Chapter Nineteen
Win took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we should sit on the couch and get more comfortable?”
Could anyone ever be comfortable talking about this? But he allowed Win to lead him to the living room and wrap a strong arm around him as they sat on the couch.
“Claire died twenty-eight years ago. The sun rose and set on her, according to my parents. My mother had always dreamed of having a daughter, and in Claire she got what she wanted. A beautiful, smart, popular child. Someone who had everything going for her. She was captain of the high-school debate team, in the National Honor Society, and a star softball player. Every Ivy League school wanted her. She even won a few teen beauty pageants.”
Win’s fingers played over his, and Elliot wished this conversation never had to happen. “That’s a long time to be an only child. Did you and Claire have a good relationship?”
“I don’t remember, to be honest. We didn’t have the time. I was only around five when she passed away. But I have no real memories of her—we never had a chance to bond, so I never felt like she was my sister.” He breathed in deep, past the pain in his chest. “See, by the time I was born, Claire was very sick.”
“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard for your parents. Having a baby when the other child was ill.”
At those words, a sound escaped Elliot, a cross between a sob and a bitter laugh. “They couldn’t wait for me to come. Claire’s illness is the only reason I was born.”
Win’s brow furrowed. “I’m not understanding.”
“My sister had developed a rare form of cancer and needed bone marrow. Neither of my parents was a match, and nothing was working from the national directory. Her doctors suggested that my parents have another child who might be able to be a donor.” He turned to Win, who gazed at him, realization dawning in his eyes. “Yeah,” Elliot said. “That child was me. I was conceived solely for the purpose of trying to keep my sister alive, but it didn’t work. She died anyway.”
“Dammit, Elliot. That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. What a brave thing you did for your sister. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”
Win held him, but Elliot felt curiously detached, almost as if it had happened to someone else. “You think so? When I was a teenager, there were some days when I wished Claire had never gotten sick and I’d never been born.”
Win tightened his arms around him. “You don’t mean that.”
But he did. It was his deepest, blackest secret, and when he didn’t respond, Win touched his cheek. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong, because all I see is a hero sitting before me.”
“Hero? Not me. Claire was.” He choked on his words. “I heard the stories from my parents—from everyone. She fought so hard, but nothing worked. The stem cells they gave her from me worked for about three years before the cancer came back. At three, I went to the hospital for a bone-marrow transplant. I didn’t know what was happening, and I can’t remember much now because it was so long ago, but I do recall being scared. I had nightmares of waiting in a cold hallway, shivering. All I wanted was my mother.”
“Of course you were. Three years old? One of Forrest’s kids is around that age, and I can’t imagine him understanding something like that. C’mere.” Win pulled him close, resting their cheeks together.
Elliot spoke into Win’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. “They said I was doing this for Claire. To make her better. That I was the only one who could help her. I tried to be brave, but I remember crying and wanting my mother. She looked me in the eyes, told me to be strong. That I was their only hope.”
Memories chased through him…that long, cold hallway…beeping machines…the faint scent of perfume when his mother held him tight and the roughness of his father’s cheek when he kissed him…
Win shook his head. “That was a terrible burden to put on you.”
“They thought the transplant was a success, but after six months her body started rejecting my bone marrow. Instead of it helping her, she grew weaker. A year or so later she passed away.”
“God. I’m so sorry.” Win hugged him. “Your parents must be so happy they had you.”
What could he say? Anyone would think so, but instead they looked at him as not having done his “job.” As far as Elliot was concerned, they’d only had him to help keep alive the child they really loved, and once she was gone, they had little to no use for him.
His childhood had been filled with wanting to show his parents he was a good child, worthy of being loved. He’d poured his heart out in writing poetry that won him awards, but when they came to the ceremony, there were only quick hugs and nods to the teachers. Shaking with stage fright, he’d forced himself to try out for all the school plays, and though his parents came, they didn’t revel in his speaking parts like the other mothers and fathers, nor did they take him out to dinner afterward. When he’d begged for a bicycle, they got him one, but he had to teach himself, as his father wasn’t well enough and his mother refused, claiming it was unsafe and he might get hurt.
But that wasn’t the real reason. Elliot knew. He wasn’t who they wanted. Who his mother cried for every night.
“Can we talk about something else? Please?”
“Anything you want.”
Elliot relished this quiet alone time, just the two of them sitting together, Win holding his hand and letting him set the pace.
“You know what I’d really like to do?”
Win’s lips moved against his hair. “Tell me.”
“Sit outside and look at the stars. It’s such a clear night. I used to do that when I was a kid.”
