Every Last Drop

by Sarah Robinson

“Can you put your arm around my neck?” he asked, and I nodded I could. “Good, ready?”

  He slid his arm under my back and I draped mine around his neck. His other hand slid directly under my soaked bottom without any hesitation.

  I prayed for God to take me right then and there.

  He didn’t.

  God has a fucked-up sense of timing.

  Kyle sat me on the edge of the tub in the master bathroom—a pretty luxurious Jacuzzi actually. It had been one of the main draws to renting this home, and I’d already bathed in it dozens of times. It eased the aches in my muscles, especially when I added in any of the array of bath salts, aromatherapy oils, and other goodies my sister had gifted me.

  Kyle prepared it perfectly—adding the calming scents as he turned on the faucet and stopped the drain up with its plug. He lifted my arms above my head with only some help from me, then lifted my shirt off, tossing it into the dirty clothes basket.

  He helped me stand, and I clutched the wall with one hand, and his shoulder with the other, as I tried to stay upright despite my shaking knees. He crouched before me, sliding my damp pajama pants and underwear down my legs, lifting my feet one at a time to step out of them. His arm returned to my back and he walked me to the shower stall next to the tub.

  He stepped inside with me, not caring that he was wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants, and turned the water on hot. It beat down against us, and we took a moment to adjust to the temperature, but once we had, Kyle moved quickly. I was able to stand on my own now, despite still feeling weak and slightly dizzy.

  Within seconds, his clothes clung to his body and I couldn’t help but let my mind wander as I saw his toned muscles beneath the white tee. I tilted my head into the water and he scrubbed shampoo into my hair. He then took a soapy wash cloth to the rest of me, scrubbing me clean.

  I stood there, not entirely helpless but not entirely helpful either, as the kind, caring man I’d fallen in love with years ago washed the urine from my legs.

  He didn’t grimace. He didn’t frown. He didn’t curl his lips.

  I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did—I was certainly disgusted with myself—but it didn’t seem to cross his mind. And when I was all clean, he turned off the shower and walked me to the now full, soothingly scented tub and helped me inside.

  I lay under the warm water enveloping me like a blanket, my muscles aching from the seizure already relaxing.

  He peeled off his wet clothes and put them in the basket alongside mine. Wrapping a towel around his waist to cover himself, he picked up the basket and left the bathroom. I heard some noise in the bedroom, and it sounded like he was stripping the sheets off the bed. A few minutes later, I heard the laundry room door down the hallway open and my heart warmed at the gesture.

  I looked out the window over the tub, high above the ground, Lake Champlain stretched out before me. A lone tear streaked down my face, nothing else left inside me to cry after my sobs earlier.

  I don’t know what I did to ever deserve a man like Kyle—so loving, so without judgment. I’d been filled with shame, and in one simple act of love, he’d literally washed it away. Instead of foolish, I felt tender and cared for. It was the sweetest Christmas gift I ever could have asked for.

  He returned in a few minutes, dropping his towel and sliding into the tub behind me, his legs on either side of me as I leaned into his chest. His arms engulfed me and I sighed, feeling almost deliriously happy which felt absurd considering what I’d just experienced.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said in a low rumble against my ear.

  I smiled and squeezed his hand, which was currently resting against my breast. I straightened my back ever so slightly, just enough for his hand to fall lower, covering my nipple. “Merry Christmas,” I rumbled back with a small shake of my ass against his pelvis.

  He growled against my ear and I felt his lips move south, his teeth sinking gently into my neck. “You’re making it hard for me to let you just have a relaxing bath, babe.”

  “That’s the point,” I teased, wiggling my ass again. “Making it hard.”

  That got an appreciative chuckle, and I surged with excitement as I felt just that happening against me. His hand cupped my breast harder, his thumb sliding across one nipple as I leaned my head back onto his shoulder and closed my eyes. His other hand slid south, and I felt butterflies respond in a flurry.

  He reached between my legs, finding where I wanted him. His manipulations started slowly, but as my hips thrust against his hand, he sped up and my body responded in kind. The water splashed as the jets pulsed against our skin, while I fell apart against him.

  After my body had calmed, he lifted my hips and pressed himself against my core. The warm water swirled around us as we moved in rhythmic waves. His lips traced my shoulder and my hand held tight to his forearms as he hugged me.

  We loved, and loved hard, and when we were done, we let the soothing bath drift around us as we quietly held each other. In one simple act, he had reassured me that nothing about what was happening changed how he felt about me.

  He still loved me. He still desired me.

  In sickness and in health, ’till death do us part.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Saturday, September 6, 2014

  * * *

  Despite its rocky start, yesterday’s Christmas celebrations went well. My nurse, Malaika, had been warned about Thursday’s numbness and brought me a cane which I have been using more often than not. The numbness lasts longer each time, rising higher up my leg, as if I can feel it slowly seizing control. Slowly stealing my life.

  We followed the traditions we’d always had. Green eggs and ham for Christmas breakfast. Stockings stuffed with chocolate and love notes. I cried as I read each of the letters my family wrote me, just like I had every Christmas for years. We opened presents, and everything was homemade. There had been no rule not to buy anyone anything, but when facing the truth about what was actually important for our last Christmas together, love and memories couldn’t be expressed in dollar signs.

  I’d given everyone scrapbooks tailor made just for them. Kyle’s was filled with mementos of our life together—photos of us, receipts or ticket stubs from our most memorable dates, and other little pieces of who we are to each other. My dad’s scrapbook was filled with a lot of childhood pictures, and of him walking me down the aisle, and even a picture of us overlooking Niagara Falls from a month ago. Elly’s was about sisterhood. I’d stuffed it full of pictures of us together, doing my best to convey our bond through pictures and sweet captions.

  There were letters in the back of everyone’s scrapbook, but they were in a hidden pocket. They were meant to be read after everything happened. Morbid, maybe, but I felt the need to leave them with something. A little piece of me to offer some type of solace when it was all said and done. That’s what hurt me the most—knowing they will grieve and knowing I won’t be there to comfort them.

  My dad’s gift to me was more of a temporarily loaned item, but unbelievably special. He’d put a small box together which contained the love letters between him and my mother during their courtship and marriage. He’d been deployed so much that their communications were often handwritten. I hadn’t even known these existed, and when I read the first one—with Elly eagerly reading over my shoulder—I cried at this new side to my mother I’d never known.

  I touched the ink she’d pressed into the paper, reveling in how similar her handwriting was to my own. Her sweet words and the loving exchange between my parents both broke my heart and repaired it all at once. I was honored to be able to see into this part of them, and I’d spent the rest of the day reading through each and every one with my sister.

  Elly gifted me with a beautiful canvas she had painted herself. It was a rendition of a photo from our childhood where both of us are looking off into the distance and my hand is on her shoulder. It was beautiful and touching, and I immediately hung it in my bedroom so I’d see it every single day. Well, Kyle
hung it, but I supervised.

  His gift to me was much more practical, but Kyle had always been a practical man. It was a completed copy of our will and all the documents I’d wanted settled that he’d been putting off. He’d done everything I asked, and the sense of relief I felt knowing he’d have everything he needed was immense.

  Beast was not forgotten, of course. That dog got away with at least a dozen new toys, a bone larger than he was, plus a slew of treats he’s already dug in to. I spoiled him rotten, it was my last chance.

  It was one of the best Christmases we’d ever had.

  “Malaika’s here!” my dad called from the front hall.

  She waltzed in seconds later and scanned the room before looking at me. “How was Christmas?”

  “It was amazing. Rocky start, but then…” I sighed happily. “Wonderful.”

  She had loved the idea of a week of holidays, and every morning this week would ask me what day it was. I loved bragging about my family, so I was more than eager to dish.

  Malaika dropped her bag on the dining table and began setting herself up. “Rocky start?”

  “Seizure,” I said with a slight frown as she positioned a blood pressure cuff on my arm. “I woke up from it.”

  She seemed surprised. “It happened when you were asleep?”

  “A twilight sleep, I think. I vaguely remember some sort of consciousness before, but it definitely woke me up after.”

  I decided not to tell her about soiling the bed, or what Kyle had sweetly done for me. Frankly, I was still embarrassed.

  She continued checking my vitals and I rambled on about the week’s activities. She oohed and aahed, and let me have my moment. Malaika took her job seriously, but she also treated me like a friend. Every morning visit felt like having tea with a girlfriend, and that meant a lot to me, especially now.

  I’d never taken a job as seriously as that in my life. I’d enjoyed my old job, and I certainly wasn’t a slacker, but I’d never been passionate about it. Writing was different—that I felt passionate about. But I still wonder if I would feel that way if it was my full-time career over a normal life span, or if it’s important to me because of my current situation and what I’d like to leave behind for the world.

  It’s hard to say what I’d be doing or who I would be if I was planning a life to live, rather than planning for how I was going to die.

  Malaika finished the last of her notes before lowering her pregnant self into the chair next to me. “Let’s take a look at those legs.”

  I stretched them out slowly, and she maneuvered them around, asking me about pain and what I was feeling, or not feeling.

  “It’s not numb right now, but it feels stiff, or, um…” I thought about how to describe the sensation. “It feels like my legs are behind my brain. I plan to get up to walk, but there’s a delay between when I think I’m walking to when I’m actually walking. I don’t know… does that make sense?”

  “Sure,” she replied. “And why you need the cane.”

  “I’m using it most of the time. I think I’m just…slower.”

  She nodded her head. “Without the cane, you’re at a serious risk for falling and hurting yourself, which could put you back in the hospital. My understanding is that that is the last place you want to be.”

  My mouth set to a firm line. Definitely a big worry for me. I did not want to do anything that could wind me up back there instead of finishing out my days at home. “Yeah, I’m going to be as careful as I can. I’ll use the cane.”

  She got back to her feet with a big groan and a hand on her belly. “So, yesterday was Christmas, what’s today?”

  “Um, New Year’s Day? Or Eve?” I frowned, wondering why I hadn’t heard anything about it. “Actually, it might be over. No more holidays, I think.”

  “Well, you never know.” Malaika smiled innocently, but there was something beneath her words. “What about your birthday? It’s soon, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, the corners of my lips tilted down. “September thirtieth.”

  “You don’t look thrilled?” She draped a hand over her pregnant belly. “Don’t want to turn twenty-nine?”

  “I don’t mind that,” I replied. It was thirty I’d always wanted to avoid, not that that was a worry now. “It’s three weeks away.”

  “Okay… I’m not following.”

  “Three weeks is a long time, and I don’t have a lot of that.”

  She tried to hide it from me, but her face fell and I saw a grief I hadn’t expected.

  “Am I your…first?” I asked, suddenly curious.

  Her brow furrowed. “My first?”

  “First patient to…” Die felt too harsh, though it’s exactly what was going to happen. “To not make it?”

  She exhaled slowly. “Technically, no. But other times have been in the hospital, on rotations, things like that. This is my first hospice home care role.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you’re asking if I’ll miss you, or if it will hurt,” she started slowly, looking down at fidgeting hands. “I will, and it will.”

  I stared at her, and for the first time, really saw her. Really saw how young she was. How beautiful she was in a quirky, offbeat way. I saw the way she cradled her belly, like how she would one day cradle her child. I saw strength and honesty and fearlessness and humanity. “Thank you, Malaika. For everything.”

  “You got it, girl.” She was smiling again, turning to put the last of her papers in her bag. She rummaged around in it for a minute. “Oh, I forgot to congratulate you.”

  “On what?”

  She pulled a glossy magazine out of her bag and handed it to me. On the cover was a huge story about a celebrity feud, a reality television star’s arrest, and of course, a Kardashian doing… something. I glanced up at her, my confusion obviously apparent on my face because she pointed back down at it. “You haven’t seen it? Page fifty-three.”

  I did, and my picture stared back at me. “What on earth?”

  CHICAGO NATIVE CHOOSES TO END LIFE WHEN DIAGNOSED WITH TERMINAL DISEASE, by Marley Wellings.

  My picture sat under it—the single one I’d let her take. It was me sitting on the patio lounge chair out back, my legs tucked under me, and Beast in my lap. We were both staring out toward the lake, and it looked poignant as hell. I’d laughed when she told me to do that, saying it would have more impact, but now I saw she was right.

  “You knew about it, didn’t you?” Malaika looked worried now.

  I nodded. I did know about it. I had agreed to it. I’d given her all the information for it. But it felt different seeing it in print, in a magazine thousands of people read.

  “Hey.” Kyle stepped into the room, giving my nurse a small wave. “How’re you doing, Malaika?”

  “I’m doing great, Mr. Falls.” She beamed. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve told you, you can call me Kyle,” he said with a smile before kissing me on the top of my head. “What are you reading, babe?”

  I hadn’t read the article yet, but had scanned it briefly and didn’t see any big surprises. I handed it to him. “Marley’s article.”

  “Shit! In this magazine? I thought it was going in a webzine or something.”

  I shrugged. “She’d warned me she would try to get it in a major publication.”

  Kyle glanced at the cover of the magazine. “Major might be a bit of a stretch. There is a Kardashian on the cover.”

  Malaika and I both laughed, and my tension dwindled a bit. Kyle always knew how to make things feel simpler, easier, happier.

  “Should I call Marley? I haven’t heard from her. I should congratulate her, right?” I asked him.

  “Babe, you haven’t checked your phone in days. I don’t even know where it is. She’s probably tried calling you a few times.” He rummaged in his pocket for his cell phone and handed it to me. “Here, use mine.”

  Thankfully, he’d saved her number when I’d given it to him a few weeks ago. I clicked on her name and she pic
ked up so quickly, I wasn’t sure I’d heard it ring.

  “Go for Marley!”

  The corners of my mouth tilted up, loving the young energy that surrounded this girl. “Hey Marley, it’s Tessa.”

  “Tessa! Jesus H. Christ, I’ve been calling you for days—I’ve got huge news! Is this a new phone? New number? You’re not going to believe what happened!” Marley rambled breathlessly into the phone. “Oh, oh, but tell me first, how are you doing? How are you feeling?”

  “I’m doing okay. Mostly the same as before.” No reason to burden her with my less-than-functioning feet or random bouts of unconsciousness. “And I think I’ve guessed at the huge news already.”

  “You saw the article? Did you like it?” Marley made a high-pitched squeak into the phone.

  “I loved it, Marley. You did an amazing job.”

  I heard her smile and imagined her clutching the phone tighter and dancing around. “I just knew people needed to hear your story, Tessa. It’s so amazing, and you will not believe how much my phone has been blowing up since it came out. So many people want to talk to you. Can I come over? I’d love to tell you about it!”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I might have plans with my family today, I’m not sure.” I noticed the covert look between Kyle and Malaika, and made a mental note to interrogate both of them later.

  “Tomorrow works!” Marley replied. “Thanks again for letting me interview you—I truly think this is going to be bigger than either of us knows.”

  “Sure, Marley,” I said, although I had to chalk most of her enthusiasm up to naiveté because tons of stories are run in magazines every week that few people read. “This is Kyle’s number, by the way, so if you can’t reach me on mine, try here.”

  “Perfect, I’ll see you tomorrow!” She hung up without saying goodbye.

  “What did Marley say?” Kyle asked as I handed his phone to him.

  “Just that the article is doing really well. She wants to talk more about it.”

  Kyle nodded. “I just finished reading. It’s really good. Not just her writing—which is fantastic—but the story has every component a viral news story needs.”