THE STARS ARE BEAUTIFUL - WATTYS AWARD NEW ADULT WINNER 2019

Callum | 35

SOMETHING I LEARNED after I became a father was that children have the power to reshape all the jagged edges of your life into smooth lines, allowing things you once found painful to easily slip away into the past.

Birthdays, for instance, were no longer regarded as death's countdown.

Everly started planning Andy's birthdays a month in advance, picking out the cake and the colors and creating invitations by hand.

One week before his seventh birthday, she had started just the same as any other year, but for this celebration, fate had no plans to sit quietly on the sidelines; not only did it desire to be a part of the game, it wanted to bring home the gold. Life had come full circle. I had put Peter Everdeen in charge of bringing the past back to life, and with the resurrection of an old train came the door to our futures. I had unknowingly unlocked Pandora's box.

"Pop?" Andy tugged on my shirt as I talked to Peter, who had been clearing pine needles from the gutters to help Everly get the house in order for Andy's party.

"What's up?"

Andy looked to his much taller friend—Peter's son, Scout, the boy who once brought me a moment of clarity and peace after Truscott died. A boy who had made me believe good things happen to good people as I'd watched him grow up strong and healthy alongside my son. Butwe've had this discussion about God, plans, and faith, haven't we?

"Scout says he feels sick."

I looked at him as Everly shouted from the yard, "I told you boys to stay away from those wild berries."

"We didn't eat anything!" he returned. "He said his head hurts."

Peter climbed down the ladder as I placed my hand to his son's forehead, expecting to find it slightly warm, and then tell him to go lie down inside for a while, but my hand was suddenly on fire.

"You're burning up, Scout."

"Everything looks funny," he mumbled, his eyes closing. "I'm so hot."

He grabbed his chest and fainted before anyone could react.

***

I stared at a blooming prophecy as I examined Scout's X-rays; the tether around my ribs knew this with vigorous certainty. It was the same feeling of déjà vu, a haunting lucid dream I couldn't quite place having had before but knew without a single drop of doubt that it had been a moment in my life, conscious or not.

And it was met with the knowledge that I couldn't do a single damn thing to treat the outcome, except for the one thing this memory had taught me: I needed to hope.

"His heart is not pumping blood efficiently," I explained trying to break the news gently to Peter. "You've probably always noticed he was slower than other kids when playing, that he got tired quickly. He's been in and out of the hospital all of these years, and this is why."

"I know what he has," Peter said. "I've always known."

"Why didn't you ever mention it? Andy and Scout play together so often, despite their age difference—they've become such good friends. I thought... We've known each other so long, I figured you regarded us as friends, too..."

"Would you not want my son to be friends with him if you had known?" he scoffed.

"No, what I mean is we could have developed measures to insure he was safe. I wouldn't have let the boys run around as crazy as they do, things like that. Plus, I could have helped him more. Asked a specialist to see his case."

"Exactly." He nodded. "And that is not my wish for him.""Peter," I warned, "this is not a way to deal with Scout's condition. You can't be..." And this is where I found Timothy Brighton locked inside of my throat. "...Reckless."