Chapter Thirty-Six Will
Chapter Thirty-Six
Will
This amazing woman and brilliant doctor will end up in therapy because of me—because she fell for the guy who broke her kite and then her heart.
I’m not used to being the villain. I’m the hero—to everyone except Everleigh Reichart.
Blinking my eyes open at the crack of dawn, I slide my hand along the mattress before turning my head to the empty space beside me. She’s never next to me when I wake up. On my way to the bathroom, I hear chatter. She’s on the deck with my mom.
After taking a piss, I pull on a shirt and jeans, then pour a cup of coffee. Before turning the corner to the deck door, I stop and listen—eavesdrop like Lola. The storm door is cracked, so it’s not my fault I can hear them.
“I think Will is going to struggle with Thatcher’s death more than his sister.
Maybe even more than me. He has always looked up to his father.
They spent many summers lost in the woods, living out of a tent, fishing, identifying every plant species imaginable.
And so many nights under the stars. Thatcher loved astronomy.
Also, his father was a firefighter, so you can imagine how excited and proud he was when Will decided to follow in Granddad Landry’s footsteps. ”
“He never told me that,” Everleigh says. “If death were easy, I might not have a job.”
Mom laughs. “Touché.”
“Steffi, I think you and your children will heal together. Death has a way of giving perspective to life. When I die, I hope my kids will take time to see the beauty in life. The fragility of love. The ephemeral nature of this thing we call time.”
My mom hums softly. “I like how the world looks through your eyes. You’re far too wise to be twenty-nine.”
“Oh, I’m not wise. I’m just the product of overconsuming the writings of famous philosophers and thinkers: Socrates, Kant, Aristotle, Confucius, Buddha, Hippocrates. I’ve had a lot of food for thought for a twenty-nine-year-old.”
“Well, you’re comforting. I’m sure you’re an excellent doctor.”
“Thank you,” she says to my mom with a softer tone, as if she doesn’t feel completely deserving of the compliment.
I lean my shoulder against the wall and sip my coffee. If I step around the corner, their conversation will end.
“What do you love most about my son?” Mom asks.
I cover my mouth to hide my cough as I choke on my coffee.
“You assume I love him?” Everleigh says.
“Dear, it’s not an assumption.”
Maybe I should step around the corner before this goes completely off the rails.
“I love how he’s always made me feel like a woman.
Not a doctor. Not a genius. It’s like he sees the real me.
The version most everyone else misses. We met at a bar.
Everything about our week together in California felt normal.
His humor matches mine. We love gaming and hiking.
He’s caring even when he tries to act unaffected by me.
His friends adore him. And he’s handsome.
The kind of handsome that makes me blush every time he looks at me. ”
“Oh dear,” my mom says with a little tsk.
“That’s a lot. I think it’s too much. These Landry men are heartbreakers.
Go to Hopkins. Cure cancer or something like that.
Fall in love with a sexy man who’s at least five years younger than you.
” Mom’s chair creaks, and I know she’s standing, so I step around the corner.
“Morning,” I say, giving my mom a one-arm hug with my coffee in my other hand.
“Good morning, my handsome boy. I’m going to take a shower. Keep our guest entertained. In fact, you two do something fun today. I’ll deal with your father.”
I sit in her chair on the opposite side of the fire table from Everleigh. “I’m not sure you dealt with Dad that well yesterday. I think you need me there.”
“Nonsense,” Mom says before closing the door behind her.
Everleigh drums her nails on the side of her coffee mug. “Good morning.”
I control my grin, keeping things casual and cool. “Morning. How did you sleep?”
She yawns. I’m not sure if it’s planned or just perfect timing. “It was a restless night with an hour or two of sleep between . . . interruptions.”
My grin wins the battle. I was the interruption. It was a lot harder to sleep with Everleigh naked beside me than I remembered. I think just her body heat gave me an erection. And once I had said erection, I selfishly used her to remedy it.
“When you sleep on your back, you snore,” she says.
“I’m surprised in medical school they didn’t teach you a quick remedy for that.”
“Oh? And what would that be, Dr. Landry?”
“If you slowly insert a man’s penis into your mouth, he’ll stop snoring. I think it has a one-hundred-percent success rate.” I shrug. “At least, that’s the most recent data from double-blind sleep studies.”
She channels Dr. Reichart, giving me no reaction, and her self-control gets me almost as aroused as her naked body inches from mine.
I know after eavesdropping on her conversation with my mother and not properly acknowledging her confession of love last night, I should proceed with caution. But I can’t help myself.
“I really should be with my dad today,” I say.
She nods several times. “Absolutely.”
“But last night was fun.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. Is that the best you’ve got? How many times have you said that to a woman?”
“Plenty. But I usually follow it up with something like But I’m not looking for anything complicated right now. So see ya around.” I sip my coffee and then hold it cupped in my hands between my legs.
She pushes out of her chair and steps around the table to straddle my lap, taking my coffee and setting it on the side table.
“Does that mean you’re looking for something complicated with me?
” She kisses the corner of my mouth, thumbs stroking my cheeks just below my eyes.
It’s the most soothing feeling in the world.
“It means . . .” I whisper, kissing the inside of her wrist.
“What?”
I hold her arms, keeping her hands on my face.
“No matter what happens, take that job at Hopkins. No matter how many nights we have like last night. No matter what I say to you. No matter what your heart tells you. If my dad dies. If I shatter into a million pieces in the process of grieving him. Even if in my weakest moment, I beg you to stay.” I turn my head and kiss the inside of her other wrist. “Promise me you’ll go. ”
Tears shine in her eyes. I’m not trying to be cruel. Just the opposite. It’s because I care about her I want her to let me go. I’m the worst dream. She can do better.
“I shouldn’t have told you about Hopkins.”
On a slow sigh, I pull her hands from my face. “There are probably a lot of things you shouldn’t have done, with regard to me. Don’t let passing up this job be another one. I want more for you.”
Everleigh frowns. “What if your idea of more is my idea of less?”
“Then one of us is messed up. And it’s not me.”
She grabs my arm, sliding up my sleeve to look at the tattoo of Brandon’s date of death. “People die, but grief is eternal. A mentor of mine once said if you want to live, you have to learn how to survive. But I see the inverse. If you want to survive, you have to learn how to live.”
“Sounds like expensive advice.” I bury my face in her neck, kissing just below her ear.
She giggles, leaning her head to the side. “I’m an extremely valuable friend.”
Hearing her use the word friend should be a relief, but it’s not.
I know she’s trying to put on a brave face.
Dr. Reichart would tell her to run away from this firefighter without looking back.
Run toward someone she can love without feeling guilty for it.
An I love you without a delayed I’m sorry.
I hope Dr. Reichart (not Everleigh) makes the decision about Hopkins.
“I’m going for a walk.” She kisses the side of my head. “Go be with your father.”
I lift my head. “Are you not coming to meet him?”
“Do you want me to meet him? I got the vibe yesterday that you weren’t too sure.”
That’s a great question. I wanted her to come to Somers because I selfishly wanted more time with her. But I haven’t given the specifics much thought.
“I’m here for you and your mom.” She traces my bottom lip with her thumb. Her delicate touch is indescribable. My heart physically aches when she does it. “I’m here until you send me on my way.” She smirks. “I can see him later, if or when the time feels right.”
Feels right.
She feels right, but literally everything else in my life feels wrong.
“Everleigh,” I say, grabbing her waist as she crawls off my lap. “I . . .” The words catch in my throat. If only I had said them before now, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I didn’t, so they’ll hit differently now, and she’ll think I want her to stay for me. So I slowly shake my head. “Never mind.”
She slides her hand along my neck, thumb caressing along my pulse. “I know you do,” she whispers.
“Mrs. Landry?” A nurse stops us on our way to Dad’s room.
“Yes?” Mom turns as I rest my hand on her back.
The nurse frowns, adjusting her blond ponytail.
A tangible feeling of doom radiates from her and makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“We were just getting ready to call you. Thatcher appears to have had a stroke this morning, but he hasn’t been examined yet.
The doctor should be in within the hour. ”
I pull Mom into me, tucking her under my arms as she holds a shaky hand to her mouth. “Thanks for the update,” I say before guiding her to Dad’s room.
The second I open the door, Mom freezes, choking on a gasp. The right side of his face is droopy, and drool is running down his chin.
“Hey, Dad.” I guide my mom to sit in his chair.
He makes a noise, but I don’t understand what he’s trying to say. I sit on the edge of his bed and gently squeeze his right hand, but he doesn’t squeeze mine back like he’s done in the past.
He’s so thin and frail. I can’t believe how quickly he’s declining. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling of helplessness.
“We should have him transported to the hospital,” Mom whispers.
I glance at her. “You and Dad chose end-of-life care. Are we really going to prolong this?”
She presses a wadded tissue to her nose and sniffles. “I just hate watching him suffer.”
I do, too, but she needs me to be strong, and I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I need to channel my inner Dr. Reichart. “They’re giving him medication for the pain. We don’t know that he’s suffering,” I say as if I believe what I’m saying.
I don’t.
Maybe he’s not in physical pain. However, isn’t mental distress a form of suffering? I can’t imagine trying to talk when my mouth and brain feel disconnected.
Dad tries to say something again, and I hate that I don’t know what he’s saying. What if he’s trying to tell me that something is causing him pain?
“His lips are dry.” Mom stands. “Maybe he’s thirsty.”
I look for his water beside his bed, but it’s gone. There’s a cup with a little water and a bag of oral sponge swabs.
“Where’s his water?” she asks.
I grab one of the swabs and wet it before wiping it along his lips and teeth. “Maybe he can’t swallow well if he’s had a stroke.”
She scoots in front of me, and I set the swab aside and give her room to sit on the edge of his bed at the end of the guardrail. When he doesn’t squeeze her hand, she reaches for his left hand. He reciprocates with that one.
“How is he supposed to drink or eat if he chokes?” she whispers.
“Let’s just wait for the doctor,” I say, but I know the answer.
He’s not going to eat. And he’ll get tiny amounts of fluid from those sponges.
And eventually, he’ll . . .
My heart crawls into my throat, slowly suffocating me.
This is happening. My father is actively dying, and no one will save him because he chose this when he was in his right mind, even if nothing about this feels right.
It’s my job to save people and things, but this is like wildland firefighters voluntarily letting certain forests burn because it’s part of life. Death and destruction are part of life. There’s a greater force at play, and surrendering to it feels like failure.
I give my parents space, standing near the door just to be here if they need me.
Eventually, the doctor knocks on the door and then examines him.
Her lips move, and I know she’s talking to my mom, even if it’s hard to hear past the deep, angry beating of my heart.
My mom responds with a tight jaw, a shaky nod, and a new round of tears.
That’s because the doctor tells her it won’t be long.
She’s not telling us anything we didn’t already know.
“We’ll give him medication p.r.n. to keep him comfortable,” the doctor says.
She’s a believable doctor with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and gray in her dark hair.
Unlike Everleigh. “If you have any questions or need anything, let me or one of the staff know. We are here for you and whatever you and your family need.”
“How long?” Mom whispers, frantically wiping her tears as her tissue disintegrates in her hand.
“It’s hard to say for sure,” the doctor says. “Maybe a day or two.”
Mom buckles at the waist on a sob. I catch her, pulling her into me while giving the doctor a sad smile and an easy nod.