Chapter 20
TWENTY
HARLEY
After I hugged my mom while shedding some tears, she and Cane went into the hallway so that I can talk to my dad alone. Shamefully, it’s been a while since I’ve been home, and right now, him lying in this bed … this isn’t a man I recognize. This is a sick, feeble person who has taken his body over.
My mom and the nurses said that despite the fact it’s been a rough few weeks for him, slipping more and more each day, he’s been restless for the past twenty-four hours, more so than usual. They said he only opens his eyes for a few seconds at a time, but he just seems not to be comfortable.
Though he doesn’t move a lot, it’s obvious that he’s restless right when I walk in just from the slight body movements. They may be barely there, but if he were comfortable, like really peaceful, he wouldn’t be doing that.
Moving the chair located next to his bed closer, I sit down. I look at his hand and then back to mine. I want to take his, but I’m also so scared that I’ll hurt him. Exhaling slowly, I gently lace our fingers.
“Hey, Dad.” I barely choke the words out, and instantly, my vision becomes blurry from the tears that I knew would fall once I got here.
“I’m sorry I haven’t visited. Things have been …
busy with ball and school.” I sniffle, my face crumpling.
“But that’s no excuse because I should have been here sooner. ”
It feels so weird to be here, saying goodbye to a man I’ve always seen as a real-life superhero. A man who is the strongest, smartest, best person I know. He’s carried so much on his shoulders to always put his family first.
He is the reason why I’m twenty years old and still playing the game I love so much.
“Our team is good, Dad. And I’m, uh … I’m catching for this pitcher, Gigi.
She’s a freshman, but you’d never know it.
” I look down at our hands, leaning my body slightly against the bed.
“The other day, I got my fastest pop time. It was one-point-seven seconds, Dad. Can you even believe that?” I laugh, crying harder.
“Remember when we were just trying for three seconds? Or remember when I couldn’t even make the throw from home to second at all, and I was so discouraged, and I didn’t want to leave the field until I proved I could do it?
” I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining him at the field that day, putting his hand on my shoulder and telling me it was all okay.
“You took me for an ice cream and then brought me back.” I smile sadly.
“And I finally made the throw. It wasn’t perfect, but I made it. I showed them.”
I remember that feeling when my ball finally hit the net Dad had set up at second base. I felt like, in that moment, I could do anything if I just worked hard enough. Nothing had been easy, and I knew that wasn’t going to change.
“You gave me a hug, and you told me …” I’m damn near hysterical now, and I cringe, wondering if this is making him worse, if he can hear me.
“You told me people were going to tell me I couldn’t do things, but the only one who could decide for sure would be myself.
And that … you knew I could do anything I wanted to do.
The sky was the limit if I was always willing to work the way I did that day.
You told me …” My voice cuts out. “You told me the work would take me where I wanted to go. It would force them—the nonbelievers—to see me.” My lip trembles. “And it did, Dad. I showed them.”
Using the sleeve of my hoodie, I wipe my eyes. “Thank you, Dad. For signing me up for T-ball. For driving me to practices and clinics.” I give his hand the softest squeeze. “For … never giving up on me.”
My chest burns, and my face is soaked with tears, my nose running now. But I don’t care. I don’t have the energy to care.
“I am who I am because of you.”
I look at him, and even though he’s sleeping, I know he’s still not at peace. I want to be selfish. I want to beg him to stay and to fight. But he’s dedicated his entire adult life to making my dreams come true. I know what I owe him right now.
He mouths some sort of sound. It’s not audible enough to understand, but I know he’s trying to talk. His body just won’t let him.
“It’s okay,” I whimper. “I promise, Dad … it’s okay.”
His eyes flutter, never actually opening.
“You can go now,” I whisper, the words coming out like a croak, barely audible. “I’m going to miss you, and I know that will never stop. But … you can go.” I sob. “You’ve fought hard. And you’ve earned this rest, Dad.”
A few seconds pass before his hand—ever so slightly and almost not at all—squeezes mine.
“You,” he breathes, and I’m not even sure that’s what the word is because it’s so incoherent, “showed … them …”
My free hand flies to my mouth, and I sob, keeping hold of his.
“I did,” I cry. “I showed them, just like you always told me I would.”
My dad’s breathing grows heavier and more labored.
I don’t push for him to say anything else because I know the three words he just said took everything in him to utter the way that he did.
He used all his strength to tell me three words that may be tiny, but that hold so much weight.
And for the rest of my life, I’ll carry those words.
He doesn’t speak or move again, but he looks peaceful as he sleeps. And eventually, I walk out in the hallway to get my mom. Because even though I’m not ready, I know he’s going to be at peace soon. I can feel him slipping further away.
CANE
A nurse walks into Mr. Meadows’s room, and on her face is a somber expression. I can’t imagine being a nurse and having to take care of people while they take their last breath. Nurses deserve all the praise in the world because, holy shit, what a hard, selfless—and at times really fucking sad—job.
A little over an hour ago, Harley came and got her mom.
Right away, I could tell from the look in her eyes that she had said goodbye to him, and for that, I’m glad.
I didn’t have that with my own father, and I’ve thought one thousand times over about what I would have told him if I could have said goodbye to that man.
The first thing I would tell him is that I’m sorry. If it hadn’t been for me and my stupid practice schedule, he wouldn’t have had to drive. And if he hadn’t been driving, he’d still be alive.
The nurse walks out of the room, and before she even looks over at me, I know it’s done. The look on her face says it all, and she sighs.
“I think he was waiting for her,” she says softly. “Your girlfriend was very special to him. Mr. Meadows has been sick for a while, but whenever her mom brought up Harland …” She stops, smiling. “Somehow, we all could tell he was perking up.”
I don’t correct her and tell her that Harland isn’t my girlfriend because right now is not the time or the place. And besides, even in these shitty circumstances, I like the way it sounds.
“I’m sure he did,” I utter. “She’s pretty special.”
Once she disappears around the corner, I sit and wait, knowing, eventually, the girl that I’ve come to really care about is going to walk out of that room and she’s going to need a hug. And I’ll be ready for that. No matter how long she takes.
Harley walks out of her father’s room all alone, and I slowly stand, walking toward her. Right now, I don’t really know what to do. I know what I want to do—and that’s hug her. But that might not be what she wants from me.
Now she’s right in front of me, looking up with tears in her eyes.
“He’s gone,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling. “My mom … she couldn’t leave him yet.”
Before I can stop myself, my arms wrap around her, and I’m holding her tightly to my chest. She doesn’t sob or fall apart. She’s just … silent. Then her shoulders begin to shake, and I rest my chin on the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry, Catch,” I whisper. “I am so, so sorry.”
She buries her face deeper against my hoodie, not saying a word.
I remember my grandfather holding me like this when my dad died.
My mom was falling apart, and for once, she wasn’t the rock of our family because she was just trying to get through it herself.
My grandfather, he just held on to me for as long as I needed. He held on until I pulled away.
Her phone beeps, and I know it’s telling her that her sugar is off. She doesn’t look right away, but before I can look for her, she sighs.
“I’m low,” she whispers, hanging her head.
Everything about her screams defeat. She just lost her dad, and she must still tend to her disease.
I know the last thing she’d want to do is eat at a time like this, and she’s mentioned before that Gatorade works fast during games when she needs to bring her sugar up.
So, when we first got here and she went in with her dad, I bought a Gatorade from the vending machine.
I’ve noticed she always has the purple ones with her, but they didn’t have purple, so I hope she likes blue.
Reluctantly, I drop my arms down and turn away from her, walking back to where I was seated and grabbing the bottle. Twisting the cap off, I take the few steps back toward her and hold it out.
“They didn’t have grape. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she utters, grabbing the bottle and sipping from it.
Every drink she takes clearly pains her. She just said goodbye to her dad; the last thing she wants to do is to be sipping Gatorade, but she has to be strong.
Once she gets what she needs, I take it from her and twist the top back on before setting it down on the bench. Her shoulders begin to sag, and tears roll down her beautiful face.
“I should have been here sooner,” she says shamefully. “I should have been here weeks ago.”
Pulling her back against me, I cradle her in my arms and kiss the top of her head.
“Shh,” I utter as she begins to sob. “That’s not what he would have wanted, Catch. You know that.”
I don’t know how long we stand in the hallway like this, waiting for her mom to come out. But I also don’t care. I’ll be here as long as she needs me to. I’m not going anywhere.