Chapter 25 Lily #2
Turning, I walk through the living room and push open the sliding door with my hip and carefully step onto the porch with the glass clutched in my hand. The melting ice clinks against the sides, beads of condensation trailing between my fingers.
I stub my toe and water sloshes up and over the sides. I let out a curse, half expecting Ms. Sullivan to turn and give me grief about learning how to walk, but something is wrong.
She’s too still.
The wind stirs the branches overhead, and the largest gust we’ve had for the day blows in unencumbered. The late afternoon sun glows warm, casting golden light over the sawed wood, but my skin prickles with cold.
“I got your water,” I say, my voice catching.
No response.
I step closer, my heartbeat thudding heavy in my ears. The distant air smells sweet, like honey and jasmine, but it’s all wrong—too bright for this.
I stare. It’s almost like she’s frozen, her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes closed, like she simply dozed off. Her oxygen tubing is bunched under her nose, short wisps of hair escaping from behind her ears with the force of the breeze.
The glass slips from my fingers, landing on the porch with a dull thud, then rolls to the side. “No,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands shake as I reach out, pressing against her frail shoulder. She doesn’t stir.
“No,” I say, louder this time. I shake her shoulder again, her head rolling forward as I do. Gasping, I slap both hands over my mouth as a sharp hitch starts in my throat. “Please,” I choke out. “Please, not yet.”
The blanket clings to her small frame, and my fingers search frantically for something—anything—a heartbeat, a breath, the slightest movement. There’s only stillness.
A hollow ache opens in my chest, and I scream, shaking her once more. “Ms. Sullivan! Please! Ms. Sullivan!”
Her hands rest lightly in her lap, fingers curled as if she reached for something. My lungs burn, my ribs shake, but tears pour out of me as I dart up and run into the house for my phone. I dial 9-1-1 running back out to her.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“She—she’s not breathing. I-I think she’s gone!” My voice is breathless, and my hands shake as I keep the phone to my ear.
“Okay, ma’am, I need you to take a deep breath. Who’s not breathing?”
I choke down a sob. “My—my boyfriend’s mom. She was sitting on the porch, and I went inside for a second. When I came back—oh shit. Oh my god.” My voice breaks. “She’s not moving, she’s so still—she has lung cancer—”
“I understand. I know this is hard, but I need you to check for a pulse. Can you do that for me?”
I want to throw the phone off the porch. “I tried. I don’t feel anything. She’s …”
“Okay. I’m dispatching emergency services to your location. I need you to stay on the line with—”
I toss the phone down on the porch, not bothering to hang up, but not willing to sit there on the other end.
In this moment, I don’t care who hears. I don’t care about anything except the fact she’s not responding and that means … that means …
I move toward her, propping her lolled head up on the pillow. There’s no pain on her face, not a single trace of the sharp pain it took to breathe or the struggle to stay warm.
I kneel beside her again.
She was here. She was here just a moment ago. I was talking to her. Joking with her. I told her I loved her son and that he wouldn’t be alone. She can’t leave us alone.
“Ms. Sullivan,” I cry out, gripping her limp hands. The tears drip off my face into her lap, the pink sweatpants I gifted her for Christmas.
I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears slip down my cheeks, hot against the cold anger creeping into my veins. Maybe if I hadn’t left her. Did I miss a sign? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, did it?
I will time backward, but when I open them, nothing has changed. The wind still moves through the trees, a bird still sings somewhere in the distance, and the horses gallop off in the pasture.
“No … please…” I cry again, holding onto her hand and pressing it to my cheek. I should’ve stayed and held her hand instead of fetching that damn glass of water. I should have—
But it’s too late.
The bird chirps again, closer now, and I whip my head toward the branch and scowl up at it. “Shut up!” I yell. It’s like the world, in all its cruelty, has to rub in the fact that there is still life, and the world keeps turning.
Sirens echo from somewhere out there, but the sound feels worlds away.
My eyes suddenly widen. Noah.
Oh my god—Noah.
I crawl toward the phone, hanging up on the dispatch, if they were even still there, and I dial his number. What do I say? How do I give him this crushing news over the phone?
It rings and rings before going to voicemail. I hesitate, then hang up. Then I try again, and again.
Each time I ignore the voicemail. Never in a million years could I leave him a voicemail telling him his mom is gone.
The wailing of the sirens gets closer, and I try again. This time, he picks up on the third ring.
“Lily?”
“Noah,” I say, voice cracking into a sob.
“Lily? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Tell me where you are.” There’s rustling in the background and the dinging of an unfastened seat belt alarm.
My head rocks back and I stare at a few clouds drifting across the sky, unhurried and weightless. “Noah, she’s—”
The sirens blare in the background, and Noah panics, gasping and stammering through his next words.
“L-Lily. What’s going on?”
“Noah, she’s gone. I think she’s gone.”
“No,” he shouts. “No!”
I sit on the porch, letting more tears fall as the commotion on the other line intensifies. It’s overwhelming this feeling. I wish I had more time with her. I wish Noah had more time with her.
The line goes dead, and I realize Noah’s hung up. A foreign emotion lodges itself in my throat. Why did he do that? Was it an accident?
There’s banging on the door, and with one last glance at Ms. Sullivan’s body peacefully seated on her porch, I get up and go answer it.