Not sick. Dying. The doctors gave us weeks. Maybe less. A shaky breath.
And you want to know the thing he keeps talking about? Marcus delirious half the time in and out morphine. And the thing he keeps coming back to is that center. Elena's center. He grabs my hand and he says, don't let it close.
Don't let it close. Those kids need it. He raised me and Elena in a place just like that after our mom died. Did she tell you that a community center in Charlotte kept us fed and out of trouble for 10 years? It's the reason Elena does what she does.
It's the reason I He stopped. The reason you what? Marcus said gently. The reason I offered to build her a stage last year, Daniel said quietly. For the theater kids.
Because some kid somewhere was going to say his one line to an empty audience and I couldn't stand it. Because I forgot Nia's play and I've hated myself for it every day since. You think I don't remember, Marcus? I remember. It's the worst thing I ever did to somebody I loved.
I forgot your baby girl's one line, and I lost you over it, and I deserved to. Marcus was crying now, openly alone in his truck in the dark, and he didn't care. "We both messed it up," he said. "You forgot, and I couldn't forgive. Neither one of us picked up the phone for 14 months.
That's on both of us, brother. All of it." "Yeah," Daniel said, and Marcus could hear that he was crying, too. "Yeah, it is." They sat there, two grown men crying on the phone 80 miles apart, one in a hospital hallway, and one in a truck, and neither of them said anything for a while, and it was the closest Marcus had felt to Daniel in over a year. Then Daniel said, "How much is the roof?" Marcus told him the number off Curtis's envelope. Daniel let out a low whistle.
"That's high. That's contractor retail high. Who priced it?" "My roofer, Curtis. Good man, retired, but he's pricing it the only way he knows, full materials at hardware store cost." "No. And now something changed in Daniel's voice.
Something shifted, and Marcus recognized it because he'd heard it a thousand times back when they were close, the sound of Daniel's brain clicking into gear on a problem. "No, you don't pay retail on roofing materials for a nonprofit doing a charitable renovation. I've got two suppliers who owe me favors, and a distributor who'll donate for the tax write-off and the press. And you don't pay permit fees on this, either. Not for a registered 501c3.
There's a waiver process most people don't know about. Who's pulling your permits? Otis's nephew was going to help, but Otis's nephew is going to get you in trouble. I'll pull them myself. I've got relationships at the county office.
I've been developing property in that county for 6 years. A pause. The building, who owns it? Man named Whitfield. Owns it 30 years, lets it rot, won't sell because nobody's got money.
Whitfield. Daniel actually laughed a short surprise sound. Harold Whitfield owns half the dead commercial property on Point I've bought two buildings off that man. He's a hard old bird, but he's not a bad one, and he's got a soft spot a mile wide if you find the right angle. If that building's the money pit you say it is, he's paying taxes on a liability.
I bet he'd donate it for the write-off and the goodwill before he'd let it sit empty another year. Marcus sat very still. You're saying he said slowly, we might be able to get the building for free. And the roofing materials donated. And the permits waived.
I'm saying Daniel said, that you called the right person. That's what I'm saying. You spent your whole life too proud to ask for help, and the one time you finally do it, you happen to call the one guy who does this for a living. His voice cracked again. You dumb stubborn man.
You could have had this help 14 months ago. You could have had me the whole time. I know, Marcus whispered. I'm coming down, Daniel said. Not tonight.
I can't leave him tonight. But my sister's been begging me to spend more time at the center, and my dad's been begging me to save it, and my best friend just called me for the first time in over a year, and every single road is pointing me back to Greenville. So, I'm coming. Give me a few days to get things stable here. And Marcus.
He stopped. Don't tell Elena I'm coming. Not yet. She's been carrying that place alone and thinking I abandoned her for our dad. And I want to walk in that door and show her she was never as alone as she thought.
Let me have that, please. Yeah, Marcus said. Yeah, I can do that. Okay. Daniel breathed out.
Okay. I got to get back in there. He's asking for water every 10 minutes and the nurses can only do so much. A pause. Marcus?