Chapter 22 Monique
She woke, mouth dry, eyes wet. Blinking, Monique glanced around the near-empty cabin. She didn’t remember boarding, didn’t remember takeoff. Didn’t remember the new year rolling over again and again at thirty thousand feet.
A flight attendant approached and squatted beside her, his perfectly styled appearance a sharp contrast to her rumpled exhaustion.
“Do you need me to request transport for you?” the young man asked, eyes and voice full of sincere concern.
She cleared her throat and shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“You slept the whole flight, but it was fitful.” He handed her tissues and a bottle of water. “Happy New Year.”
Right. January 1. A new year.
Monique gathered her things and moved out of the airplane and through O’Hare on autopilot. The cold hit her at baggage claim. Chicago’s winter pushed through the glass doors.
Her phone buzzed as soon as she turned off airplane mode. She texted her kids before she responded to the others.
DR. TEDROW
Chickie’s holding on. Asking for you. How close are you?
MONIQUE
Just landed. Getting a car now.
ELEANOR
We’re at her place. Vanessa’s doing first shemirah shift when the time comes. You take second?
Shemirah. They’d take turns sitting with their friend’s body after she passed, reading Psalms, and making sure she wasn’t alone between her death and burial.
MONIQUE
Yes. I’m coming.
It was New Year’s Day and the traffic crawled.
Chicago didn’t stop. Not for holidays, hangovers, or anything else.
Gray sky. Slush everywhere. Semitrucks in formation around her rideshare.
Monique stared out the window and tried not to think about Puerto Rico and its warmth, and the man who’d let her go so she could be here.
I love you. And love is patient.
She shook her head, commanding her mind to focus. Chickie first. Everything else could, would, wait.
She’d been to Chickie’s family’s Lincoln Park condo dozens of times. The doorman knew all of the Thriving with Cancer crew by face and name. Jacob was on duty when she arrived. He waved at her through the glass door, letting her into the building.
Her footsteps echoed around the marble entry, and Jacob held the elevator door open for her, twisting a key in the panel for the penthouse.
He told her to have a good day, but his voice was full of sorrow.
The elevator brought her up a dozen stories to the Levinsons’ home. The silent foyer felt cavernous. Monique parked her suitcase next to an antique console table and turned left, down a curved hall to Chickie’s bedroom. She heard low voices and soft laughter before she entered.
Eleanor sat on the bed, her fingers stroking Chickie’s hair. Dr. Tedrow stood at the window overlooking the zoo, earbuds in and mouth moving.
“Hey, y’all,” Monique said softly, entering.
The machines beeped and wheezed faster as Chickie raised her hand ever so slightly in greeting. “Mo…” The word was barely audible as she struggled to pull her oxygen mask off.
Monique crossed the room and sat, taking Chickie’s hand. “I’m here.”
Chickie’s cracked and peeling lips curved into an almost-smile. “You came back early. I’m glad.” The machines that had been breathing for her seemed extra loud today.
Monique put the mask back on Chickie’s face. “I moved my flight up by a few hours. I stayed for the wedding and a lot of the reception, so please don’t haunt me.”
Eleanor and Chickie’s nurse laughed. Chickie made a huffing sound that a few months ago would have been a full-body laugh. “Where’s the hotter Mo?”
“Charlotte, get your mind out of the gutter,” Mrs. Levinson said, entering the room with a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks.
She set the tray down and pinched Chickie’s toes in that playful way that moms did with kids too big to tickle.
“Monique does not have to tell you all the sordid details of her island fling.”
Chickie was nodding and shaking with constricted laughter. Her mother was too.
“I see where she gets it from,” Monique said, rolling her eyes.
Mrs. Levinson squeezed Monique’s shoulder. “Christopher will be heartbroken, you know, when he finds out you’re off the market.” She winked big and dramatic.
“Y’all need to quit.” Despite everything—the flight, the exhaustion, the grief already pressing against her ribs—Monique laughed. “And for your information, the”—she used air quotes—“hotter Mo is still in Puerto Rico.”
“You’ll see him again?” Chickie asked, working too hard to speak through the mask and noise.
“I don’t know.”
Chickie managed to tighten her grip on Monique’s hand. It was weak but insistent. “Promise me you will.”
“Girl—”
“Promise.”
Her throat tightened. “I promise.”
Chickie hummed. “Good.” Her eyes drifted closed. “And you’ll carry me and sit and read to me?”
“Yeah,” Eleanor said, still rubbing Chickie’s head.
“I love you, guys. Even you, Derek.”
Dr. Tedrow stood near the bed now, poised but affected. “We love you too,” he said, softly.
They sat like that all morning, as the sun moved over the lake outside Chickie’s window. Dr. Tedrow talked with the Levinsons about all the logistical stuff. The machines beeped and wheezed at longer intervals before the nurse turned them off.
When the time came, Monique and their Thriving with Cancer group stepped outside the room while Charlotte Levinson’s family had one last moment.
Grief and loss never arrive the same for one person as for another.
Mr. Levinson and Christopher were inconsolable, and Mrs. Levinson looked relieved.
Dr. Tedrow followed them down the hall to handle the next steps.
Eleanor whispered, “We need to start shemirah.”
Monique stepped forward. “I’ll take the first shift.”
“But you’ve just got back.”
“And I’ll take the first shift,” Monique said again.
Monique entered the room and sat in a chair near the bed.
What remained of her sweet young friend was now covered in white linen. She reached for the book of Psalms Eleanor had set on the bedside table and opened to the twenty-third.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Her voice cracked on the first line. She kept reading anyway. “He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul…”
Vanessa arrived a few hours later, bearing donuts and coffee. “How you doing?”
“I don’t even know,” Monique said, her voice hoarse from reading for hours. “Numb. Sad. Relieved?”
“That’s all allowed.” Vanessa put her bag down and opened her own prayer book. “Go home. Get some sleep. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
Monique’s back ached and her eyes burned. “See you tomorrow,” she whispered.