My Steps Are Ordered (10 page)

Two minutes.

That was how much time he had to throw a shirt on and compose himself before he heard the doorbell ring.

Michael entered the house and headed straight to the kitchen. Keith smiled in remembrance. Ever since they were boys, Michael had always hit the kitchen upon entering the house. This time was no different. Most times Michael didn't want anything. He liked browsing. Keith waited for Michael to get to the reason behind his visit.

Snatching an apple out of the fruit basket, Michael took several big bites, chewing fast.

“Slow down, bro. The apple isn't going anywhere,” Keith teased, shaking his head. “You're such a big kid.”

Michael waved him off. Keith started to say something, but Michael put a hand up in a silent request for Keith to wait until he was done with the apple. Once he swallowed, Michael lost interest in eating the rest of the apple and set it down on the kitchen counter. Keith noted Michael's nervousness and sat down on one of the stools, waiting for a valid explanation.

Michael opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.

Still trying to recover from the unsatisfactory ending to his visit with Gina, Keith was impatient. “Spit it out.”

“With no donor in sight, I'm worried about Trey's chances of survival.”

“I know. I am too.” Keith nodded vigorously.

Michael coughed. Whatever it was, Keith knew it had to be difficult for him to say it. Michael was never one to hesitate when it came to asking for his help. “Well, as you know, I am in no position to help the situation.”

Keith understood his brother's need to deflate his discomfort with humor. “Michael, don't put any blame on your shoulders,” Keith advised.

“I'm becoming resolute about that,” Michael responded. He looked at Keith with determination. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Uh-oh.
Keith didn't know how to feel whenever Michael asked him for a favor. It was bound to be preposterous or crazy or . . .

“I want you to give Gina a baby.”

Out of the question.
Keith almost choked from the enormity of Michael's request. He couldn't fathom his brother's reasoning at times. Who would ask his own brother to procreate with his wife?

Michael must have seen the look on Keith's face, for he was quick to explain what he had in mind. “You wouldn't have to do it the natural way. I was thinking more along the lines of artificial insemination . . .”

Keith picked up Michael's half-eaten apple and took a big bite. He needed time to think.

“Yuck. Can't you get your own apple?” Michael frowned.

Keith shrugged. He had to chew on something before he said what was most prominent in his mind. He knew that what Michael was asking was common nowadays, but he was flabbergasted at the clinical coldness of creating a child that way. Nevertheless, Keith could understand why his brother would ask. A child's life was at risk. His child.

Keith had other worries. Like, what if the baby resembled Trey? He could never explain that as a mere coincidence. If the circumstances weren't so dire, Keith would laugh at the irony of it all. He was being asked to father a child to save his secret love child. Keith was becoming sick of the lie. It was becoming more convoluted with each passing day.

When Keith remained silent, Michael ended the conversation by asking him to give it some consideration. Michael also made sure he mentioned how much Trey's life depended on Keith's willingness to fulfill his request.

Keith could feel the guilt pressing down on his shoulders. This was the moment when he could assure Michael that he had no problem sleeping with his wife. Why? Because he had already been there, done that. This was ridiculous. God had a sense of humor! Keith was living proof of that.

The truth shall set you free.

Keith opened his mouth to speak; however, Michael beat him to the punch.

“I wouldn't ask if I did not know that I can trust you. There's no doubt in my mind about that,” Michael pleaded.

Keith shut his mouth and gritted his teeth to keep from blurting he should be the last person Michael trusted.

 

 

Bereft, Michael drove around for a while after leaving Keith's house. He wasn't cognizant of getting on the highway and stopping at red lights, for he was so caught up in his thoughts. Before he knew it, Michael was pulling into his mother's driveway.

Gerry was happy to see him, but he could see the concern etched on her face. “You look like something the cat dragged in.” She held Michael's chin and took a good look at him. “You look troubled and gaunt. Are you eating?”

Michael shook his head. “No, and yes, I feel as bad as I look.”

His mother herded him into the kitchen and then ambled over to the stove, where she was keeping a pot of curry chicken and white rice warm. She dished up a hearty plate and gave it to Michael. He sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat like he hadn't consumed a meal in weeks.

“It does my heart good to see you eat with so much enthusiasm.” She chuckled.

Michael nodded, but his mouth was full of food, so he refrained from speaking. His mother remained quiet until he'd finished his meal.

“Talk to me,” Gerry commanded once he'd wiped his mouth.

Michael put his plate and utensils in the sink and washed his hands. Returning to where his mother sat, he leaned over and grabbed her into a bear hug. Her small frame still provided comfort even at his age and with his bigger size. Then he started talking. Michael told her about the test results and explained that he was infertile. He told her how conflicted he was regarding his feelings for Gina. Michael even told Gerry that he had asked Keith to father a child for him with Gina.

After hearing that, Gerry put her hands up. “I can't wrap my head around everything that I'm hearing. When it rains, it pours.” She paced the kitchen. “Son, I know you're hoping I'll have something to say, but I'm having a hard time digesting this news. Stretch out on the couch and rest your brain for a moment while I think about this.”

Michael headed to the living room, took off his shoes, and did as his mother had suggested. With a small yawn, he closed his eyes.

An hour later, Michael woke up. He heard his mother on the telephone. He swung his legs to the floor. He roamed through the house before heading into the family room. On the floor were open photo albums. His mother must have been having one of her moments. Whenever she was stressed, she always took out the baby pictures. “I'm looking back at a simpler time,” she would say.

A photo caught his eye. He leaned closer. It was a picture of Trey. He didn't remember this one. He removed the photo from the jacket and looked at it for several seconds.
Wait a minute. This isn't Trey,
he thought. He flipped the picture over. His mother always wrote the something about the picture on the back.

Keith, 1 year old.

Michael looked at the picture again. Keith looked so much like Trey. His heart denied it. Michael jumped up, and with shaking hands, he placed the photo of Keith next to one on the mantel that he was sure was of Trey. The resemblance was uncanny. It was eerie.

It can't be. No, there has to be another explanation.

“Michael, what are you doing?” his mother asked from across the room. Her careful enunciation of each word told him that his mother knew exactly what he was doing.

“Just looking at a picture of Keith, my brother. And Trey, my son. Or should I say, his son?” He faced his mother, but she couldn't look him in the eye. “How long have you known?”

She stepped farther into the room. Tears rolled down her face. “I didn't. I suspected when you talked to me earlier, and I wondered. I came to look at the pictures, but then I had a phone call and . . . I meant to put those away.” She fiddled with her housecoat.

Disillusionment and hurt were etched on every contour of his heart. Michael broke. “I asked him to help me out by fathering a child with Gina. Little did I know that he'd already been there, done that. Imagine . . .” He tossed the picture of Keith aside and covered his eyes with his hands, giving his head a vehement shake.

The photograph was worth a thousand words.

“Aww!” he screamed. Blinding fury engulfed him, and he ran back to the living room, grabbed his shoes, and shoved his feet into them. As he headed to the front door, his mother tried to block his path, but he lifted her out of the way. She cried and pleaded with him to stay, but he was going to confront Keith.

His voice escalated as he vowed, “I'm going to kill him! He's going to pay for this. If it's the last thing I do. He will pay!”

Keith heard a crash. He couldn't ascertain the source of the commotion before he felt himself being tossed to the floor in the hallway outside Trey's hospital room. He felt pounding fists on his head before he used his strength to push his assailant to the floor.

He'd come to the hospital to sit with Trey. Gina wasn't there.

Pinning the attacker's body beneath his, Keith raised his fist to return the favor when he saw who it was. “Michael?”

“You know what this is about,” Michael shot back before his huge fist landed on Keith's lower jaw.

Keith felt blood ooze from his mouth as his jaw hit teeth. He moved out of the path of Michael's flailing fists. He lifted his hands to ward off the blows and to try to defuse the situation. Michael was out for blood. He was not up for a conversation.

“Let me explain,” Keith said, then retreated as Michael charged toward him.

A punch landed on Keith's left cheekbone, and his head swerved so hard from the impact that he had whiplash. Fury set in. Keith swung his powerful arms and made contact with Michael's right eye. Since Michael was incapacitated for a moment, Keith was able to grab him and haul him into the nearest elevator. Within the compact area of the elevator, much pushing and shoving occurred, but Keith's intent was for them to take this war outside. He pushed the button for the lobby.

“Quit it!” Keith growled. “Are you trying to get us arrested?”

Too angry for words, Michael didn't even give him a response. When the elevator reached the lobby, Michael dashed out and headed to the hospital entrance. As soon as the door swung open, Michael ran toward his car, activating the remote UNLOCK button as he went, and jumped into the driver's seat. Keith was right behind him. He opened the rear door before Michael could lock it and jumped in, even though Michael had already put the car in gear.

Michael's car squealed as he sped away, skillfully handling the car. Once he'd stopped at a red light, Michael found his voice. “I hope the whore was worth it.”

Keith's wrath bubbled up, and he bounded out of the car. Michael had made the mistake of leaving his window open, and Keith used that opportunity to deliver a mind-blowing punch to his face.

Michael's head swung back so hard that he had whiplash, but he wasn't going to back down. “You want some of this!” Michael put the gear in park and jumped out of the vehicle.

Heedless of the green light, he shoved Keith with tremendous force. Keith harrumphed and pushed back. Michael and Keith became enfolded in a tight grip as neither man would give in to the other. They were fit enough to continue their onslaught for hours without tiring. They twisted with rage, arm in arm, backing up until they had crossed the intersection and smashed through a glass shop window.

The owner of the shop was flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Keith saw that the poor man was frightened out of his wits to see two large men rolling on the floor, amid the broken glass. They had not been slowed down by the glass and seemed immune to the shards tearing at their suits.

The shopkeeper shouted, “I'm calling the cops!”

Michael took off running.

“I'm sorry,” Keith said, his breaths coming hard and fast. He pulled out his wallet and tossed the shopkeeper a business card before taking off after his brother. This was not over.

“You can't have her!” Michael screamed. Keith saw that he was running toward the park, where their altercation would not raise any eyebrows. People at this end of town tended to mind their business.

“You don't deserve her!” Keith screamed back, closing in on him.

“She's my wife!” Michael taunted. He stood by the entrance to the park and crooked his finger. “Let's finish this.”

Keith propelled himself to the park entrance and swung his head around. His chest heaved. Michael was nowhere in sight. He took several deep breaths. Leaning over, he rested his hands on his knees. That semi-fetal position was all Michael needed to jump on his back. With surprise on Michael's side and the force of his jump, Keith landed with a hard thud facedown on the ground.

“I never imagined that you would be the self-serving jerk who would do this to me,” Michael roared while still on top of his brother. He pushed Keith's face farther into the ground. “There!” Michael said with deliberate cruelty. “Let me rearrange that pretty face of yours.”

Keith pushed Michael off his back so hard that his brother hit his head on the ground. Then Keith stood to his feet, intending to put an end to this sorry debacle. Never in his life had he made such a spectacle of himself. Michael, however, was far from over.

He swung his leg to dropkick Keith to the ground.

Keith felt his knees buckle, but he did not fall. He turned and limped away from Michael. Michael hoisted himself to his feet and tackled Keith to the ground. Keith could not believe Michael's tenacity. He deflected a few punches before returning more of his own. His fists were bruised, and they stung, but Keith was no punk. He could see that Michael had injuries too, but he preferred the physical altercation to facing the pain of his betrayal.

Keith wanted to advise him that the stinging of his fists would never alleviate the pain of his heart, but he held his tongue. Michael was stubborn enough to try.

Keith managed somehow to push Michael to the ground. He yelled, “Michael! Can we talk?”

Michael's cell phone rang from his pants pocket. It was a miracle it'd survived the scuffle. He answered it. Keith sat on the ground with his head in his hands, listening to Michael's conversation.

“What happened? I'm on my way!” Michael hurled himself to his feet and started running in the direction of his car.

Keith became alarmed. It had to be about Trey. He pounded the pavement, trying to catch up to his brother. Michael skidded to a halt at the light where he had abandoned his car. It was being towed. Hailing a cab, he jumped in to head over to the hospital.

“Michael! Wait up!” Keith knew Michael saw him, as he was only a few yards behind, but his brother ignored him.

“Find your own way. Better yet, why don't you find your way back to New York!”

“You won't keep me away from my son. I have every right to be there, and if you think you can stop me, I'd like to see you try.”

 

 

Perched on the edge of Trey's hospital bed, Gina heard rustling outside the door. Curious, she tilted her head to listen with keen intensity and had her eyes peeled on the door as Michael entered.

Gina rushed over to him and then suddenly stopped in her tracks, mute with surprise. She took in his disheveled and tattered clothes. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Don't you even think of telling me, ‘Nothing,' again.”

He shrugged away her concern. “It's nothing for you to worry about.”

Gina burrowed her hands in her hair with frustration. She was going to go crazy if Michael kept being this way with her.

A moment later Keith ran into the room. He too looked a hot mess.

Gina's mouth hung open. “Have you and Michael been fighting?”

“That is an understatement,” Keith replied as he shoved his shirttails into his pants. Both were ripped beyond repair.

“Are you two juveniles?” Gina said sternly. “What's going on? Trey's sick, for crying out loud.” Keith held up his hand, and she paused. When no information was forthcoming, Gina grabbed his shirt. “Keith, what is it?”

Keith removed her hands and stepped away. “Not now, Gina. I can't talk about this right now.”

Gina wanted to press the issue, but she felt the heat of Michael's gaze, which was pinned on her hands. Self-conscious, she rubbed them together. At that moment, Dr. Milliner entered Trey's room.

She didn't miss the severe glance the doctor gave both brothers, but his only words were, “I need to talk with you.” He led all three occupants of the room out into the hallway. “It's imperative that we find Trey a donor. His immune system is weakening by the day. I've extended the search, and we have made several calls across the country. The option of his waiting until a sibling is born is a moot point right now. At the rate this disease is progressing . . .” Dr. Milliner trailed off.

Gina filled in the blanks. Trey's life was at stake.

She started crying. Reality hit her like never before. “My son, my son . . .” She clutched her chest. “I really believed that he would be okay. But he's not. He's not.” She gulped and wailed, “My son is going to die.” Tears poured from her eyes. She didn't bother to wipe them. They ran down her chest, soaking her blouse. “I'm going to lose my son. I believed . . .” Gina knew that she had been on an emotional roller coaster, but a huge part of her had clung to the hope that something miraculous would happen.

Now it appeared that was not the case.

Terror struck her, and her knees began to quake.

 

 

Overcome with emotion, Keith entered the hospital's chapel.

He needed to pray. He wasn't too sure if God was going to hear him after today, but he still had to try. Keith cried, begging for a miracle, until he was spent.

After talking to God, Keith decided to go into the waiting room. Dr. Milliner had stipulated only one visitor at a time, so only Gina had stayed in Trey's room. Michael was the only one in the waiting room when Keith entered.

Keith locked the door from the inside. Maybe now, with the recent turn of events, he could talk to his brother. “Michael,” he said, entreating him.

“Don't say anything to me,” Michael spat out with extreme bitterness.

“We have to talk. We're brothers. Don't make me a scapegoat because you're feeling hopeless because of Trey,” Keith pleaded.

“Brothers.” Michael uttered the word like it was a profanity. He marched right up to Keith's face. “You dare use that word? You are no brother to me.”

Michael pushed hard against Keith's chest. He would've delivered a punishing blow had Keith not deflected the move. Keith remained poised. He knew Michael needed an outlet for the anguish racking his soul. At that moment, Keith was the ultimate target. Nevertheless, Keith was taken aback by the venomous derision in Michael's voice. It struck him hard, hearing the deep resentment in Michael's words. He never imagined Michael would feel such animosity for him.

Seeing that Michael was about to strike again, Keith grabbed his hand before shoving his brother clear across the room. Michael landed with a heavy thud on the wooden coffee table. The sound of his back whacking against the wood resounded around the room.

Michael's anger must have heightened his reflexes, because he was on his feet in an instant and was going back for more. Just then, the locked door rattled, interrupting Michael's plans. With their chests heaving, both men looked at the door, waiting for the unwanted intruder to move on to another room. But the rattling was persistent.

Keith moved to open the door.

A distinguished, well-dressed man of average height entered the waiting room. At first glance, he seemed young, but slightly graying temples and light crinkles around his eyes told Keith that the man was older than he had first thought.

The gentleman had an expectant gaze. “Ah, I was told that Michael Ward was in here. But perhaps I have the wrong room.”

“No, you are not mistaken. I am Michael Ward.” Michael extended his hand out of courtesy.

Keith noted the expression of shock on the stranger's face after he took a close look at Michael. He knew that with their torn shirts, missing buttons, and glass-scratched skin, both he and Michael resembled a pair of bedraggled dogs that had been dragged out of a ditch.

He stepped forward to introduce himself. “I'm Keith, Michael's brother.” He tried to inject as much professionalism into his tone as he could muster. He wanted to sound like a gentleman, even though at the moment he looked like anything but one.

Michael grunted, showing open disdain for Keith's choice of words, but said nothing.

“I am Jefferson Alton, or Jeff for short.”

Michael groaned as if he were in pain.

Keith ignored his brother. “And you are . . .?” he asked the gentleman, rolling his hands, a gesture intended to elicit further clarification.

“Gina's father.”