Chapter 18
SLOANE
From the waiting room, I can hear the MRI machine whir and clang.
My muscles tense hearing the sound. Logically, I know they’re only looking at his shoulder, and he’ll survive this.
They’re not going to come back to tell me that they’ve found something worse than tears in his ligaments, something like cancer.
I know it, but knowing and feeling isn’t the same thing.
I imagine Knox isn’t having the same gut tightening fear I have right now.
If he hears that he needs surgery immediately, I suppose it would feel like a death sentence for him.
It would mean the end of his career. After a lifetime spent earning his place, and hoping to leave it on his own terms, this would feel like a mortal wound.
It’s not though. Not the final kind at least. His injury won’t leave his loved ones scrambling to find their place in his absence. No matter how devastating this news, he will survive it.
I’m well acquainted with the hell of surviving a loved one. The void left by my mother is still a yawning chasm in my life that continues to suck me into its bottomless depths. Even after all this time I feel like I’m still clawing my way out of the abyss of grief.
I haven’t been to a hospital since my mom passed.
I didn’t realize how triggering it would be to spend any amount of time in one.
Everything brings back memories I’ve worked hard to bury deep inside my psyche.
All of my senses are assaulted, setting the scene for the most painful moments of my life.
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights, which occasionally flicker with a zap, makes me flinch.
There’s a sharp bite of antiseptic hanging in the air, and it burns my nose.
I close my eyes to try and reduce some of the stimuli slamming into me, but all that does is bring everything back as if I’m right back in her room.
I can feel my mother’s hand in mine. It’s so small and frail.
The blue veins are prominent beneath her paper-thin skin.
That was the moment I accepted what was about to happen.
I could no longer deny that my mother was disappearing right in front of us.
My father had refused to accept that she was dying until her last few days.
After that, he sat by her bed crying tears of loss as if she were already gone.
I guess he wanted her to see how broken he’d be in her absence.
Back then I pitied him. I was only fourteen, and losing my mother, but all he could see was he was losing his wife.
I somehow knew I was going to have to hold everything together.
We couldn’t all fall apart. I told myself then that my grief would have to wait.
Seven years later and I’m still waiting my turn to grieve her loss.
It’s always been something I could deal with after the shock wore off.
At first I thought that once my dad pulled himself together it would be my turn.
When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen I modified it to once my brother was old enough to take care of himself.
Since he’s only ten, I’m still living in this limbo of pain and healing.
Until I’m given space to handle the loss of my mother, I have these moments when memories bubble to the surface, dragging agony with them. Somewhere down the hall I hear the steady beeping from a monitor, and the memory I’m fighting to hold back consumes me.
My mother lies propped up in her hospital bed.
Her head is covered in a brightly colored scarf.
Something she thought would look cheerful, as if vibrant colors would make everything better.
She only stopped chemo a week ago, because the doctor told her it wasn’t working, and her hair hasn’t had time to grow back.
I couldn’t stop thinking that the last time we would see her she’d look like a shell of herself, and I’d never see the lively woman who used to dance with me in the living room again.
Deep purple bruises hang under both of her eyes, but her gray irises still hold a flicker of life.
I can see the effort it takes, but in that moment I learn that you have to fight for each moment, even when you’re sure there aren’t many left.
I can feel tears start to slip down my face, but I don’t dare open my eyes for fear she’ll slip away.
I know she’s gone now, even with how vivid the memory is, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen her and I’m not ready to let her go again.
Even if I’m only getting the weak version of her.
I let the memory keep unfolding while I ignore the silent tears streaming down my cheeks.
“My darling girl. I’m so sorry I won’t be here with you as you grow up.” Her voice is too soft, like it takes energy she doesn’t have to speak.
She looks at my dad, now sleeping in the chair after crying himself to sleep. A frown pulls down her dry lips, but she forces it away. She’s been so strong through all of this. I hope I inherited that strength from her, because if my father continues like this, I’m going to need it.
“I hate to ask this of you, but your father isn’t handling this well. I hope he’ll do better, but until he does, I need you to promise to look out for your brother.”
I swallow down a protest. I want to scream and yell, cry myself to sleep even, and remind her that I’m only a freshman in high school. I still need my mother, I’m not ready to act like one. Then I remind myself that she didn’t plan to get ovarian cancer and leave us at thirty-seven either.
Instead of speaking up, I nod in agreement. With great effort, she lifts my hand, still holding hers, and kisses my knuckles.
Her voice rasps when she speaks again. “I know I’m asking too much of you. Words can’t express how sorry I am for that. You’re my strong, beautiful girl. You’ve been the joy of my life. Never forget that. I’ll always be with you, even when you can’t see me.”
I know she’s saying goodbye to me, which means she knows we’re now counting down our final moments. Despite all my efforts to stay strong for her, I start to cry.
She pulls me to lay down next to her. I snuggle against her frail body.
Her thin arms wrap around me, and I soak up these moments with her, committing them to my memory.
I don’t want to forget anything about her.
It’s one of my greatest fears that these memories will fade, and with them she will really be gone.
But, these memories are going to be tainted by the cancer making her fade away right in front of our eyes.
Her arms are weaker than the ones that used to hold me when I was little.
The vanilla scent I’ve always associated with her has been replaced by the chemical smell her skin has had since starting her treatments and something too sweet to be pleasant, the smell of impending death.
“Shh, sweetheart. The pain will hold. I’m still here right now. Be here with me. Life is made of moments, and as with everything, eventually they end. This is sooner than I had hoped, but I still get this moment. Don’t grieve for me while I’m still here holding you.”
“Why are you crying?” I jump, hearing Knox’s voice, and the memory fades away.
I wipe the tears from my face and do my best to clear away any mascara smudged under my eyes. I try to distract him from my mini meltdown and offer him a weak smile.
“I’m fine, just old memories coming back to haunt me.”
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I should have thought about how hard it would be for you to be with me here at the hospital.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say, letting him off the hook. I hadn’t even realized it would impact me like this, so how should he have known.
He won’t accept the reprieve. “I’ve been too selfish when it comes to you. I want all your time and attention, even when it’s not what’s best for you. Obviously, since I dragged you here,” he says, waving his good arm around.
“I wanted to come with you. I can’t let my fear of hospitals keep me from—”
I snap my mouth shut. Now is not the time for me to make thoughtless declarations of feelings, especially when I know he won’t return them.
I do believe Knox has come to care for me as more than a possession, but I don’t know how much more. I may be young, but I refuse to be a na?ve, lovesick girl and throw myself at his feet.
“Keep you from what?” he asks in a low, quiet voice.
“To keep me from being here for you,” I say, my voice shaking a little as I try to hold in my feelings.
His eyes narrow, no doubt catching the wobble in my voice, and my muscles tense in fear that he’ll push me to unveil what I’m not ready to. He gives his head a slight shake, and the serious look on his face vanishes.
If he were to push it, I would have spilled all of my secrets, even those I’m not fully sure about. I can’t tell him I love him. Not because I don’t, but because I’m not sure.
This is my first relationship, if that’s what this is. It isn’t like I have experience to compare it to.
I don’t think he wants to hear the words from me. That would change things too much. Right now we can both pretend that this thing between us isn’t growing out of our control.
Dr. Frost comes out of the control room with the technician and the moment between Knox and I gets pushed to the background.
The doctor stares at Knox with a deep crease between his eyes.
“That bad, huh?” Knox asks him.
Dr. Frost scratches his beard while he thinks how to answer Knox’s question. Finally, he sighs and starts to speak.
“It’s not good. You still will need surgery, but if you are willing to rest and do some rehabilitation, you might have a chance to finish the season.”
“How long?” Knox asks.