Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

nearest surgeon but to insist instead that only the best larynx surgeon in Georgia would do. She’d heard him sharing his opinions with the people who worked here—also known as bossing people around. At one point, she’d discovered a bottled water in her hand. At another point, a cup of tea. She didn’t know how they’d gotten there, only that Sebastian had provided them.

Even now a container that smelled of bacon potato soup and warm bread waited for her on Dylan’s bedside table. Sebastian had left a while ago, saying he wanted to give them time alone. But before he’d gone, he’d brought her food.

She’d eat it. Soon. She just couldn’t bring herself to do so quite yet.

She’d just finished texting people to tell them what had happened. Their mom, who’d yet to respond because it was probably the wee hours of the morning in Guinea. Dylan’s friends. Ben. And, after a moment’s debate, Tess and Rudy. She’d supplied their room number and details about hospital visiting hours.

Dylan was staring listlessly at ESPN on the TV mounted on the wall. Since air was no longer passing over his vocal cords, Dylan’s doctor had said it would be best for him to communicate through texts or notes until speech therapists could begin work with him post-surgery. He’d said that for now, Dylan would have his hands full simply adapting to breathing through a tube.

Indeed, Dylan appeared to be concentrating on his breaths as if in a yoga class. His inhales and exhales sounded normal, just much more audible now that they were transitioning through the tube rather than his nose.

She’d never wanted her switched-at-birth calamity to rock Dylan’s world. She still didn’t. But at this point, her preferences on that had been rendered moot. His world had been rocked. And now was the time to say what needed to be said.

She reached over and silenced the television, then waited for him to look at her.

Now’s the time. “Seven months ago, I learned from a DNA test that I’m not biologically related to Mom and Dad. I began searching to find out who my biological parents were and what happened at the hospital the day I was born. I discovered the truth. So, when you’re ready, I’ll answer every question you have. I won’t keep any of it from you.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Text me your responses, please.” Like all teenagers, he could text at the speed of light.

His thumbs went to work on his phone. She received his effusive answer on her own phone.

Okay.

“I want you to know,” she said, “that the things I discovered didn’t change—not even slightly—how I view you in my mind or in my heart. You’re my brother. You will always be my brother. I very much hope that my DNA won’t change how you view me, either.”

It won’t.

She believed him because when he’d been stretched out beside his wrecked truck, it hadn’t mattered that they weren’t born of the same two parents. He’d looked to her for reassurance because only one thing had mattered—the fact that she was the sister he’d known all his life.

Are your mom and dad still alive?

She nodded.

Do they know their kid got switched?

“I don’t think so.”

Are you going to tell them?

“I’ve been debating that question for months.” Today’s events had clarified her decision. “The answer is no.”

Why?

“I don’t want to disrupt their lives. But also, I’m content with the way things are.” She shrugged. “I have a family. I have you.”

What happened to my biological sister?

“As far as I can tell, she’s had a wonderful life. Her name is Sophie. She’s married and lives in Atlanta. I’ve chosen not to reach out to her and her parents. But if you want the opportunity to know Sophie, then I’ll support that. I’ll help you contact her.”

He took a moment to think.

I don’t want to contact her. Like you said, I have a family.

“All right.” She did her best to hide her relief. “I love you.”

I love you, too.

The connection that had always existed between them was still there—tenacious and strong.

I’m afraid that you’re never going to let me leave the house again.

It felt good to smile. “I’ll confess that I wish I’d had a wee bit more control over you today than I ended up having. If I had, I could have kept you safe.” She clasped her phone tightly in her lap. “Back in the emergency room, I was contemplating how hard it must be for God to give people their freedom and then watch them crash their metaphorical cars into metaphorical trees. Yet He gives us our freedom anyway. Because that’s how we grow and make mistakes and fail and learn. You made a mistake today, but there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll grow and learn from it.”

Are you gonna ground me?

“I won’t have to. Your surgery’s going to ground you.”

But when I’m better? Can I go back to normal?

“Yes, with a few small additions. You’ll need to watch numerous instructive videos on the dangers of angry driving. And you’ll have to allow me to cover you in bubble wrap every time you leave my sight.”

He rolled his eyes.

“In all seriousness, once you’re better, we can go back to where we were in our efforts to negotiate a middle ground between my oversight and your autonomy.”

What’s autonomy?

“The ability to make your own choices.” Then she added, “Darling boy of my heart.” Surely the time had finally come when he’d respond with an equally flowery endearment. Right? She waited expectantly as he typed.

Can you turn the TV back up?

Laughing, she did so.

Fifteen minutes later, Tess and Rudy appeared at the door.

Leah beckoned them forward and they bustled inside, full of concerned questions and sympathy. The older couple had made it here even before Dylan’s friends, who had phones permanently grafted to their hands.

“Buddy!” Rudy gripped Dylan’s shoulder. His glasses were askew. His chin quivered. “We were so frightened when we heard. Are you all right?”

Dylan nodded.

Rudy