“Can we see him?” Kate asked.
“Of course. Come with me.”
They followed the doctor, but I remained seated. They needed time alone with him.
“Mandy? Darling, are you coming?”
“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a bit,” I said as my voice broke, endless tears streaming down my face.
She smiled at me gratefully and disappeared around the white corridor.
I knew I had a big decision to make. A decision with only one option.
Air.
I needed air.
Outside, the light mist of rain felt refreshing on my face.
I loved the rain. Everything about it soothed me; the smell, the feel, the noises it made as it pelted against my window at night.
However, right then, it did little to soothe my breaking heart.
***
It was harder than I thought it would be. I expected him to look—I don’t know—himself. But he didn’t. The circles etching his eyes were pale and dark all at once.
I sat there, watching as his chest moved evenly up and down.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Sometimes, I could hear the huskiness of his throat scratch through the air.
I sat there for four hours.
For four hours I argued with myself.
For four hours I begged him to wake up.
Four hours to realize, he never would.
The machines were doing all the work. I had come to terms with it.
Tears stung my eyes and threatened to spill over, but I wiped them away before they had a chance.
There was a hushed chatter outside.
I didn’t release my grip on his hand. I couldn’t let go.
Not yet.
The choice I had to make gave me motion sickness. My head swayed back and forth. I wanted to keep him. I wanted to hold his hand and have meaningless conversations about which takeout we preferred. And steal one more kiss. Just one more where he held me and wrapped his arms around my waist like he could shield me from the world.
Instead, the reality of everything persistently knocked, and I couldn’t hold it back much longer. I wasn’t sure I knew the person lying motionless in the bed. It wasn’t Nick. It looked like him, but he wasn’t there. He was an empty shell of who he used to be.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and removed the brown envelope.
“Time to face it,” I muttered to myself, willing my throat not to close.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the letter. The tears that threatened to spill over crept down my face when I saw his handwriting on the faded blue lines.
To Mandy,
If you are reading this, it means one thing - a machine is keeping me alive.
I’m so sorry I did this to you, but I wanted you to know it’s okay to let me go. I want you to move on and find a life without me.
Mandy Parker, I loved no one the way I loved you. I survived this long because of you.
You’re beautiful and you’re going to find someone who is going to make you happy. When you do, he will be the luckiest guy in the world. You are going to have lots of kids and when they make a friendship as we did, tell them to keep it.
I’m sorry I never got to stand at the top of an aisle and watch you walk towards me. Just remember, I will be there when you do. I will watch with the biggest smile on my face, seeing the most beautiful brown eyes shine with happiness. The happiness you so rightfully deserve.
Don’t hesitate in turning off the machine. I’m not there anymore. It’s not me.
Let me go, sweetheart.
I love you, Mandy.
Always have, always will,
Nick.
He wanted me to do this.
He needed me to do it, and I had to be brave.
There was distant crying from the corridor. They looked blurry through the waves of tears I imagined were floating in my eyes. I simply dipped my chin, and it told them all they needed to know. I heard them walk into the room, but I refused to look at them. I wanted to be with him for a moment longer.
Really be with him.
Standing, I leaned over to kiss his forehead, and for the last time, I nuzzled my cheek against his.
He was warm.
So warm.
“I love you,” I whispered.
I crawled into his arms and rested my head on his chest.
His heartbeat sounded strong, and I wanted so badly to believe it could stay like that. I cuddled closer in his arms for a little longer until I finally built enough courage to look towards the doctor.
“You can do it now.”
My hand hovered above his chest as my vision blurred with tears. If we were in a Disney movie, they’d bring him back to life.
With a heavy intake of breath, I tried to block out the clicks of switches and tubes detaching.
I held my breath.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Up. And. Down.
Up.
And.
Down.
Then, nothing.
Everything that told me he was alive—disappeared.
Chapter Four
Now
I flick through the black folder and sort through my school schedule for the weeks to come. It’s coming towards the end of the year and I have a school tour to organize.
I’m still not sure if I’m excited about the experience the kids will have or dreading the absolute chaos that comes with bringing twenty-five children out of the classroom. I’m expecting mayhem and nothing less.
Which reminds me, I need to tell the parents the kids can bring treats, but not to overindulge. It’s going to be an exhausting day without overly excited children crashing in unison from the sugar buzz.
Slipping my folder into my black leather bag, I sit back and sip my fresh coffee.
Every Monday after school, I meet Garry at the aptly named Old Book Store. Tucked neatly in the back is a quaint coffee shop with tables scattered throughout the store. It allows the experience of delving into your favourite book while enjoying amazing coffee and the most amazing cakes. Though from outside, you may expect a dark room filled with dusty old books, it’s quite the opposite. The space brings comfort and envelopes all those who enter, hugging them close, and inviting them to step inside a fictional world as they do so. Books line high, towering over me in rows on bookshelves.
I watch as both workers busy themselves, although not in any panic, skimming through the pages as they place books on shelves.
“Sorry, I’m late.” Garry rushes to take the seat opposite me. “A parent wanted to speak with me.”
He drops his laptop bag from his shoulder and onto the carpet.
“The dreaded unscheduled parent-teacher meeting?”
He rolls his eyes in understanding.
“Mrs. Mahony,” he answers. His eyes are wide and then sink, exhausted.
I blow out a long breath. I understand the exact feeling. I have the youngest of the Mahony girls in my class, and Garry has the eldest. Sweet girls. Intelligent and funny children. But Mrs. Mahony has visions of them becoming solicitors or neurosurgeons and wonders why her precious angels are not top of the class—as they rightly should be, of course. And any whiff of a minor struggle must be the teachers’ fault. The girls excel in most things if I’m being honest, but like any other child, they are learning, and have to get over the odd hiccup here and there. They’re eleven and eight, respectively. They want to be pop stars and influencers. It might change. Probably so. But why not let them be children? It doesn’t last for long.
I started teaching at Grand Ridge Academy in my first year out of college, four years ago. The school was looking for substitute teachers, and when both me and Garry applied, we got the jobs within two weeks of each other. After one year, we were both offered permanent positions and celebrated with loads of beer, and a bottle of tequila.
I’ve come to realize over the years, Garry is my constant. The one elem
ent that stuck, held my hand, wiped tears, and laughed with me. And we did so much of the latter. None of this is romantic, of course. It never even crossed my mind. We have a brother and sister relationship that sometimes I think he needs more than I do.
After college, we both moved into a small apartment in Penrith Town centre. It’s a large beach town that bustles as if it’s a city, and we took advantage of the nightlife. We enjoyed that time in our lives. When hangovers were for the weak, and we could still go to school and teach a class of screaming children for the day, albeit poorly. We may have only been twenty-five, but those nights had slowly dissipated and for the better.
I found a small bungalow on the outskirts of Penrith, just ten minutes from the school. I argued if we stayed tied at the hip as we seemed, Garry would never find someone to accept he lived with another woman. And who could blame them?
But I was wrong. He found that someone in Sally. She accepted me as if I was a member of her family, and we’ve become close friends. She’s never jealous of my and Garry’s friendship or that we work together. I love seeing him so happy because he deserves it more than I can tell him.
I’m pretty sure there was a promise made to Nick in the past to look out for me, and he certainly hasn’t failed him.
“Sally wants to know if you want to come over this weekend?”
I blink, realizing I’ve been in a daze.
“She’s going to ask Claire too. Are you up for it?”
I grimace slightly but smile. “You know Claire still has the constitution of a fish? She can be dangerous with wine.”
We both let out a laugh.
“Can you blame her? With her job, I think I’d hit the bottle every night.”
I agree, nodding my head with a hum.
“I’m not doing anything else, so why not?” I give in, not sure if I’m making the right decision. I swore after the last time I would never put a drop of alcohol to my lips. I always enjoyed our girls’ nights with wine flowing as often as the chatter, but I never seem to learn from the throbbing of my hangovers the following morning.
“And where will you be? Not in the middle of us, I assume?”
“Hardly,” he scoffs, taking a mouthful of coffee. “Bachelor party,” he explains, and I’m not sure if his expression is defeat or dread.
“We’re getting old, honey,” I sigh. “When your friends are getting married, you know it’s time to get a move on.” I eye him, bowing my head. I aim this remark at him, but I can’t help feeling a little lost in the moment.
It’s been over six years since Nick died, and I still have no desire to meet someone else. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m holding on to a love I can’t have, or a past no one could possibly accept. Maybe both, but I know I’m not ready. Someday, I hope.
“Yeah, you know you’re getting old when you’ve spent your weekend looking at rings.” His announcement is so nonchalant I almost miss it. I choke as the coffee gets stuck in my throat on the way down.
“Garry, you better not be messing with me?” My eyes are wide now, and the stinging I feel is a prickle of tears.
“I’m not.” His smile etches up proudly.
“Oh, Garry.” I leap from my chair and straight into his arms. I cup his excited face with my palms, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you.” He squeezes me a little tighter for a long second.
“When? When are you doing it? Does she know?” Too many questions need answering, and if honest with myself, I need this distraction in my life.
The nightmares have started again, as they usually do on nights with empty company and only my memories to keep my mind occupied. I shake my head as if I can physically remove the thoughts. This is Garry’s moment, and I don’t want to be selfish.
“In two weeks. It’s our two-year anniversary, and we had planned to go away for the weekend, anyway. She has no idea, I hope. I’m so nervous, Mandy.” He sits down again, wiping his palms along his black slacks, and he suddenly becomes the awkward teenager I remember him being. He brushes his fingers through his flaxen hair and removes his glasses to rub his fingers over the bridge of his nose.
“Relax. She loves you. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
I suddenly find myself playing with the locket Nick gave me for our anniversary when I was eighteen. I remember how he placed it around my neck and promised the next piece of jewelry would be an engagement ring. Now it’s the sign of a promise never fulfilled.
For so long, I was angry at him. I was angry at him for dying and leaving me behind to deal with so much grief, I was drowning in it. I was so mad he made me turn off those machines. I’m not as angry anymore, but why does it still have to hurt so much?
I bite my lip to distract my mind from running through the horrific memories I’ve replayed too many times and focus on Garry’s excitement.
“I know, and I love her, too. It’s just not my thing, this whole ceremony around an engagement.”
“Ah, break out the romantic Garry. It’s only for one day and she’ll appreciate it.”
He clasps his hands together, leaning happily into his chair. He seems content. As if floating on air.
He turns back to me, his gaze serious. “How are the nightmares?”
“Not now.” I wave my hand in dismissal. “You have just told me the best news ever and you want to talk about my nightmares?”
I should know better because he can read me like a book. Garry has seen it, the effect it takes on my body, day in and day out, particularly at certain times of the year. He was there to wake me when my screams didn’t. They aren’t as frequent anymore, not in recent years, and I’m grateful for that much. But when they do come, they are nasty and cruel.
“It’s one of those things.” I shrug at him.
He merely smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he doesn’t press me any longer.
“So,” he starts, “I have a guy I want to set you up with. We met through Sally. He’s a friend of her brother’s. He has his own business, his own house, and doesn’t sweat profusely.”
I cringe, thinking back to the last blind date I let Garry and Sally set me up on. Garry met him through his football club and although the guy was attractive, built like something from Greek legend, and had brilliant success, we had zero in common. And the guy got so nervous he sweated into his soup. I learned more about protein and how rest days were as important for your muscles as exercise, I can’t remember if we actually spoke about anything else. I excused myself at the end of the dinner, citing a headache as my reason for leaving so abruptly. But he made me gag, and I really had a headache from the numbing conversation.
“No thank you,” I refuse, frantically nodding my head. “Maybe another time.”
He winks at me with a wave of understanding.
“Of course,” he agrees, his mouth turning down. “Another time.”
I’ve always been a terrible liar.
Chapter Five
“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Garry offers as we exit the bookshop, leaving the warmth and smell of books behind.
“Thanks, but I have to pick up some puppets from the toy shop.”
He looks down at me, cocking his eyebrow in question.
“We are putting on a puppet show in a few weeks,” I explain.
He chuckles under his breath. “Okay, Miss Honey.” He kisses my cheek and hugs me quickly before saying goodbye.
I don’t oppose the nickname. Miss Honey from Matilda has always been a favourite character of mine and if I resemble her in my teaching, then I can do so much worse. I’ve met a few Ms Trunchbull’s in my time, though. That’s for certain.
I make a quick stop at Poppets Toy Store, the elderly owner knowing exactly what I need. He also guesses I’m a schoolteacher before I even mention it.
Am I so stereotypical?
Earlier, I parked my car two blocks away. But by the look of the angry grey clouds threatening thunder, I qu
icken my pace, hoping I’ll make it back before I get soaked. I clutch the brown paper bag closer to my chest and curse myself for not paying for a plastic one. But I’ve been teaching the kids about the planet lately and the plastic in the oceans. I couldn’t be a hypocrite.
A single drop falls like a brick on top of my head, and I shudder as another one slips down the back of my blouse. As if that single drop is the key to open a gateway to a violent downpour, bitterly cold drops fall like bullets from above and saturate the material covering my shoulders. I let out an involuntary screech and curse once again when I get to the road on Main Street and the red hand on the opposite side signals for me to stay exactly where I am. Cars drive past, one after another, and I pray to whatever heavens to let me cross the damn road before the rest of me becomes sodden.
It was unusually mild earlier, and I slipped off my jacket to leave it in the car.
I shiver, holding the brown bag even tighter as if my arms can somehow keep the paper from falling apart.
Then, as if the gods themselves have answered my prayers, the rain stops falling on me and a shadow appears at my side. I immediately flinch and step quickly aside, the heat from another body startling my icy cold skin. My foot fumbles over the other and I see myself tumbling, as if in slow motion. But before I can hit the ground, a firm grip clutches my upper arm, putting me swiftly back on my two feet.
I look up through wide eyes, my dripping hair sticking to my face, and my heart beats madly.
“Thank you,” I finally let out in a gasp, glancing upon warm eyes and an apologetic beam.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He gestures towards a large black umbrella covering us both from the elements. “These lights can be a nightmare.”
Not sure what to say, I gnaw at my lower lip between my teeth. “Thank you,” I repeat; it being the only thing I can vocalize.
I’m grateful to the stranger with the piercing blue eyes. And when I smile in response, his shoulders release his tension. “I’m really clumsy. I appreciate the umbrella,” I point up, crushing the now mushy brown paper bag tighter to my chest.
Losing Love (What Will Be Book Series) Page 3
