There, we found my father and his wife of seven years, Martha, sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, next to each other, but not really together. They rose to greet us.

My dad, in dress shorts, golf shirt, tennis shoes, and Beaver Creek baseball cap, looked as if he had come straight from the eighteenth hole, while Martha played the part of an architect's spouse, a role she cherished. Every hair in her styled coif was in place; half-glasses dangled from a gold necklace; and the hue of her pink shoes perfectly matched that of her mauve jumpsuit and belt.

My father embraced me. "Hi, pal. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"I'm here for David," I said curtly, pulling away to hug Martha.

Ann intentionally held back, mumbled greetings, but didn't touch either of them. In a voice wrought with tension, she said, "Have you seen him?"

Martha answered. "Not yet. They're working on him now, so no one can go in."

"How is he?" I asked.

"Who knows?" my dad said quietly, in sync with Martha's, "They won't say."

Destiny and I sat down in a love seat across the room, but Ann ignored the row of chairs, choosing to stand near the doorway.

"When did you last see him, Kris?" Martha asked.

"On Saturday."

"How was he?"

"He had a few tiny seizures, but he was pretty coherent. I had no idea ..." my voice trailed off.

"We took him out to dinner last Christmas," she said, half-apologizing. "He seemed healthy then."

On this hot June night, I didn't have a reply to that statement. Destiny wasn't involved enough to comment, and Ann acted as if she had laryngitis. My father wouldn't meet my eyes.

We sat silently until Destiny volunteered to get coffee and soda for everyone. In her absence, Martha commented that she seemed nice. I agreed, and my dad and I started discussing the Colorado Rockies. Inane conversation, to be sure, but it kept us from talking about anything that mattered.

At least thirty minutes passed before Destiny returned with the drinks, my mother at her side. My mom stayed in the room only briefly before returning to her post in the hall.

Over the next hours, I used two cans of Dr Pepper more as massage tools for my throbbing head than refreshment. Twice, I left the room to go to the bathroom, and each time I returned, I tried to slip by my mother as quickly as possible, afraid to talk to her.

A hundred feet from our cell, they struggled for seven hours to save my brother's life. They put him on a respirator. They pumped in massive amounts of intravenous drugs. They performed a CAT scan, an EEG, and a spinal tap.

In the end, he was alive, in critical condition, in a coma, and that was when the doctors finally allowed us to see him. One by one, we went, allotted five minutes apiece. First my mother, then my father, Ann skipped, and I went in her place.

Destiny remained in the waiting room, forcing me to stumble down the long hallway alone. Nobody had bothered to prepare me for how my brother looked and, entering his room, I almost fainted.

I had seen him six days earlier, but clothed, not naked in a hospital bed, surrounded by and attached to a dozen machines.

He looked as if he had lived under a viaduct for a year, with a head too big for his torso and dark brown hair that was stringy and greasy. His face was unshaven, and his fingernails were long and dirty. In answer to my question, a nurse in the room guessed he had less than a hundred pounds on his six-foot frame.

His body was bruised and abraded from hours of thrashing on the orange shag carpet in his bedroom. Open sores on his pelvic bone, arm, chin, and left cheek told the story of how he had spent the day.

Alone and writhing.

I sat on the chair next to the hospital bed and bowed my head until it almost touched his emaciated elbow, but I didn't cry, and I didn't say a word.

I couldn't.

When my five minutes were up, the nurse touched me gently on the shoulder, and I rose, a bit unsteadily. I asked if she could return to the family room and retrieve Ann and Destiny. She complied, and in a few minutes, the three of us met outside.

Destiny put an arm around my shoulder, and I buried my head in her neck. She held me until I opened my eyes and choked, "What am I going to do if he dies?"

7.

As the sun poked faintly through the clouds, we crossed the wet hospital parking lot, Destiny and I arm in arm, Ann a stride ahead.

I didn't try to talk to my sister until we were in the car, driving toward her house, and then, I had to fight to control anger. "Why did you even come to the hospital if you didn't want to see David?"

"Some sick desire, I suppose, to see it all played out again. He's really outdone himself this time, hasn't he? I felt sorry for him at first, but the longer I sat in that little room listening to everyone chat, the more I figured out, and it made me furious."

The depth of her rancor stunned me. "What are you talking about?"

"His whole life, everyone's cared more about David than he's cared himself. How convenient that he brought us all together tonight. One big, happy family," she said bitterly. "He certainly went to great lengths to do it. He's holding us hostage again, just like he's done every day of his life. Except this time, I'm not falling for it. I won't be pulled back into this family's perverted games."

"You think he did this on purpose, that he chose to lie around convulsing for the fun of it? Christ, Ann, he's sick, and he'sa""

She cut me short. "What's new? He's been sick his whole life."

"You think that's his fault? You think he wants to have epilepsy?"

"Yes, I do. I think people choose their own reality, and for whatever reason, this is the one he wants. It must serve him in some way."

"How? How does he benefit from his brain fucking up? What does he get out of falling to the ground uncontrollably, talking funny, and having kids make fun of him and adults stare at him? His hands shake all the time, and his gums are rotting from the medicine he takes. He's never had any friends, never! You wouldn't know this, because you never visit him, but he's lived in places that smell like urine, places designed to warehouse people until they die, stations for the elderly. That's his reality, Ann, life in a nursing home, except it came fifty years too soon. How the hell could you think someone would choose this?"

"Lots of people have epilepsy, and they don't live like he does. He's always been an underachiever. No matter how meager the expectations, he always managed to fall below them. He could do better than he's done. At the very least, he could find some kind of job."

"How? It's more than the epilepsy: his IQ is ten points above the retarded level, he has the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old, and he's mentally ill." My voice surged to a fever pitch. "Can't you understand any of that? My God, if he were paralyzed, would you shout at him until he got up and walked? Would you hate him for being in a wheelchair?"

"If I believed his legs could function, yes!"

"This is crazy!" I threw up my hands and turned to face her. "Our brother is probably dying. Can't you have any compassion for him?"

"What about me? Or you? Who ever cared if we were in pain? Just because we don't have epilepsy doesn't mean we haven't suffered." She opened the car door and stepped onto the curb. "I used up all my compassion for David a long time ago."

"Obviously!" I shouted, long after the car door had slammed.

Destiny drove to the end of the block, parked around the corner, and shut off the engine. She reached across to touch my cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I guess."

"Was it weird seeing your parents?"

"Very."

"I can't believe how much Ann looks like your mother."

"Don't tell her. That's her greatest fear."

"I can understand why you've had problems with your mother. It's hard to like her, especially because she doesn't seem to like you."

"Is it that obvious?"

Destiny nodded.

"Did she ask about me?"

"No. Your name came up only once, when she said ever since you were kids, you were David's favorite sister, and she could never understand why."

I grimaced.

"Mostly what she talked about is how much she's done for David. She's under the impression she's the only one who has contact with him. I pointed out that you and I visit him at least once a week. She seemed surprised."

"I'll bet."

"She doesn't really listen either."

"No kidding!"

"Three times, she called me Desiree, and each time I corrected her, but it was like she was too self-absorbed to comprehend my name's Destiny."

"That's Barbara Ashe for you!"

"And she blames everyone else. The first thing she said was that your father's always been embarrassed that David's his son, that he was too easy on him when he was growing up, and that he raised him to be handicapped."

"She's not far off the mark."

"You think he was responsible?"

"Absolutely, but so was she. That's the part she conveniently forgets."

"At one point, your mother said the strangest thing: 'David didn't ask to be brought into this world, and neither did I.'"

"Yuck!" I fidgeted. "What did you think of my father?"

"He's harder to pin down. It's as if he's there, yet not. On the surface, he's pleasant enough, but underneath, there's this other side, a distant and controlling one."

"Some family I have, huh?"

Destiny rubbed my arm. "My relatives wouldn't win any citizenship awards either."

I smiled weakly. "Are you sure you're ready to marry into this mess?"

"I intend to live with you, Kris, not them."

"It's impossible not toa"they all live inside me."

"I know, but you have to remember you're separate."

"It didn't feel like it tonight," I said wearily. "I haven't seen my mom and dad together in seventeen years, and it made my skin crawl to be around them again. I could feel their hatred for each other, even though they never spoke. Could you?"

"A little."

"Scary, isn't it, that I spent eighteen years under their influence. They had separate bedrooms and barely spoke except to fight. It's no wonder I'm afraid of commitment."

"You are, aren't you?" she said gently, though her gaze was intense. "We don't have to move in together if you're not ready. I didn't mean to rush."

"You didn't."

"I don't want you to feel pressured. If you need to back outa""

"I don't," I said unconvincingly.

"Living together is a big step, and this probably isn't the best time to make a decision."

"I'll think about it," I said softly.

Because I couldn't bear to honor my promise of breakfast at Stan's Kitchen, Destiny and I went to Village Inn for a meal I moved around more than ate. By the time she dropped me off at my apartment, I was so tired, I had a headache. I didn't dare lie down, or I knew I'd never rise in time for my appointment with Nicole. I debated canceling, but suspected if I did, she'd never again offer me access to her dead lover's appointment book.

I took a long hot shower and bath, neither of which compensated for the night's lost sleep, but they both helped. I spent the next hour flipping through the Denver Post, unable to retain much of what I read. I settled for skimming the ads and headlines, but even that proved to be too much. It seemed odd to live a piece of my weekend routinea"digesting the Saturday papera"when nothing about the past twelve hours had been routine. My thoughts never strayed far from David.

My headache worsened, causing me to put down the comics and practice yoga poses until I had to leave for my eleven o'clock meeting.

I stretched the ten-minute drive to Nicole's Congress Park townhome into fifteen and still arrived a few minutes early. I easily found the two-story gray duplex, marked by a distinctive black awning over the small porch. I climbed up flagstone steps, past a coifed row of hedges and two large planters of pink geraniums, and rang the bell.

When the door didn't open, I pounded on it, irritated I had forsaken sleep for what could prove to be a fruitless errand. Only the sight of a sprinkler watering the lush, trimmed parkway kept me from leaving. Someone must be home, I thought hopefully.

I hiked around to the back of the house to see if Nicole was in the yard, but I couldn't peer through the solid six-foot gray fence, and I couldn't locate a gate.

I was about to give up when I saw a kitchen chair protruding from a dumpster in the alley. I retrieved it, lugged it over to the fence, and climbed up. From the elevated angle, I saw a grapevine-covered arbor, a swing and hammock, a fountain, a two-tiered deck, and Nicole, oblivious to my gyrations, sprawled on a lawn chair facing the house.

"Nicole!" I yelled, trying to overpower the blare of her headset. "Nicole!"

"Screw this," I muttered, clambering over the wooden wall. Up was easy, down a different matter. Dropping to the ground, I felt the weight of my body compress into my ankles, which led to a string of profanities that captured Nicole's attention and almost caused her to jump out of the loosely-tied top of a neon green bathing suit.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said, peevish.

"We had an eleven o'clock appointment."