Chapter Forty Will
Chapter Forty
Will
As I open my mom’s door in the nursing home parking lot, her phone rings.
“Hello?” she says, taking my hand as she steps down. Tears fill her eyes. “We’re in the parking lot,” she says in a strangled voice.
Crash!
Her phone falls to the ground, and I pull her into my arms. It’s time for me to be strong for her.
But it’s hard to keep my knees from buckling as my chest shatters and pieces of my heart scatter into oblivion.
No amount of time or foreshadowing prepares one for this kind of loss.
I’m so fucking scared to go inside, so I just cling to her as much as she’s clinging to me.
We weren’t there. She doesn’t even have to say the words.
He died alone, or he died with a pastor he saw at Easter and Christmas. What was I thinking? Why was I such a coward? This fucking hurts. I knew when we left, that he might die before we returned. And I think I wanted that to happen because I’m weak.
Time slips away, and at some point, she releases me. I feign strength, picking up her phone with the shattered screen before tucking her under my arm as we take steps as heavy as our hearts toward the entrance.
People talk to us, but I hear nothing.
Mom nods, wiping her nose with a wad of tissue.
But I can’t cry. The pain has paralyzed me, and I cling to denial even though death is the only undeniable thing in everyone’s life.
When we step into the room, Dad’s roommate looks up from his word search, and he offers a raspy “Sorry for your loss.”
The hospice nurse echoes his sentiments.
“Were you with him when he died?” Mom asks, sitting on the edge of his bed and resting her hand on his. “Or was . . .” Her voice breaks. “Was he a-alone?”
“I was told a young woman was with him, but she left right after he died.”
Mom wipes her tears. “A young woman?” She looks at me, and I tear my gaze away from my father’s body.
It’s at peace. He’s at peace.
“Natalie,” the nurse calls past us to the lady in blue scrubs. “Did you catch the young woman’s name who was with Mr. Landry?”
Natalie steps into the room. “Sorry. No. She had dark hair. And she said she was a doctor.”
Mom narrows her eyes.
Everleigh.
I clear my throat. “She uh . . . she was here when he died?”
Natalie nods, eyes wide. “She was holding his hand. Then she kissed his head, and whispered to him.” Her brow tightens.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“Um . . .” Natalie eyes the hospice nurse as if she needs permission to tell me. “She said, ‘Whatever comes next, I’m sure it’s amazing. Godspeed.’”
A sob rips from my mom’s chest. I hunch beside her, wrapping one arm around her shaking body. My other hand rests on top of my dad’s leg.
“H-he’s gone,” she says.
“I know,” I whisper in her ear before kissing her cheek. “I know.”
By evening, my sister and her family arrive. As she and my mom comfort each other in the living room, I hole up in the bedroom. My first call is to Everleigh. She doesn’t answer, so I text her.
Will: Please call me
She doesn’t reply, so I call Maren.
“Hey, Will,” she says cautiously because she knows why I might be calling. My delayed response says it all.
“Oh, Will.” She chokes. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears burn my eyes. I didn’t think it would be this hard to say the words aloud. I nod, choking on the fucking awful emotions. Maybe I should have jumped onto a video chat so at least she could see me nodding.
Yes, my father died.
Thank you for being my friend.
“As soon as Ozzy and Lola get home, we’ll book a hotel and head that way.”
“No . . .” I try to clear my throat, but it’s hard. “No rush. The funeral won’t be until next week. After Thanksgiving.”
There’s a silent pause. Maybe she’s trying to figure out how to fix this.
I wanted to fix things when her brother died.
But death isn’t a state of brokenness. There are no pieces.
It’s not a tornado where everything is scattered but still exists.
Death is fire. Ashes and smoke. Nothing to pick up, repair, or put back together.
“But if you need me, I’m there. Okay?”
Again, I nod as if she can see me. Then I manage a clipped “’Kay.”
“Love you, Will. Give your mom a hug from me, and we’ll see you soon.”
I clear my throat. “Uh, have you by any chance seen Everleigh?”
“Everleigh? Not recently. Why?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “No reason.”
“I’ll call and tell her about your dad so you don’t have to.”
I’m an asshole.
“The timing is shit,” I mumble.
“Oh. Well, I don’t have to tell her at all. And if she’s hurt by it—”
“I love her,” I say, but it feels as crushing as saying my father died.
I love her, but the timing is wrong. The place. The age difference. Career paths. It’s all wrong. Despite every level of wrongness, Everleigh feels like mine.
When I was seven, I gave my Grandma Landry a pine cone I had tucked away on a hike with my father.
She painted it gold and sprinkled it with glitter.
I secretly wanted to ask for it back because it was so cool, but my sister asked first. And before I could say anything, Grandma gave my sister the painted pine cone.
It was mine. Sure, I gifted it to our grandma, but if she was going to give it away to anyone, it should have been me.
When some other guy takes Everleigh’s heart, I will have no one but myself to blame. I’ve never held on to her. They will see how she shines like gold and sparkles like glitter.
Maren doesn’t respond as I sink further into this endlessly dark hole. The silence drags on while I think of an explanation. Do I need to explain why I love Everleigh Reichart? Does it matter?
“We know. Everyone saw it before you,” she says. “I’ll see if I can find her.”
“No.” I flop back onto the bed. “Let her go. We all just need to . . . let her go. After she moved into the shed, I wanted to kill her, you, and everyone else. Then things just sort of happened, as they always seem to do with her. And I should have said something to you sooner, but I was embarrassed about losing my shit with you. I played the fucking victim, and I just thought that was the hill I’d die on. But then . . .”
“Jesus,” she whispers. “It’s like Fitz and Jamie all over again. What is wrong with you and Fitz? Why must you first hate the person you’re meant to love?”
“She’s not the person I’m meant to love. Bad things happen because life can be unfortunate, luck is random, and humans are fallible. Everleigh is taking a job at Johns Hopkins. That’s meant to be.”
“Okay,” Maren says slowly. “Then why are you looking for her?”
“Because she was with my—” My eyes burn as the words congest in my throat.
“She was with your?” Maren asks.
“She was with my father when he died,” I whisper.
“Oh . . . That’s surprising. You weren’t there?”
“No.”
“Then why was she?”
I shake my head and sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Had she met your father?”
“No.”
“That’s crazy.”
“She won’t answer her phone or reply to my text. So if you see her, just tell her I need to talk to her.”
“Of course. And I’ll check her place. Maybe she’s working on her barndo.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, but I don’t think she’s working on a place she’s not going to live in.