Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Noa
M rs. Stalinski’s hip surgery would take three hours. Dr. Patel was particularly convincing, as he had a father with cancer who had to undergo the same surgery to maintain a comfortable quality of life.
It wasn’t about fixing Mrs. Stalinski, but about keeping her as pain-free with as little suffering as possible during her final days.
Stone’s permission was perfunctory. Mrs. Stalinski had given her consent and was fully aware of the situation before they gave her a heavy dose of morphine.
And, in typical Mrs. Stalinski fashion, she told them to do the darned thing and make the screaming pain go away already.
What Stone and I did not expect was to see Dr. Patel during what should’ve been an hour into the surgery.
Stone goes rigid beside me. I put a hand on his forearm. “It could just be an update. In the condition she’s in, they know to keep loved ones in the loop, so we don’t worry too much.”
Although, they’d usually send a nurse. I don’t voice my thoughts as Dr. Patel strides toward our seats.
Stone’s arm relaxes under my hand.
We stand when Dr. Patel reaches us.
He pinches his full lips, and I notice the pale cast to his light brown complexion.
The rest of my heart, what remained of it when my mother left, shrivels and falls to the floor.
Stone doesn’t require the doctor to elaborate either. He emits a low sound, a groan of denial before his expression twists and it takes every shred of his being to remain still.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Patel says. “She didn’t make it. We did everything we could.”
My hearing tunnels. I lose all my senses, my vision bleeding in and out, focused solely on the movement of Dr. Patel’s lips.
I vaguely register Stone’s arm encircling my waist and holding me against him.
The tears don’t come yet as I cling to Mrs. Stalinski as I knew her yesterday. Tired, weakened, but alive and hugging me to her, assuring me I’d get through this blip the same way I’ve fought through every other tragedy in my life.
She believed in me.
I believed in her.
And now she’s gone.
I twist my face into Stone, his sweater turning my tears into dew that coats my cheeks and dampens my hair.
His fingers dig into my shoulder. I feel his chin fall onto the top of my head.
“You can go back and see her. Spend as much time with her as you like. Say your goodbyes,” Dr. Patel says softly.
His footsteps fade. Neither of us moves.
Stone’s other arm comes around my shoulders, and we rock back and forth for as long as it takes.
And it’ll take forever.
Mrs. Stalinski’s funeral is exactly how she would have wanted it.
The entire town came together, all of Falcon Haven closing down for the memorial.
Mrs. Stalinski didn’t want to be buried in the cemetery.
She asked that her ashes be spread on the nearby shores of the Atlantic Ocean.
Stone planned on pouring her ashes privately and spending his last moments with her.
Until then, Mrs. Stalinski asked for a memorial brimming with food and an open bar for the residents of Falcon Haven, courtesy of the Tipsy Falcon.
The one thing she couldn’t plan for was the season she’d die. Although, with the seasonal flowers she chose and her pick of a gathering in the warmth of the Merc as opposed to the park she used to love daily walks in makes me believe she had a good idea as time ticked down.
Maisy had her baker prepare over one hundred Falcon’s Talons, Mrs. Stalinski’s favorite sweet treat, and she handed them out on the house as everyone trickled in that morning, no black clothing allowed.
I’m sipping on a coffee in the corner, dressed in Mrs. Stalinski’s favorite color, red, my hair down and in waves and with heavy makeup. My eyes required extra attention since they’re so swollen from crying. My cheeks, too, since they’ve lost all color.
The parallels between my mother and Stone’s are almost too much to bear.
My mom also opted for a memorial, but since she died in the summer, they held hers at the gazebo in the middle of Haven Park, with tulips and chocolate truffles as her favors to the crowd.
I don’t like to ponder that time—I’m adept at shutting that part of my brain off—but as I watch Mrs. Stalinski’s neighbors and friends trickle into the Merc, faces somber with bright dresses and suits, my throat thickens, and I’m convinced I’ll break down crying. Again.
In a fit of desperation, I scan the crowd for Stone’s tall presence. I didn’t have him when my mom passed, and to have him now, to be both a pillar of grief and support, causes mixed emotions in me I don’t yet know how to interpret.
After Mrs. Stalinski’s passing, he and I are both left without family. Adrift. Needing each other.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’m drawn to him like a magnet.
We’ve spoken little since the hospital. We haven’t touched on the media leak or the source behind revealing the loss of my baby, but the very press that enjoyed making my life hell wait outside the Merc, eager to use their expensive cameras up against the windows and catch Stone’s last moments with his mother.
Maisy, bless her, predicted their evil plans and has covered her windows in all the bed sheets she could get her hands on. Maroon, hunter green, and navy blue king-sized sheets block every window, a strange but loving ode to her friend, and in keeping with Christmas.
My phone buzzes and I look at the screen. Marigold, my boss, is calling me.
The funeral hasn’t started yet, so I answer with a croaky, “Hi, Marigold.”
“Noa, it’s so good to hear your voice. I wanted to send my condolences and make sure you don’t need anything today.”
“It’s all taken care of. Thank you for your concern.”
“You’re my best nurse. And you need to be taken care of, too. Please know I’m here for you and take all the time you need.”
“I’ll be okay,” I lie.
“There’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about…”
I lower my head, drawing away from the crowd and pressing the phone closer to my ear. “Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you for your donation.”
“My … what?”
“The donation to the new wing in the hospital for at-home care services. And the proposal for a scholarship fund to any Falcon Haven resident who wishes to pursue nursing or healthcare careers.”
My mouth drops open.
“The money didn’t come from you, of course, but you must have had a hand in this! It’s all in your name. And it couldn’t come at a better time. We’re so pressed in our budget, this will change lives, sweetie. Oh, my goodness, how you continue to change lives.”
“When did this happen?” I breathe.
“About a month ago. We’ve been so busy that I wasn’t able to give you a proper thanks, but you are a true angel.”
“I—”
A tinkling sound runs through the crowd, people hitting their spoons against their coffee cups and drink glasses.
I say goodbye to Marigold, my head spinning. A donation like that would be hundreds of thousands of dollars. Only one person I know could afford that kind of gift…
Heads turn, and at last, I catch Stone, using the small podium Maisy constructed in the middle of the cafe and a microphone stand on loan from the Tipsy Falcon.
Stone clears his throat. Even in grief, he’s the handsomest in the room, his pale skin contrasting with his dark, thick hair and piercing, though red-rimmed, eyes.
He is perfection, and my heart tugs at the sight of him. If I’m honest, my heart hasn’t stopped being pulled toward him since the day we first met in high school.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says. “It would mean a lot to my mother to see you all here, gathered in her honor and eating your weight in falcon’s feet and booze.”
Chuckles and laughter follow.
He smiles sadly. “Judy Stalinski grew up here. She had her son here, grew her roots here, and never wanted to move, despite her son’s bribery of a mansion in Malibu to get her to leave.”
More laughter. Even I grin at the thought of Mrs. Stalinski making herself at home in Malibu.
“But that was her. She didn’t care what her son did, as long as he was happy—and stopped stealing the flowers from the box planters in front of Feather’s Flowers.” Stone gives his trademark grin. “Hey, they weren’t part of the inventory and free, right?”
The owner of Feather’s Flowers shakes her head and waggles her finger at him, but with a doting expression.
I dip my chin in decades-old embarrassment since most often, he tossed those flowers he swiped into a haphazard bouquet for me, Stone’s way of begging my forgiveness for whatever current shit he’d gotten himself into.
It’s a role, not his real self up there, but he’s charmed the entire town with a crafted smile and sad eyes.
“Jokes aside,” Stone continues as the lighthearted laughter dies down.
“My mother is a woman who will never be replaced. It’s giving me an ungodly amount of pain to stand in front of you right now and acknowledge that she’s not here anymore.
I will see her every time I look in the mirror, but I won’t have her life behind my eyes, or her wise smile, or her unwavering patience.
She was a force, and though I am but a reflection of her, her spirit lives on in this town.
Her one wish was to have me return to Falcon Haven, a place where her heart will always remain, and I know, every time I do return here, I will see her in the eyes of all of you.
In the architecture she loved, the local businesses she made it her priority to support, and the friends she made and loved. I—” Stone abruptly stops.
I start forward at the moment Maisy steps onto the podium and gently takes the microphone from him.
“We all love listening to Judy’s pride and joy,” she says, “but if you’ll give me a few moments of your time, I’d love to say a few words about my dear friend.”
Stone rubs Maisy’s shoulder in thanks, departing from the podium with his head down.