Kate #2
In the midday sun, the short hallway between the front entry and kitchen are cheerful and bright. Sharp lines of golden light cut diagonally across the worn wooden floorboards, and I grip the smooth banister to pull myself upstairs.
When my hand leaves a small streak of muddy-red on the handrail, it dawns on me that I still have Jackson’s blood on me, so at the top of the stairs I veer into the bathroom.
The faucet squeaks a little when I turn it on.
It has since the first time I used it sixteen years ago, the first night I spent in Jackson’s childhood bedroom.
Through a thick film of tears, I stare at the crimson blood dried on my hands, wedged under my nails. I swallow down a sob and clutch the edges of the sink to keep myself upright even as the entire world sways and my knees threaten to buckle.
This blood might be the last trace of my husband I ever have on my skin.
All I can think about is how washing this away might mean washing away the last moments of his life. Washing away the last time I get to feel his warm skin on mine.
A droplet falls from my eye, big enough to drown in, and it blurs the red on my palm like watercolor. Shutting my eyes tight, I shove both hands under the streaming faucet.
Lukewarm water rushes over my skin, turning pink and flowing freely down the drain, and I lose myself in remembering that first night together in the room across the hall.
That same room is about to be a nursery.
A nursery for a baby who might never get to meet their dad.
The realization bowls me over, and I grip the curved edges of the pedestal sink to support myself.
A choked gasp flees my lungs, and I stumble toward the toilet to unload breakfast in one fell swoop that buckles my knees and forces tears from my eyes.
I kneel there for a moment, unsure whether I’m sobbing because I’m not a good puker or because I don’t even know if my husband made it to the hospital alive.
I clutch my throat, massaging as if it’ll somehow quell the burning and sink to the floor.
Surely I’d feel if he was gone, right?
I know the sound of his heartbeat and the way it thrums against my palm better than my own. Sixteen years of intertwining our souls, sharing our DNA. Of promises kept.
He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
Even if he couldn’t speak—couldn’t communicate in whispers or eye movements or the squeeze of a hand—he’d make sure I felt it. I’d feel the loss down to the marrow of my bones and know it was him. I’m more sure of that than anything.
And it’s that confidence in my soul that forces me off the floor. I need to get myself together and go to him. After I’ve splashed cold water across my face, swished children’s mouthwash, and scrubbed the last traces of blood from under my nails, I head to Odessa’s room.
My knuckles rap on the door once before I push it open to find Odessa half-buried in a pile of stuffed animals on top of her bed, and Beryl sitting cross-legged on the floor. Quiet conversation stops in my presence, and they both look at me.
“Hey, sweetie.” I muster up a feeble smile.
Beryl stands and rubs my upper arm before slipping out with the soft close of the bedroom door.
Odessa clutches a small stuffed horse that’s wet with her tears. Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks rouged, and when she opens her mouth, her voice is thick with emotion. “Is Daddy gonna be okay?”
I cross her bedroom, settling onto the small toyless section of her bed, and I grip a small, socked foot sticking out from under a huge pink unicorn Denny won for her at the fair a few years ago.
I want to tell her I have no doubt he’s going to be okay and, more than anything, I want it to be the truth.
She’s so damn smart for a seven-year-old. Intuitive and observant, maybe as a result of spending so much time with adults on the ranch. And though she’s never experienced serious pain when it comes to humans, she has a better understanding of animal suffering than non-farm kids do.
“I don’t know.” I choose to be honest, though every word stabs between my ribs. “But the paramedics got here fast, and they took him to the hospital, so he’s in the best place he can be.”
Silent tears roll down her cheeks, and the back of her hand wipes her running nose. She opens her mouth to respond, pulling a string of saliva taut between her top and bottom teeth, and the only sound is a hoarse croak.
I hold my arms open, inviting her in and, like she did as a toddler, Odessa crawls out from her stuffed animal nest and curls up in my lap.
I wrap around her, pressing my cheek firmly against her head.
Unspoken fears hang in the air around us, and despite the endless things I want to say to ease her worries, nothing comes out.
No word can be both comforting and true right now.
Once her sobs have slowed, I smooth a hand over her hair and say, “I need to go to the hospital and be with your dad, okay? I wanted to come up here and talk to you before I go.”
“I’m coming.”
“Not right now, Dess. I promise you’ll see him as soon as it’s allowed.” My lips plant a firm kiss on top of her head. “You know Daddy can’t go long without his best buddy, so I’m sure he’ll be missing you.”
“Can you tell him I love him?” She tilts her head to meet my eyes. “And to get better so we can buy me a horse like we were gonna today.”
A silent huff of laughter leaves my nostrils. “I’ll tell him.”
—
Thankfully someone other than me was of sound enough mind to get information from the paramedics about which hospital they were taking Jackson to. Of course it wasn’t the closest one, which means driving nearly three hours to get to him.
After I’ve spent a couple hours anxiously sitting in Austin’s backseat—fidgeting with every possible thing I could get my hands on to stop me from screaming—the truck lurches into the hospital parking lot, and we weave between rows of vehicles for what feels like a century as I stare out at the looming concrete building.
Austin pulls into a spot at the far side of the parking lot, and my emotionally drained body slips out of the backseat.
I clutch my purse strap, straightening up and tipping my head toward the building. “Jackson’s probably waiting in there for me to come and force the doctor to discharge him.”
“Like that time you had to rescue him from the woman at the bar?” Austin turns to look at me.
The brief memory of that day eases the nervous knotting in my guts. “I maintain that she was putting the moves on him, and he’s too polite to tell her to fuck off…but I’m not.”
Denny’s half-laugh falls flat. “Man, he’d be lost without you.”
Fuck. There’s the ache and twisting in my stomach again. I blink up at the overcast sky, fighting back the tears suddenly threatening my waterline.
“I’d be so lost without him, too.” My fingers jab into the inner corners of my eyes in a last-ditch attempt at stopping the flow.
Denny wraps an arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. “Good thing neither of you will need to know what that’s like.”
“Yeah.” I exhale the word out at the same moment a blast of warm air hits us when the automatic front doors glide open.