Nat entered the hospital room in intensive care where Paul lay still in a bed, his eyes closed and his color grayish. A transparent greenish tube ran from his nose, an IV snaked from his arm, and a white plastic clamp hooked up to a fingertip, connecting to a vital-sign monitor that showed an unmistakably erratic line of hills and valleys, in glowing blue. In a night of so many awful sights, this was the worst.

“Nat, come in,” her father said, meeting her and enveloping her in a hug. His cheek scratched like sandpaper instead of being characteristically clean-shaven, and he didn’t smell of his beloved Aramis. He released her, holding her off, his eyes a sad and shiny brown, until they traveled, bewildered, to her hair. “Why’d you change your hair?”

“It’s a long story. What happened?” Nat looked past him to the bed, which was flanked by Junior and Tom on one side, and her mother and Hank on the other. They all looked red-eyed and exhausted.

“He was playing basketball with Hank, and he just went down.” Her father’s voice cracked with emotion, a sound Nat had never heard from him. “He had a defect in his heart, his aortic valve.”

“But he’s twenty-six,” Nat said, as if her father didn’t know.

“They must’ve missed it when he was little, and the cold medicine he was taking made it worse, somehow. The shortness of breath wasn’t a cold, it was his heart. I don’t understand it all.” Her father scratched his head, heartbroken. “They had to repair the valve.”

“He had heart surgery?” Nat was reeling. She’d missed the whole thing. She couldn’t take her eyes from Paul, lying motionless, his hands at his sides. She felt awful for not having taken his condition seriously. She almost couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. “He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he?”

“They don’t know.” Her father’s shoulders slumped, soft in his blue dress shirt. “They said we’ll know in a few hours if he’s outta the woods.”

“This isn’t possible.” Nat couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Paul was the one with the most life, of all of them. “When did it happen?”

“Last night, around seven o’clock.”

Nat thought back. She had been in bed with Angus. Her brother was collapsing on a basketball court while she was having sex. She pressed the thought away. “You’ve been here since then?”

“Yeah. We slept in the chairs in the hall. It’s against the rules, so they hate us.”

Nat had recognized their coats when she’d hurried down the hall. “Don’t they have a waiting room for intensive care?”

“It’s too far from the room. Screw their rules.” Her father smiled. “Come say hello to your mother.” He led her to the bed, where her mother reached out and gave her a bony, still fragrant, hug.

“I’m so glad you’re back. Was everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“What happened to you, Nat?” her father asked, and it struck her that they had no idea about the prison. She’d had to fight her way through the reporters and cameras outside the police barracks, and the sensational story had been all over the radio news. But her parents and brothers had been here, not caring about TVs or newspapers, with Paul their sole focus. Their world had changed in a heartbeat, without much thought for her—which was exactly right and proper.

“It doesn’t matter now what happened,” Nat answered.

“He’s gonna be all right, sweetie, I just know it.” Her mother patted her on the back, weary and puffy-eyed. All her makeup had worn off, and she had on a blue track suit she normally would never have allowed herself to be seen in in public.

“I know he is, Ma. I guess you were right, all along.”

“It happens.” Her mother winked, but she looked stripped down and so did Nat’s father, the two of them reduced to their real selves, the way she’d seen them only on Christmas mornings. It was an odd thought, and she felt almost ashamed now for having it.

“Hi, Nat,” Hank said. He stood next to her mother, and she met his eye only briefly.

“Hiya.”

“Good to see you.” He returned her look, equally uncomfortably, then stepped forward and gave her a perfunctory hug. His embrace felt almost the way it used to, strong and warm, and she broke it quickly, her emotions welling up because part of it wasn’t the same, and part of it was exactly the same, a sensation she couldn’t parse or experience right now.

“Hey, Nat,” Junior said somberly, across the bed, and Tom managed a smile for her.

“Nice haircut.”

“Thanks.” Nat felt as if she had stepped into some topsy-turvy world, where twenty-six-year-olds had heart attacks and brothers complimented you. She wanted to go out and come in again, so Tom could make fun of her and Paul could break a lamp. Paul. Her little brother. His feet made soft white tents at the foot of his bed, and she reached out and rested her hand on a toe, as if she could keep him tethered to the world that way.

“His color looks better, don’t you think?” her mother asked, eyeing Paul, and her father cocked his head, doing the same.

“I think you’re right, Di.”

“I can hear him breathing, too. It’s stronger than before.” Her mother leaned close to Paul’s face, her hair almost falling forward into his cheek. “I hear him. John?”

Her father nodded, brightening. “I hear it, too. Like he’s using his chest more.”

They all leaned over, listening. Nat had nothing to compare it to, but Paul’s breathing sounded normal to her. “He sounds good to me.”

“I think so, too, Ma,” Junior said.

Tom agreed. “Most def.”

But Hank chuckled softly. “This is the quietest Paul’s been in his life.”

Her father arched an eyebrow.

Her mother blinked twice.

Tom and Junior looked up.

You did not just say that. We can joke about Paul, but you can’t joke about Paul.

Nat didn’t have to look at Hank to understand why he’d said it. She knew he was uncomfortable with her here and with whatever terrible thing had happened to Paul, and the fact that it had happened while they were playing basketball. And, sadly, these things had combined to make him say the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. He would never know where or when everyone remembered that he wasn’t really a Greco, but Nat knew that it was right here and right now.

“They let us stay only fifteen minutes every hour,” her father said, letting the moment pass. “We got only three minutes left. That pain-in-the-ass nurse comes in like clockwork.”

“They’re into their rules, huh, Dad?” Nat asked, still holding onto Paul’s toe.

“Your dad made them let all of us in,” Hank added, with a sideways smile.

“Good for you, Dad.” Nat felt tears come to her eyes. She wondered how many people he’d threatened with litigation, grievous bodily harm, or both. Something happened to her then, when she thought about Tom and Junior, and her mother and father, flanking her brother’s bed like human guardrails, standing beside him day and night, for a lousy fifteen minutes every hour, determined to prevent anything or anybody from hurting him or taking him away, as if they were a little suburban army. They did it because he was one of them, and they were each the most important thing in the other’s lives.

And in that moment Nat understood, with a certainty that went as deep as bone, something she had never realized before. That each of these people would have done this for her, from the day she was born to the day she drew her last breath on earth, bound by their common name and their very blood. And if the price to be paid for that profoundly human service was the occasional cruelty, thoughtless comment, or simple disregard, it was worth every single penny.

Because they were family.