Page 109 of Sing it, Sam

“In what way?”

He shrugs. “He doesn’t listen and we argue all the time. Maybe he’s moody because he isn’t seeing you as much. It could be a case of brothers being brothers—I dunno. It’s as if the pain has gotten worse. Maybe that’s the issue.”

Is Sam going backwards with his recovery?

Ben pours milk into the cups. He fishes a metal spoon from a nearby drawer and adds my sugar and stirs the hot liquid.

I reach over and place my hand on his, halting him mid-stir. “Are you sure it’s gotten worse?”

His eyes meet mine. On closer inspection, the whites of his eyes are splintered with red.Is he having trouble sleeping? Is Sam keeping him up? Is the stress of caring for his sibling taking a toll?

“I dunno,” he finally says on an exhale.

“I’m sure he’d tell you if he wasn’t doing well. Don’t overthink it. Being a carer is hard work.”

“You make it look easy. I’ve seen the way you are with him, with others at the home. It’s like second nature to you.”

“Ben, my job is to look after the paperwork and run activities. Taking responsibility of someone’s health and ongoing care is a huge deal. I don’t know how some of the nurses at work do it. I pounce when someone so much as sneezes. So maybe just give yourself a break, huh?”

The conversation takes a break as we sip on our hot drinks. Ben stares through the small kitchen window, which faces the early evening traffic.

“I want him to see the neurologist again, but he says he’s fine. He’s hell-bent on being able to dance at the festival. I keep telling him not to push this, but he’s determined.”

He’s hell-bent?I try not to let my beaming smile show through. It makes me feel all kinds of special knowing that this is what Sam is focusing on, but if it’s going to be detrimental to his progress, I don’t want that. “I’ll talk to him if you want?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know whether it’ll help. He’s not thinking straight. Reminds me of a quote my mother told me when I had my heart broken the first time. ‘You can’t be wise and in love at the same time.’”

Heat rushes to my cheeks at the mention of love. Sometimes I’m giddy with the simple thought of seeing Sam. I could regularly be accused of not thinking straight.

I clear my throat. “Nice quote. Who said that?”

“Bob Dylan.”

Well, that explains part of Sam’s fascination with him. Did his mother help nurture Sam’s love of music? I must remember to ask him that.

I reach out and squeeze Ben’s upper arms. “I’ll have a chat with him. While it’s been good to have something on the horizon for us to focus on, I’m not going to cry myself to sleep if we don’t make the festival. The country music will probably drive him nuts anyhow.”

Ben’s mouth tilts up at the corners. He leans down and places a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering a little too long. “You’re too wise for your age, you know that?”

His affection takes me aback. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say,” I joke.

Ben’s Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m glad you’re here. I could use some support.”

“Happy to help.” I take another welcome sip of my sweet coffee. “If you ever need to talk, you know I’m only a phone call away.”

“Thanks.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I, ah, shouldn’t keep you from him any longer. Come on, I’ll show you to his room.”

I finish my drink and place the cup in the sink. Ben directs me past his room, the shared toilet and bathroom, and finally to Sam’s room.

I pry open the door and find Sam. His t-shirt and sheets have dark wet patches on them. It looks like someone lost their temper.

“Do I need to get Mrs Peters onto you?” I bark out.

“Janie,” Sam says and sighs loudly. He pulls in a sharp intake of breath. “You’re here. Why?”

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

Sam chuckles and throws the covers back, sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of black basketball shorts. “Unlikely. No, seriously, why?”

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