Chapter Thirty-Eight Will
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Will
Tossing an arm over my forehead, I stare at the dark outline of the ceiling fan. Why did I ask her to come? Why did I tell her to leave? Who invites someone to visit amid the death of a parent? She’s probably seen and heard everything, but why can’t I let her see me?
Before the guilt kills me, I slide out of bed and get dressed.
Then I press my lips to Everleigh’s forehead as she sleeps.
By the time I make it to the facility, the quick cup of coffee from home has kicked in.
Mom’s butt is on the edge of the chair, and she’s leaning forward, resting her head on her bent arm and her other hand on his.
Dad’s mouth is open, and his breaths are shallow with a slight rattle.
“Hey, Mom,” I whisper in her ear, lifting her body before she wakes with a stiff back.
Her groggy eyes open, and she lets me help her stand.
I hug her, eyeing my dad over her shoulder.
He’s so thin and frail. Unrecognizable in many ways.
It’s hard to believe he carried me on his shoulders up and down steep trails when I was a young boy.
Now he can’t stand on his own or carry his body weight.
“I prayed for him to take his last breath,” she whispers before silently shaking with sobs.
I don’t hold back my tears. How fucking awful is this? Wishing for the man you love to die. When did months turn into days? What happened to weeks? We should still have weeks with him. Now we’re counting breaths.
I stare at his blurry image through my tears.
“Well,” I sniffle, sitting in the chair and pulling her onto my lap, “he’s always been a stubborn man. He’s holding on because you want him to go.”
She laughs through her tears. “I know.”
“You need sleep,” I say.
“I need to be here.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I know she wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I sent her home.
Over the next four hours, we wait, taking turns standing to stretch and walking the hall or using the restroom. Mom texts Leah, but she’s not rushing back. She said her goodbyes and made peace with knowing she might not see him again.
Maybe I should say mine and head back to Missoula.
The second that thought pops into my head, I feel a pang of regret.
No. I feel like a terrible, weak human being, and an even worse son.
Leah has a baby and another child. I have nothing but grief waiting for me to drown it in as much alcohol as possible.
“William.”
I glance at the door. It’s my parents’ pastor. He smiles at Vincent on the other side of the curtain before stepping toward me, so I stand and shake his proffered hand.
“I hope it’s okay that I’m stopping by.”
I nod. “Of course. My mom went for coffee. I actually wouldn’t mind taking a walk.”
“Please.” He nods toward my dad while unbuttoning his black wool coat. “I’d be happy to sit with him. If you and your mom would like me to pray with you, I can do that too.”
I’m not sure what I would pray for because I’m not much of a prayer guy, even though I like the idea of something greater and more powerful than humans. That the end is not really the end, just a “for now,” is comforting.
“I’ll check with her. Thanks.”
“Of course,” he says, sitting in my dad’s chair.
I find my mom outside, sipping her coffee while staring at the pond behind the courtyard. “Pastor Gibbs is here.”
She turns toward me. “Sorry. I should get back. He’ll think I’m ignoring my husband.”
I shake my head. “He thinks you’re taking a breather. Dad’s respirations haven’t dropped in the last hour. I guess that means he’s still got time.” I shrug.
She hands me her coffee, and I take a sip.
“I can’t believe I prayed for him to die.”
“Mom.” I frown. “I don’t think mercy is a bad thing.”
She presses her hand to her stomach and grimaces.
“Hungry?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Come on. Let’s grab some food. I know you skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning.”
“We can’t leave.”
I fish my keys from my pocket. “We can. We’ll be back in an hour. Let’s run home. Everleigh made soup last night.”
Mom scrapes her teeth along her bottom lip. “But Pastor Gibbs—”
“He’ll sit with Dad. And if he has to leave, we’ll be back in no time.”
On a reluctant sigh, she nods and follows me to the parking lot. She says nothing on the way home, and neither do I. What’s there to say? This level of pain has no words. My gaze sweeps along the street as we pull into the drive. Everleigh’s truck is gone.
“This is hard,” Mom whispers when we step into the house. She wipes a few tears. “I’ve known that he wouldn’t return, but it just feels so real.”
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back to my chest as I kiss the top of her head. She covers my hands with hers and squeezes hard.
We proceed to the kitchen after removing our shoes.
“She left you a note,” Mom says, nodding to the folded piece of notebook paper on the kitchen island.
I open the note as Mom retrieves the stockpot from the fridge.
Dear Will,
I don’t know if you’ll find this while your father is still alive.
If not, I’m so sorry for your loss. Give your mom a hug from me and my deepest condolences.
As much as I want to be the arms you long for, I’m honoring your request. Your friends will be here for you.
They are good people. Let them love you.
This morning I emailed Hopkins and accepted the position.
Although I’m leaving Montana, I’m always a phone call away.
And if you find a day when you need me, I’ll be on the first flight back to you.
But if that day never comes, I hope it means you’ve found comfort in your family.
Maybe you’ll find yourself lost in the woods.
Perhaps the best place to work through your grief is the place where you made the most memories together.
Yosemite? Glacier? Zion? Have you been to Switzerland?
Have you seen the Himalayas? You should.
If you’re ever in Baltimore . . .
Love,
Everleigh
“I’m not even hungry,” Mom says, lighting the burner.
I turn away from her for a few seconds to compose myself. Fuck, this hurts. Did I make a mistake?
I set the note aside, surprised how her words managed to infiltrate that aching organ in my chest despite the grief I’m feeling for my father. “He’d want you to eat, to take care of yourself,” I say.
She turns, eyeing the letter on the counter. “What about you? Are you taking care of yourself, or are you letting the right one go for the wrong reasons?”
“The right one?” I narrow my eyes before filling a glass with water.
“Everleigh. The girl has William Landry–size stars in her eyes. She’s beautiful. Smart. Talented.” Mom tries to smile because she wants my happiness more than her own, but her enthusiasm falls flat. Everything falls flat in the face of grief. It’s easier to hide an emotion than fake it.
“I’m aware.” I drink the water.
“He’s going to leave us behind.”
I set the glass aside and nod once.
“You have a long life ahead of you. I think you should live it,” Mom says.
I shrug. “All I see is death.”
She stirs the soup. “That breaks my heart.”
“What do you see?” I ask, retrieving two bowls from the cabinet. “Because it can’t be good. Everleigh is a lot younger than I am. Do you think it’s a good idea to set her up for this kind of heartbreak? If I find someone closer to my age, there’s at least a better chance of dying closer together.”
She glances sideways. “You think that’s the goal? To be with someone who might die close to you? And here I thought it was about love.”
“Don’t judge me. You’ve thought and said the same thing, not too long ago.”
She nods slowly. “I know,” she whispers.
“You know what I thought when I walked into Dad’s room early this morning and saw you folded over his bed? I thought love sucks.”
Mom stares into the stockpot, slowly stirring, and she shrugs. “Maybe it does. But if I had it to do over, knowing this outcome, I wouldn’t change a thing. Except I might spend more nights in his arms, and less time arguing with him over things that don’t matter.”
I hold a bowl as she ladles soup into it.
“But if you don’t love her,” she says, “don’t give her false hope. She could pass up a guy who loves her in ways you don’t, and that’s tragic.”
I set both bowls on the island and pluck two spoons from the drawer. “For the record, I’ve never held on to her.”
“You’re having sex with her. Women don’t do casual the way men do. Our hearts always trump our minds.”
I blow at the steam swirling from the spoon. “She knows where we stand. She’s going to Baltimore.”
I wait for my mom to respond, to make a case for Everleigh, but she doesn’t.
“I’m just not hungry.” She sets her spoon in the bowl and slides it away before dropping her head into her hands.
“We should go back, but I’m scared that if he takes his last breath in front of me, that’s all I’ll remember.
Yet I’m just as scared that he’ll die alone.
” She lifts her head, eyes filling with tears. “We can’t let him die alone.”
I grimace, catching her first tear with my thumb. Then I nod. “Let me grab my phone charger, and then we’ll go.”
We’ll watch him die.