Chapter 18 Helium and Concrete
helium and concrete
Cian
The thing about the drugs dulling my senses is they also dulled the pain. And they let me—or forced me to—sleep.
The thing about not taking them is I hurt like a motherfucker. My face feels like it was pumped full of helium and concrete. It keeps getting bigger and bigger on my neck, but heavier and heavier at the same time. It’s fucking miserable.
Even the slightest movement means pain rips through me, sizzling along nerve endings.
Sleep eludes me.
Sariah called after Ayla left. We ended up texting because talking hurt so damn bad. She spit angry words about the arrest, was horrified that she’d been taken into custody, much less when her daughter and mom needed her most, and cried over feeling so powerless with everything surrounding her.
They mirror my feelings about my situation. But to that list, I’d add impotence. Not sexually, but desperately wanting to help and being unable to do even the smallest thing brought questions of my manhood and ability to protect to the forefront.
Call it toxic, but I don’t like not being able to protect what’s mine.
And make no mistake, Sariah is mine. If she comes with Renée and Rosie, then they are too.
Mine to protect. And nothing—not broken faces or fucked-up family or weird job situation—is going to stop me.
But first, I need sleep. And if my face throbs like it is, that will never happen. I look at the orange pill bottles on the nightstand, hating the effects, but needing the relief. Maybe half plus some Tylenol.
Apparently, that did it because I wake to sun shining through the window, Eleanor swishing her tail against the plush rug on the floor, and my sister with a shit-eating grin plastered across her freckled face.
Oh, fuck. What’s going on?
“Happy Friday. Want to sit out on the back deck with me?”
“I know a setup when I hear one. So, maybe. With an emphasis on maybe.”
“There’s coffee in it for you. And a berry smoothie.”
Gag. I’m so over the smoothies, I can barely stomach the thought. “Yippie,” I offer with a thick layer of sarcasm.
“Ellie, come on, baby. Let’s go outside.” My damn dog looks at her like she’s the best thing since raw beef bones. “See you in a few,” she adds for me.
I try the half plus Tylenol thing again, do my business, and brush my teeth the best I’m able.
Not going to lie, the fuzz on the backs and my breath are a combination I don’t wish on anyone.
I’m scheduling a hygiene appt the day the wires come off for a deep clean. I’m sure Clorox isn’t too much to ask.
My brother-in-law is not in his home office when I get downstairs, but their chef is. “Good morning, Mr. Murphy.”
“Good morning, Corinne. I wish you’d call me Cian. Any chance that’ll ever happen?”
“Probably not, Mr. Murphy. If your smoothie isn’t to your liking, let me know and I’ll make another.”
“Without ever tasting it, I’m going to say it’s not to my liking because it’s a smoothie. But I’m sure it’s one of the best I’ll ever have.”
She beams. “I’ll be taking requests when the wires come off. Don’t tell Mr. Barone,” she offers conspiratorially.
“God willing, I’ll be home by then, but we’ll coordinate in case.” I grab a mug of black coffee and head for the stone terraced “deck” as my sister calls it off the sitting room.
“How long did it take to get used to this view?”
“I can only speak for my second time, but I haven’t yet. I know I could ask, but I don’t want to know the money in this place. I haven’t even looked at my own books yet. Willingly ignorant isn’t smart, but my head would explode with the number of zeroes.”
“Well, I hope you’ll look at mine first. Fewer zeroes and all. Keep your head on your shoulders for another day.”
“Let’s get through your first surgery. Or at least give me access, and I’ll begin. You know I love you if I’m willing to do accounting.” She points her finger to the back of her throat in a puking gesture.
“I haven’t seen you do that since before I left for college.”
“When I was Renée’s age? It’s hard to call her that, but it fits her. And dare I say, it fits the three of you.”
I take a drag of coffee, sucking it across my teeth, and look out over what shouldn’t be a lawn. Wrong season, wrong climate. Maybe they spray it green?
“Last things first, why does it fit?”
“Because it means reborn. Perfect for its first iteration… even more so now.”
I nod and leave that hanging in the air.
“She’s amazing, Ci. I know I only got a fraction of time with her, but your girl is one hell of a woman.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“I figured. But I hope to.” She cups her steaming mug with both hands and lifts it to her lips. “She’s taking the day off. Letting her daughter play hooky. Thought you’d want to know. Oh, and her peonies were gorge. Totally. Well done.”
I do not need accolades from my sister of all people. But it’s nice to hear.
“I’m thinking about a hike. I know you’re supposed to keep it light, but I’m going to say to you what you said to me last weekend. Or I’ll paraphrase. Let’s get some sunshine and fresh air and let my girl burn some energy.”
“My girl.”
“Fine, our girl.”
“God, help me.”
“When did you become a praying man? How about Roxborough? It’s more of a walk than a hike, close parking and easy-in, easy-out. We can tap out anytime you’d like.”
“For Eleanor… But, first, let me suck down some of this smoothie, since Corinne was nice enough to frappé my breakfast.”
It is good as far as liquid meals go. As far as a hardy meal goes, and my satiety, not so much. I’m not bougie, but I do miss meals I can eat with a fork. Not long now. But way too damn long considering how I want to see Sariah, and not when my face is green and yellow and broken from a beating.
Me: Thinking of you. Hope your Friday is great. Wish I could see you.
Angel: Same times three. And why can’t you?
Me: Beauty like yours can’t be taken in with one eye.
Angel: Cheesy.
Me: True.
Angel: Is it still that bad?
Me: Thinking you and Renée had enough trauma yesterday.
Angel: Thank you for the cookies and for sending in the cavalry.
Me: You already thanked me.
Angel: It bears repeating.
Me: You’re worth it.
Angel: I can’t explain what it’s like to be taken care of after so long on my own.
Me: I’m just glad it’s me who gets to take care of you.
Angel: Me too, Ci.
Me: Ayla’s making me go hiking with her.
Angel: Why do I think no one makes you do anything?
Me: You have me confused with Liam.
Angel: Not possible.
Me: It’s the beard, right?
Angel: Not the beard. {winky face}
Me: I hear you’re taking the day off. Be smart, okay?
Angel: Ayla has a big mouth.
Me: And let me know how Rosie is.
Angel: She was discharged overnight. Had a rideshare take her home. I feel like a shit daughter. We’re heading her way in a few.
Me: Donuts never go uneaten.
Angel: Good call. Get her high on sugar so she doesn’t know I slept through her call. Think it’ll work?
Me: I think she’ll be so glad to see you and have breakfast, she won’t remember the ride home.
Me: No word on what it was?
Angel: I’ll find out in a few.
Me: Keep me posted.
Me: I can’t wait until talking doesn’t hurt. Texting sucks. I miss your voice.
A minute later, she sends a voice message. “Have a great day, Ci. Hope the hike is good for you. I miss your voice too.”
I need to get better fast, do surgery fast, and recover like I’m not thirty-six years old.
I miss holding her. Once would never be enough. Once was enough to rekindle everything from more than a decade ago.
It’s as if part of my soul was taken from me when she was torn from my life.
I didn’t realize it was half a life.
I didn’t grasp I wasn’t whole.
I recognized it when she was in my arms again. When I was able to fall asleep with her in my arms as if the world stopped spinning. The rhythm of my world was set to the correct frequency again.
It’s been seven days. But it’s so much more. It’s been fifteen years and seven days.
Now to get the shit in my life under control so that it doesn’t spit its stink onto her.
First things first, I need a new job.
Sariah
Rosie is good. Tired, but good. Apparently, seizures are exhausting, and the poking and prodding and tests prevented any good rest at the emergency room. Not that it’s restful anyway.
We left donuts with her. Her phone is on the charger near her, and she has strict instructions that she’ll call as soon as she feels better, or the first moment something feels off in her body. We’re not going far.
It felt wrong to leave, but Rosie insisted. She said watching her sleep was creepy, and we should do more with a day off.
Renée wasn’t having it but wants to shop. We were going back and forth about a Rockies game or a movie. I bet movie wins. I hope movie wins.
Downtown Friday afternoon traffic is a mess. Add to that being outside in a Colorado spring, and it’s iffy at best. It’s a bit far away from Rosie too, especially with traffic as yesterday proved.
We head to Belmar and stroll the streets of the outdoor entertainment and shopping district.
My daughter is noticeably silent, and I think better of filling the moment with useless chatter. She’s brooding and I want her okay in that without needing to stuff the silence with meaninglessness. It’s hard on me, though, because I know something’s brewing.
We’re sitting at lunch as she twirls Pad Thai around her fork when she looks up, tears filling her eyes, and quietly asks, “Is RoRo dying?”
“Oh, love. Have you been worried about that all day?”
She nods, her chin quivering as she fights back the emotions flooding her.
I extend a hand toward her, but she buries both of hers in her lap. “I don’t think so. I won’t lie to you, Née, I don’t know.”
She lets the tears flow and the hiccup that falls from her lips is enough to break my heart.
“The doctors said that the things they would be most worried about aren’t there. She doesn’t have a brain injury or a tumor. Tests ruled out both. She doesn’t have any infection, so it’s not that. The first two would be life-threatening and hard to treat. So, hear me, she’s not dying from those.”
She nods again as her eyes squeeze closed.
“RoRo is strong. Something happened, and her wiring got crossed. It doesn’t mean it will ever happen again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean it won’t either.” I take a sip of my water and wait before saying things I hate saying to my daughter. “Love, we’re all going to die at some point.”
Her head jerks up, and the tears freeze for just one moment.
“I hope that’s all three of us at a ripe old age when we’ve scratched everything off of our bucket lists and are ready to go.
It doesn’t always happen like that, though, so we love out loud while we can.
Love RoRo well. Leave it all out there so you know she knows how much you love her.
Every single day, I hope you know that I’d give up my own life for yours. I love you that much.”
Her tears fall again, and I can’t take it anymore. Hands cover her face as I slide around the booth to hold her in my arms, turning to press my cheek to the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry you were scared yesterday.
I hate that I was late coming from work, and you had to do it on your own.
” The thought strikes me that I was her age the first time I ran away from the compound.
Too young… Way too damn young. “I’m sorry that I acted poorly and left you to it alone.
That’s on me and I apologize. We’ll probably both need therapy over that one. ”
I kiss the crown of her head before whispering, “But I’m so damn proud of you. You helped RoRo. You helped me when I needed to know you’d be okay. I hear you tested Liam and Ayla. So damn proud.”
I hold my daughter until the ice in our glasses melts, our food goes cold, she’s shuddered out all her tears, and her nose is red and swollen.
I hate the life my daughter is forced to live. I hate that she had to be alone last night figuring shit out when she should be playing or napping or being a kid.
I silently run through my apologies, not yet ready to give them voice.
I’m sorry. So sorry you didn’t have an easy childhood, a stable one, one with roots and a white picket fence. I’m sorry you lost Randy.
I’m sorry your dad is a monster, and I’m so thankful every day that you don’t know him.
We return to Rosie’s house with the world’s biggest bag of expensive toiletries. This is so not me. I don’t splurge on nail polish and foot scrub and facial masks. But something about the emotional lunch and the last week has put things in perspective.
They gave Rosie Tramadol. It must be a wonder drug because you wouldn’t even know she was down for the count at all yesterday.
We barge in, bringing leftover pizza from the house, the cookies, too, because they’ll get crunchy soon enough, and bail onto her sofa with the express purpose of moving in for the night.
I told Sherman everything I knew in the car last night. It’s not like there was more to it, so we didn’t need to meet.
So, I’ve had a day off, an actual day off where I wasn’t moving or running or doing errands. It’s the first in a long time. And I’ll end it with my family, pampering them, and making sure they know how much I love them.