed in his Wranglers and a black, long-sleeved, button-down shirt. “I need your help today, so, up, up! I’ll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes.” He smiles at me and gives me a quick pat on the shoulder.

I don’t protest and slowly make my way out of bed, groaning with the effort it takes, and begin dressing at a snail’s pace.

When I lived here previously, it was always expected that I help around the ranch, but not this time. Not yet. I was almost completely non-weightbearing when I got here, fully relying on my crutches to get around. Now I’m able to limp around without my crutches for short periods of time so long as my knee is in a brace, but I’m still not of much use to my grandfather. Much of the work to be done around the ranch is exceptionally physical. It used to not be a problem, but, aside from the fact that I barely have enough energy to do the bare minimum to stay alive, my knee remains a huge handicap. Even though it’s healing fine—probably faster than I could’ve hoped, actually—I still get sore and stiff easily, especially now that it’s getting so cold. And the deep snow that’s already piled up outside is a pretty solid guarantee I’ll be completely worthless to my grandfather and his wranglers.

I pull on my jeans, and I’m frustrated, as always, by my inability to move properly, by the pain that still cuts through my leg if I miscalculate a movement, by the stupid brace that keeps me from bending my knee. When I finally manage to cover the lower half of my body, I slip on a fresh shirt and a hoodie before I sink back onto my bed. Just putting on my clothes required so much of what little energy I had that I feel an overwhelming need to lie down again.

I guess it’s mind over matter, or maybe the other way around. After a good minute of sitting there with my eyes shut, breathing heavy, I get back on my feet and make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I finally hobble down the stairs and meet my grandparents in the kitchen.

“There he is,” my grandfather announces with a smile, his to-go mug of coffee in his hand. My grandmother gives me a concerned once-over.

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