Page 2 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

A year ago today, I got a call from my big sister, Quincy. But when I answered the call, it wasn’t Quincy on the other end. I was caught off guard by a stoic man’s voice.

“Connor? This is Lucas Langford. I’m friends with your sister.” His voice was tight with emotion, and my blood turned to ice.

“Is she okay? Is Quincy hurt? Why are you calling me from her phone? Where’s Sam?” I couldn’t stop the questions tumbling from my mouth. Dread filled my stomach like a lead weight.

Lucas cleared his throat. “It’s Sam.” Silence suspended me in a moment where whatever he was about to say was going to change everything.

The crack in Lucas’s voice pierced my heart. “Sam’s gone. He died this morning. I’m with Quincy and the Andersens at the hospital in Laramie.”

I couldn’t bring myself to ask what happened. Before he could ask, I threw my jacket on, grabbed my keys and was out the door. “I’m on my way.”

I wanted to break every speed limit on my way to the hospital to be there for my sister. I work for the Department of Transportation, practically driving for a living, and my job’s taught me you can’t help someone if you’re dead on the side of the road.

I used the drive to steel myself and lock all my emotions in a box, preparing to hold my sister together. Our parents, Norah and Elliott, were unreachable, so it was up to me to be there for Quincy.

At only twenty-five, I’ve been the man of my family for a couple of years already. My dad’s rapidly succumbing to Alzheimer’s disease, and I’ve stepped up for my mom and sister in every way possible.

After they got married, Sam took care of Quincy I was able to stop worrying so much about her. For a couple of years, I was able to focus on my mom, my best friend, and every so often, my own needs.

On the drive to Wyoming, I let my duty to care for Quincy seep back into my marrow. I’d do anything my sister needed.

I choked on the pain in the hospital waiting room like a thick, cloying fog. I wove past the Andersens, who were huddled together in various positions surrounding their matriarch. Their suffering was palpable, but my priority was my sister.

Sitting in a cold, hard, waiting room chair sat the shell of my normally vibrant, effervescent big sister. A man, who I assumed to be Lucas, sat beside Quincy, holding her hand in silence.

I knelt before her catatonic form and gently braced my hands on her knees. She didn’t acknowledge my presence, meet my eyes, or give me any hint she was somewhere in there.

Trauma does strange things to people, it’s unpredictable and uncontrollable. It was like the death of her young husband erased everything that made her Quincy. Left in the wreckage was a pale, motionless, shell of a woman.

I connected eyes with Lucas, and he shook his head in disbelief of the situation, and confirming my sister’s disappearance. Without having to speak, he and I were on the same wavelength. I stood and bent to brace Quincy by her back. Together, we coerced her out of the chair and onto her feet.

A year’s passed, and Quincy still hasn’t found her footing. Last May, the two remaining Andersen brothers, Lucas, and I, moved Quincy home to Swiftwater hoping it would help her move on.

Like the cruel bitch it is, time marched on, forcing us into each tomorrow, closing the door on another yesterday. Another day without my sister, lost to her grief. A year’s worth of days that refused to pause for her to heal without everyone else moving on around her.

Today was no different in that regard. But it’s significant in that she supported her own weight as we walked down to the bank of Whitetail River to honor her late husband’s memory with his family.

Our parents were notably absent, as they were last year when Sam’s ashes were spread. It kills my mom not to be there for Quincy on hard days like today, but my dad requires constant care which she provides at their home. Quincy understands, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult not having their presence and support as we honor Sam.

Delilah shifts in my arms and leans back into my chest for support. The sweet scent of vanilla and jasmine floods my senses as I bury my face into silken strands of sunlight. I place a kiss on the crown of gold nestled against me and am overcome by profound comfort.

On a day not about me, my best friend showed up to support me, knowing how much pressure I put on myself to support my sister. And in the six-degrees-of-separation phenomenon that is small-town-living, my best friend was also there to support someone else.

Sam was the youngest of the Andersen brothers. The middle brother, Reid, and the oldest brother, James, are my brothers-in-law by relation to Quincy. I’ve gotten to know them in bits and pieces over the years, but despite my sister having been married to the youngest of them, we never crossed paths much. That rapidly changed when Reid fell in love with Isabelle, Delilah’s Irish twin sister.

Delilah’s been my best friend since I was a pain-in-the-ass little kid. I’m lucky she’s still my best friend as a pain-in-the-ass grown man. She served as a bridge of strength today, supporting Isabelle and Reid on one side, and me and Quincy on the other. I don’t know what I’d ever do without her.

The memorial gave me and Delilah a reprieve from the argument we’d been having. I know I’m right. She knows I’m right. We both know what needs to happen but wouldn’t without a push in the right direction.

“Thank you for being there for me today, doll. I couldn’t have been as strong for Quincy if you weren’t holding me together.” Delilah tilts her head up and smiles softly.

“Forever and ever.” Her sweet voice tugs on the heartstring that connects us.

I let her go and we settle onto my couch with her head in my lap. I finger comb her long hair and enjoy the weight of her on my thigh.

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbles.

“I know, doll, but it had to happen. And before you say it didn’t have to happen today—can you honestly tell me you want to go back to that trailer after what happened last night?” I push.