Everything Is Blue

Chapter 43

Bud watched the scenery fly by as they rode the train towards Glacier Hills. Large, fluffy mounds of snow covered the hills as snow fell, swirling against a slate gray sky. Like a scene from one of those Hallmark Christmas cards you see in a store.

He had brought the first Nightingale book with him, Whispers in the Dark. The same one he carried the last time they came. It showed clear signs of wear, the front cover fading into muted colors. Scuff marks all over the back. The book's spine had been cracked years ago, due to years of wear.

Flipping to the front blank page, Bud's dark eyes scanned the handwritten message:

'To Bud, never stop dreaming' -L.R Wulfe

He ran his fingers over the slightly indented page, feeling where the pen pressed into the paper. Still remembered that day like it had just happened last week.

"Who do I make this out to?"

"Bud, sir." He replied, watching as the author inscribed the book with fluid strokes.

Loren R. Wulfe back then looked much younger. Less broken. He didn't have a dark cloud of sorrow around him yet. The dark shadows under his eyes hadn't formed. He seemed much more alive. Full of life and hope.

The Samoyed's blue eyes glanced up at the pup. "Should someone as young as you even be reading these?"

"I'm a wholeeee ten years old!" Buddy held up all ten of his fingers. Didn't mention the part that he had Uncle Rufus read the books to him. Sometimes big words were just too much for a ten-year-old.

That made Loren smile.

"I have a son around your age," he finished signing the book, handing it back over to Bud. "Him and his little sister are always getting into trouble. I'll be surprised if they hadn't burned the house down when I get back."

Uncle Rufus laughed. "Buddy here is always getting into trouble, aren't you, champ?" Ruffled the pup's hair with a hand.

"No I don't!" Buddy huffed out, using his small hands to clumsily try to fix his hair. Clearly embarrassed.

Nostalgia was a funny thing.

Loren hadn't said anything when he met Bud last year, so the hound didn't think he remembered the encounter. Why would he? He'd probably met countless fans over the years. Why would he remember a specific one?

Bud looked up as a tiny whistle blew three times and the train began to slow to a halt.

...However, some individuals may experience subtle changes in cognition and behavior — such as unusual irritability, anxiety, or depression — seven to ten years before motor symptoms begin.

The fact flew into his mind and Bud glanced at Kimbra, the train rattling as she rambled away about something they would be doing during the break. Irritability? No. Anxiety? Yes. Depression? Of course. She literally had a bottle in her medicine cabinet for that.

He didn't understand why Huntington's had stuck to his brain the last few weeks. Maybe because he kept daydreaming about their future together. What the upcoming years would bring. But then it hit him.

Kimbra lost her mother to a hereditary neurodegenerative disease. One that Kimbra had a fifty-fifty chance of having.

And so, Bud had bought a book.

And within that book, were several thousand sentences about Huntington's. He knew about the disease already, had read plenty of scientific works and even the original study by George Huntington himself... but it never felt like enough knowledge.