It was killing them both, this half-life they shared. She with her fear of losing him or pressing on wounds still raw and he with his guilt, shame and fear of burdening her any further. They knew it was unhealthy yet neither had the strength to make a change. For the past five weeks they'd followed the same routine without variation. Grace Brannigan knew every footstep, every murmur, and every shadow by heart.

"G'night, Gracie."

Hot tears welled up in her eyes at the familiar phrase spoken in an unfamiliar, flat tone. "Let me in. Let me help you. Please remember how much I love you." Uncertain if he'd understand or if it would only compound his guilt, she settled for the usual. "Good night, Greg."

Nine shuffled footsteps from the living room to the bathroom. Two minutes of water running from the sink, one toilet flush and twenty minutes spent in the shower sobbing. Seventeen shuffled steps from the bathroom to his bedroom. The rustle of clothes being put away in a room now kept meticulously clean, five more minutes of tears, then lights out.

Grace trailed her fingertips along the gleaming countertop. There was nothing to do now but wait and give him the space he needed. Like a ghost drifting through the halls, she moved from room to room checking the windows and turning off lights. When the shower shut off, she headed for her bedroom. Her suitcase still rested against the dresser and the bed bore only the faint impression left by her cat Ziggy. She'd given up on sleep after that first nightmare-laden attempt.

She slowly changed into a pair of soft cotton shorts and a ratty t-shirt snagged from his suitcase during his visit the previous year. The harsh lights of her private bathroom emphasized the pallor of her skin and the dark bruises rimming her bloodshot eyes. She listened intently for the sound of the light clicking off as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. Timing was crucial. If she went in too early, he'd stare up at her with blue eyes radiating more pain than any one person should have to feel. Waiting too long meant missing out on precious seconds of his life.

Grace silently slipped into the dark room, careful not to kick the bed on her way to the old chair. In an attempt to free the afghan from the back of the chair, she knocked a coffee can full of change off the dresser. Greg rolled over and opened one eye. “Gracie?”

“It’s all right, honey. I’m right here. Get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.” She rubbed his back soothingly until he stopped stirring. Relaxed by the sound of his slow, even breathing, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. As it did every evening, her mind drifted back to that awful night.

She’d been driving down from Houston for the annual Christmas visit with their grandparents when traffic came to a complete stop two hours into the trip. Used to travel delays, Grace simply turned up the radio and settled in for a long wait. It came as a surprise when her cell phone rang a few minutes later. Her friends and family knew about the trip as well as her aversion to talking on the phone while driving. The caller id indicated that the call was from her grandparents.

”Grace?” Anna Brannigan’s tone was frantic and her voice was thick with unshed tears. “Where are you?

“About halfway there. We’re not moving right now. I think it’s an accident so I’ll be a little late.”

“Oh God, Grace. It’s your brother.”

“Greg? He’s supposed to be in El Paso working with Tony. That’s why he couldn’t make it this weekend.”

Anna’s voice broke as she relayed the details of the phone call from the sheriff. 20-year-old Greg had been traveling north when he fell asleep at the wheel, crossed the grassy median and hit another car head on. “He’s at the hospital in Trevin. They won’t tell us how bad the injuries are.”

The forty minutes it took to get through the slow-moving traffic to the hospital in Trevin were the longest in Grace’s life. There’d been forms to fill out at the admitting office, questions she was afraid to answer. Did he have a living will? Was he an organ donor?

After an agonizing five-minute wait, she was allowed through the swinging double doors and led to a small alcove. Kathy, the sympathetic nurse, explained that they’d x-rayed his arm and knee and attended to the cuts on his face but a doctor hadn’t examined him yet. Kathy squeezed Grace’s hand tightly before continuing with the explanation. “We haven’t said anything to him, but there was one fatality.”

All Grace could do was nod dumbly as she tried to process all the information. How could this have happened? Her brother was supposed to be helping his buddy out west, not heading towards Houston. She followed Kathy through the busy hallways to Greg’s room.

”Mr. Brannigan? The doctor will be in shortly but I’ve got your sister here,” Kathy announced then stepped back into the hallway to attend to her other patients.

Grace dropped to her knees at Greg's bedside. There was a large bruise on his forehead and his left eye was swollen shut. He was strapped to back board, covered with a thin blanket and shaking uncontrollably. “Hey little brother. How’re you doing?”

“God, Gracie, I’m so sorry. I never meant… I’m sorry. I killed someone. I saw her in the car and… I wish it had been me. It should have been me. I’m so sorry.”

The rest of the night was spent wiping away his tears, reassuring him of her love, and listening to his litany of apologies. Aside from several bruises and sore muscles, he’d suffered no injuries. The sheriff seemed sure that no charges would be pressed since there were no drugs or alcohol involved. After Greg was discharged and prescribed a mild painkiller, they’d moved to a cramped hotel room. She didn’t sleep a wink that night, choosing instead to keep an eye on him.

There’d been insurance companies to deal with, family members to inform and plans to be made. When he voiced his reluctance to return to the house he shared with several friends, she arranged for his belongings to be shipped to her place. Afraid to leave him alone all day, she took an indefinite leave of absence from her job. Frugal living and a healthy trust from their parents ensured they’d be more than comfortable for the next few months. Once they returned to her house in north Houston, they slipped into the routine she hated.

Living but not quite. Merely existing, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Held back by fears, insecurities, unworthiness. How much longer could they go on this way?