Chapter Thirty-Four
March
Bowie
We’re on. I spoke to Mason, and he says he can hook you up. Don’t worry. We’ve got your back.
The weight on my shoulders ebbs as I read my brother’s message. This might be either the smartest thing I’m going to do or the dumbest. Either way, even if I have a hard time finding a new gig after handing in my resignation, it’s not like I’ll struggle. My bank account goes untouched for most of the month. Hell, my bank’s called a few times for fraudulent activity if I spend more than usual.
Wyatt
Thanks. I appreciate it.
Bowie
Any time.
Also, mom told me what you’re doing today. I hope it goes okay. We love you and are here for you if you need anything.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I’m about to put my phone away, when it vibrates in my hand.
Brat
I’m proud of you. Call me when you’re out.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I’m unable to write a sentence. I’m about to return it to my pocket for the second time, when it buzzes again.
Dad
I wish I could be there with you today, Son. But I know Sadie will do a better job than I ever could. I love you, Wyatt. Don’t you ever forget that.
I stare at the message, my heart traveling to my throat, as guilt over not asking him to come with me makes itself known. That is, until another message comes through.
Teddy
Shit, I’m a bad brother. In my defense, I just woke up.
Dude, I love you. I’m here for you. I fucking suck at this.
Ana
Call us if you need anything. We’re thinking of you today, Wyatt. The whole family is. *Heart emoji*
I snort, powering down my cell and slotting it into my pants pocket. Trust Teddy to unintentionally give the comic relief at a time like this.
Sadie waits by the hospital doors, sliding her arm into mine. “Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath and nod solemnly, before we walk inside, heading straight for the reception.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where the Oncology Wing is, please?” Sadie asks politely. The receptionist looks up, a grim look on her face, before pointing toward a set of elevators.
“Level five. Follow the corridor to the end and turn right.”
“Thank you,” she replies, leading me away. My blood pounds heavier in my ears, and I shove my hands into my pants pocket, not wanting to let Sadie see them tremble.
The steel doors open, and we silently step inside. It’s windowless, a metal box that creaks and groans as it starts climbing the floors, stopping at each one to let patients, doctors in lab coats with stethoscopes slung around their necks, and nurses in green scrubs get on and off. Sadie and I stand at the back, a feeling of unease washing over me the closer we get to level five.
Her arm is back in mine, her hand clutching tightly as we walk down the narrow corridor, following the red floor markings to the end. My throat gets thicker with every step, the sudden urge to turn around, leave this place, and return to the warm sunshine outside increasing the closer we get to the ward. It’s too sterile here, too clinical and cold and unnerving as we turn the corner to blue double doors with Oncology on the top.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Sadie asks, offering me an out as she pulls me to a stop before we continue. “No one will blame you if you’re changing your mind.”
Staring at her and then at the doors, I scrub a hand roughly through my hair. Fuck. Why is this so hard? I thought it would be easy once I made my mind up. Just walk into her room, tell her what I’d rehearsed in my head, and leave.
“No, I need to do this,” I say, more resolved than I actually feel. Sadie searches my face, her mouth pulling into a tight line as she nods in understanding, tugging on my arm again.
The doors open automatically, the wing a stark contrast to the corridor outside. Several pieces of artwork line the walls, all bright and colorful, uplifting scenery and abstract paintings. But it’s the quiet, the reverent silence, that sets me on edge, and for the first time since being told about Fiona, it hits me as to why we’re here.
“Reception’s this way,” Sadie says softly, her voice hushed to match the atmosphere as we continue walking. A half-circular desk sits in the middle, and three nurses in light blue scrubs are stationed around it, chatting softly as we approach.
“Hi, how can I help?” one asks, looking at me, then Sadie.
“We’re here to see Fiona Breacon,” she answers when I stand motionless.
“Of course.” The nurse defers to her colleague, who tells her the room number, rummaging around the desk before handing across a piece of paper. She peels off two labels and passes us one each. “If you could just put on these visitor stickers and then follow me.”
Each step forward is heavy. Each beat of my heart a little faster, and I try not to look through any open doors on either side of the wide hallway as we pass, encroaching on their privacy.
Somewhere in the ward, a family is crying, a patient is being served a meal, the faint sound of a television playing some sitcom. There are flowers stationed outside of treatment rooms, various leaflets arranged neatly on a wall, a set of blinds blowing from the open window.
But none of that registers.
My senses are dulled.
My arm tenses as I feel Sadie glance up at me, her free hand coming to squeeze my wrist as we approach the room. My mouth dries, my anxiety peaks, and I have the overwhelming urge to run.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Sadie murmurs as she senses my discomfort. “I’ll be right here with you.”
The nurse stops short of the door, pulling her hand away from the handle and turning her back to it. “Before you go in, I just want to make you aware that Fiona probably looks a little different from when you saw her last.”
“Will she be able to hear us?” Sadie asks.
The nurse makes a non-committal sound. “It’s unlikely at this stage in her life. However, it’s believed that hearing is one of the last senses to go. I’d still talk to her; you never know, on some level, she could still hear you and take comfort in your voice and words.” She pats Sadie’s arm. “I’ll be back at reception if you need anything.”
She pushes the door open, standing to the side to let us in. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills my nose, and beneath it, the subtle scent of the flowers by her bedside. I hear Sadie close the door behind her, and she walks to the corner of the room. Fiona’s heart monitor beeps steadily next to her bed, her arms lined with various IV lines running to fluid bags suspended above her, and nasal prongs positioned at her nose.
She almost looks peaceful, as if she’s sleeping, her eyes closed, her hands resting on top of her chest. Her hair isn’t the same light blonde I remembered it to be, and she looks smaller, fragile, worn by time and her disease.
I approach the foot of her bed, glancing down at the chart hanging off the white plastic railing, reading her name. Fiona Bethany Breacon. My hands ball up into fists, and I shove them forcefully into my pants pockets. I didn’t even know she had a middle name.
And then it hits me. This woman is a stranger. The deep lines around her eyes and mouth from years of smiling are as unknown to me as her full name.
I’d built this moment up in my head, thought about every word I’d want to tell her. Only looking at her now, lying in the hospital bed, the words crumble to dust as a cold wave of clarity smashes into me. The woman I’d carried so much anger for, resentment, and hurt is not this woman in front of me. There’s no recognition, no connection, no pain. Now everything I held against this lady feels hollow, wasted, pointless.
All those unanswered questions, all that doubt, doesn’t feel so heavy now. What I was holding on to for all my adult life was a memory of a ghost, the preconceived image of a person I’d built up inside my head. Because while she doesn’t know me, I don’t know her either.
Sadie’s warm hand slips into mine. “Do you want to say anything?”
I shift my gaze between the woman who birthed me and the one who’s been my mom since the day I handed her a bashed-up bouquet of lilies.
Focusing on Fiona, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry this has happened to you.” Glancing down, I stare at Sadie’s small hand holding mine in a death grip that I’m unsure is for my benefit or hers. Squeezing it gently, I whisper, “I don’t have anything else to say.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” she replies, offering me a sad smile. “But do you mind if I say something to her?”
“Sure.”
She lets go of my hand and rounds the bed, lowering to the chair beside it. “You might not know about me, but I’m Sadie, Miles’s wife.” She pauses, looking over her shoulder at me, a crease in her brow before turning back. “I… erm… I just want to say thank you.” She sniffs. “Thank you so much for giving me my son.”
My heart stops, my mouth parts, and adrenaline surges through my blood, making my hands shake. Time after time, she’s told me she thinks of me as her son, and time after time, I brushed it aside. I didn’t let the words take root inside my chest, didn’t let the little boy, desperate for approval, desperate for a mother’s love, hope that Sadie was her—that she was always meant to be her.
Jumping to her feet, she swipes at her eyes, rushing for the door and back out into the hallway. I chase after her, trying not to run through the wing as more people arrive for visiting hours.
A family walks out of a patient’s room, and I nearly trip over two small kids glued to a tablet or Switch or something.
“Sorry, excuse me,” I say, weaving last minute to avoid barreling into them. The mother gripes something I don’t hear as I continue after Sadie, watching her short dark hair disappear through the double doors we first came through.
My mind still reels as I rush forward, needing to catch up with her.
It’s not just the big milestones Sadie’s been there for, it’s the little ones, too. The scraped knees, helping with homework after school, driving me to football practice and cheering me on in the stands. The excitement when I got my report cards, the joy when I got into aviation school, the tears when I graduated. She’s always been there. For them all. Every damn time.
“Sadie?” I yell after her, breaking into a jog down the corridor. “Mom, wait.”
She halts, her breath hitching as she stares out in front of her, her hands shaking by her sides. I step around her, finding her cheeks stained with tears, her brown eyes glittering with more. I open my mouth to speak, but she steps forward, pulling me into a tight hug, holding on with a strength that feels unnatural.
“I love you so much, Wyatt,” she says, her voice cracking with each word.
“I know. And I am so sorry for the complete asshole I’ve been for years. Shutting you out…”
“No.” Sadie shakes her head vehemently, pulling back to take my hands in hers. “Don’t even go there. It has been one of my greatest pleasures in life to watch you grow into the man you’ve become. Not once did I think that you didn’t love me in your own way, didn’t want me in your life, so don’t. Don’t you dare try to apologize.” She swallows thickly, her voice breaking as she continues. “You have made your father and I so unbelievably proud. I hope you know that. Here you are, this strong, resilient man who went through something no child should ever have to and while once you might have had so much hatred in your heart for Fiona, you didn’t let that consume you.”
She has no idea how much I needed to hear that. To feel that the decision I made was the right one. That it was okay to let go and move on.
“Back there, in that hospital room…you let go. You let go of all that pain and hurt you’ve burdened yourself with for years. You showed kindness and empathy to a woman you could barely tolerate instead of baring your soul, expressing how she affected your life in such a negative and awful way. You apologized to her. You saw someone at their most vulnerable and felt for them.”
Because how could I hate a woman I don’t even know?
“That was the man I raised. That was the man who’s been mine since the second I met him. There has never been a time that you weren’t as much my son as Bowie or Teddy, Wyatt. Never.”
I let her wrap me in her arms again, standing in the middle of a hospital hallway. A boy and his mom.
We walk toward the parking lot, subdued and quiet.
I feel different. Changed in a way I guess, the farther away from the hospital we get. The spring sunshine feels odd against my skin, warmer, brighter somehow.
I pull out my cell from my pocket and power it up, wishing I hadn’t, when it’s instantly blowing up with notifications from my brothers and my dad.
Ignore them all, I scroll down until I see the one name I want to talk to the most.
Brat
Thinking about you. Call me when you can.
Unlocking the car, Sadie opens the door, pausing when she sees me hesitating. I hold up my phone, waving it in her direction.
“I’m…” I itch the back of my head. “I’m going to call Pippa quickly.”
Sadie smiles. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Pressing her name, I lift the phone to my ear, waiting as the ringing drills in my ear.
“Hey, this is Pippa. You know what to do.”
“Hey, baby, it’s me. Just calling to check in and see how you’re doing.” And tell you that I miss you. “You were right. Seeing Fiona was a good idea. Thank you.” And I love you. “Anyway, I better go. Dad’s probably missing his wife. After all these years, that man still can’t stand being away from her for one second. So call me after practice…” I let out a long breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “ Fuck, I wish I could hear your voice … I’ll talk to you later.”
Sliding behind the wheel, I drop my phone into the cupholder, doing a double take when I notice Sadie staring at me knowingly.
“She makes you happy, huh?”
I look down at my hands, hiding the slight smile on my lips as I think about Pippa. “Yeah. She does.”
“I’d like to meet her,” Sadie says, reaching around to grab her seat belt. “If that’s something you’d like.”
“I took her to get her first tattoo the other month,” I tell her, not really sure why I do.
“That poor girl will end up covered just like you.” She giggles, shaking her head. Shifting in her seat, she turns to look at me. “And what about you? What did you get?” I give her a coy smile, and she stretches over and jabs my leg playfully. “And before you try to deny it, I know you, Wyatt Grant. There’s no way you’d walk out of a tattoo shop without one.”
Inhaling, I carefully peel back my shirt sleeve, revealing the ink I’d touched up. “It’s not technically new. It used to be just an outline of a lily.”
“Wy…when?”
“I’ve had it for a couple of years,” I say, brushing my thumb over the freshly healed skin.
She gasps. “That long?” Leaning forward, she hesitates before clutching my elbow and bringing my arm closer to her.
“I decided to get the color added after our talk. After you helped me see that it was okay—whatever choice I made—about Fiona.” I look up as a tear lands on top of the ink.
“I swear you’re trying to break me.” She releases her hold and pulls her sleeves over her hands, wiping them across her face with a watery, deep breath. “Your father’s going to think I’ve had an allergic reaction with how puffy my face is.”
I chuckle lightly, turning on the car. “If Pippa thought I was possessive, wait until she meets Dad.”
“Oh, god, there’s two of you?” she says before clapping her hands in delight. “Does this mean we get to meet her?”
I don’t answer her as I drive out of the parking lot and onto the street.
I really fucking hope so.