Holding On

by A. C. Bextor

  Well that was rather subtle, I must give Hem some credit. Since when does Hem control his fury during one of dad’s onslaught of insults? Oh, yes, Father Marcus. Well thank the hell of all hells for Father Marcus being here.

  Dad throws his napkin on his plate in disgust and then I hear it. I hear those words that no child wants to hear. It’s coming from Mom. She’s sobbing at the end of the table. She looks alone and lost in thought but I hear it again and again in my head. It’s like a bad video replay where someone gets hurt. Rewind and play, rewind and play….pause.

  “I’m sick, Patrick. I’m dying. Please stop the arguing. I’m dying and there won’t many more family dinners while I’m healthy enough to enjoy them. Please stop, son. There. Now you have your reason for being here.” Mom’s voice sounds like only a shadow of her old self.

  Hem gets up, dropping his empty scotch glass on the table with a heavy hand and makes his way towards Mom. He passes Father Marcus while looking at him in revulsion, as if any of this is his fault. Just the position he plays at the family gathering is enough to put Hem off.

  He asks her no questions but grabs her from her chair and holds her close. She’s so small and looks frail in comparison to Hems large body. They stand, swaying for a few seconds before Hem stands back, both hands on mom’s face and he looks at her. He’s visibly shaken.

  “Mama, what do you mean you are sick and dying? I don’t understand.” Hem’s voice is now so serious and quiet. All the rage from the confrontation with dad has gone, hearing our mom’s words.

  “I have cancer honey, I’ve been sick now for quite some time. It had started in my ovaries but now it has metastasized into the uterus, bladder, and finally my lymph nodes. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I just couldn’t. There’s never been a good time. With little Mace announcing she and Greyson’s upcoming nuptials, and you’re always so busy with the boys, I just didn’t know when a good time was. Now, it has progressed so much that I feel that you should know sooner than later as later may be too late.” Mom pauses so she can catch my expression of sadness then she continues.

  “To be honest I started to feel weak months ago, but I just thought maybe I was doing too much. After Mace left for school I was so depressed and felt so alone and almost unnecessary to life that I started making new hobbies and spending more time with my friends at the club. Golf, tennis, just throwing myself into whatever I could to take up time that I just didn’t notice. The years were moving so fast and then recently I was just so tired. Warren suggested I go and get a physical because no matter how much rest I was getting I never felt very well. So I did as Warren asked and the result is...well, you know now.” My mom looks into her hands, twisting them in front of her. She’s only 53 years old, how is this even possible? So young and it is so unfair.

  I sit stoic. Here’s my mom, the most emotionally withdrawn person I know. Usually she’s soaked in her drink, but she’s sober right now. She wasn’t wobbling down the stairs from vodka; she was wobbling from being weak because she’s sick. Dad looks the way he does because he’s been carrying this burden alone for some time now. For how long exactly, I don’t know but it has worn on him.

  Father Marcus comes over to stand by me. He grabs my hand from the table and puts it in his and as if he wants to reassure me that I’m able to talk to him if I need to. The warmth of human touch encourages me to look at my mother, still standing in Hem’s arms. Both his arms are covering her almost completely now and I know the safety she feels there, I am familiar with it.

  Also, I know how Hem is feeling. She’s my mom too. He feels that if as long as he holds her, he’s able to keep her sickness at bay. My heart shatters for Hem, that man and his mother have a bond that cannot be explained with words, just felt with the heart. I need to say something, anything to break this silence.

  “How long have you known, Mom?” It’s really all I can say. I should run to her, but I can’t. I keep hearing the words in my head that she professed just moments earlier. She’s dying. My Mom is dying. My heart hurts and I need to get out of here but I’m frozen to this spot.

  “Pretty girl, does it matter? I wanted you and Patrick here so I could explain, but really there’s nothing to explain now. You know why you’re here. I love you all so much. I’m going to take it one day at a time and please do not tell me how I can be saved. Warren and I have seen many doctors here in Ohio, you have to know that he has done all he can for me. I’ve spent some time with Father Marcus and the Parrish trying to get answers to questions I should have asked long ago, but I didn’t because I never made the time between my vodka tonics and afternoon naps. But love, I’m at peace with this now, please be at peace with me. I need you, all of you.”

  Her lips quiver as she says the last sentence. My Mom has never needed any of us, now she does. She’s asking us to help her into a peaceful death, ironic really. Hem knows nothing about peace because of her and her choices. I don’t want to help her find death, she’s my mom and she’s asking this of me, something impossible that I can’t help her with. At least she’s been visiting Father Marcus to educate her on how to die according to God. I feel sick and faint.

  “Mama, you’re not going to die.” Hem is in denial. I can see it. It hasn’t hit him yet. He’s still holding her tight and now her face has gained some color, only because his hold around her is so strong and protecting. “You’re not going to die, Mama.” He repeats. He is breaking my heart.

  She pulls back from him so she can sit down again. He cradles her frail body as she takes her seat as if she will break even while sitting.

  “My beautiful boy, I am. Let me enjoy my last months with you and then, let me go. Give me peace within the family, Patrick. I need you to do this for me, please. You and Warren need to work it out, get things straight so that when I’m gone Mace still has her family, and they aren’t always at odds with each other. You need this family too, son.”

  I find my voice again. “How long do you have? Do you know? I mean, is there a limit or a date or something you can tell us about what to expect from now on? I mean, surely since you have seen specialists and they are telling you there is nothing to be done, that they have an idea of how long we have left with you. I’m reaching my limit here with this Mom, this isn’t some polite everyday conversation and I have no idea how to even just ask you the date that you plan to die? You’re leaving, no Mom never mind, you're not just leaving, you’re dying.” I say this, and as I hear dad gasp I feel Father Marcus move his hand to the nape of my neck, silently asking me to be quiet and stop adding stress to an already sensitive situation. God, I just want out of here. Please, I need to get out of this house.

  Hem hiccups in quiet sobs; I see it and I can hear it. He’s hiding his face in mom’s hair and it is finally more than I can bear. God, I need fresh air.

  I’m out! I stand up, releasing Father Marcus’ hold on me and no way can I look back at Hem again. I start for the door and I hear the footsteps behind me. I know its dad. I can’t deal with him right now either, he kept this from Hem and I and I don’t even know for how long. How many days have my parents robbed me of knowing this about my mom?

  “Sweet pea, please wait. Let me grab you a coat.”

  I don’t wait. I keep walking. Faster paces come on Mace, faster. If I can just make it to the door I can escape and pretend this isn’t happening. This is not happening. Mom.

  Without turning around I have my hand on the door and I’m ready to bolt.

  “Dad, I need a few minutes. Please just leave me alone and go back to Mom. You and Hem need to wrap your shit up for tonight. Mom doesn’t need it, no one does!”

  I turn around and look at him now. He’s broken. My strict, clean cut, loving dad looks broken and lost. I can’t place my finger on the other emotion I see in his eyes. He looks almost angry. I know he’s angry at Hem, even though my father can visibly see the love Hem has for Mom and I both, Dad still hates him just for existing. There is just something else in his eyes.
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  “Ok, but take this and come back when you can. Don’t leave yet Sweet Pea, okay?”

  “Okay Daddy.”

  I take the proffered jacket and swing it above my shoulders before making my way outside. I shouldn’t leave dad and Hem like this, to clean up after the storm of mom’s delivery but I want to go to a happy place. Somewhere I can remember what it was like as a child and never a worry given to losing a parent or loved one.

  I walk the path from the backyard to the lake where Sadey and I met as kids. Memories of childhood envelope me from the darkness to the light. A better day before this one, it is what I need.

  Mom is leaving. No, mom is dying. I won’t have a mom. Although she was a distant mother, she was mine. It hurts my heart to think that she won’t always be here. I don’t think a child gives thought to losing a parent so young, we shouldn’t have to since it goes against everything we want to believe. Growing old shouldn’t just be a luxury.

  Right now, I just want to go back in time and relive my childhood. Spending times together when we were always happy if for no other reason than just being together, all of us. Hem was living at home and we would spend hours at this small lake with Sadey and Shame. The four of us were inseparable growing up.

  My mom would finally call us in from being outside all day once darkness covered us and she had long since gone in to make dinner. We would come back to the house for ice cream, before even eating our meal. She would give us that to keep our minds off the fact that she was repairing our skin from the evening we spent being a buffet to every bug and mosquito in the area.

  I know this now, I can acknowledge it. This was her way of loving us. She never said the words, never muttered an “I love you” but many memories I’m remembering now, her actions said words she never voiced.

  Mom is dying now. She said “I love you all” back at the house. I had almost missed it, covered in grief but now I can hear it in my head as if committing it to memory, but sooner or later my memories will fade.

  I turn to head back to the house to go help Hem with mom. I know he needs me and I’ve gathered myself now enough to go back. Just going back on a few good childhood memories has helped clear my head for now.

  I hear a voice over by the tire swing my dad put up when I was a kid. It is connected to the oak tree that Shame and Hem had built a tree house in for Sadey and I when we were six. Our make believe castle that the boys guarded against all outsiders, keeping us safe. I know its Shame standing here, I know before even turning around to look. I can feel him here. He’s found me at our childhood escape.

  “Hey Princess, you alright?” He hasn’t moved towards me. Smart man, he's gauging my mood from a distance. He looks nervous. He hasn’t seen me for some time now, but all that forgotten upon the news of mom.

  I deep sigh. “How did you know to come? How did you know I was here?”

  “Hem called me, said you left the house. He’s worried about you kid, but he doesn’t want to leave your mom right now, so he asked if I could come by to check on you. I figured you would be here; it was the first place I looked. So, are you alright?”

  He’s beautiful. His face is etched in concern. Concern for Hem, for me, my mom, and even Warren. I love this side of Shame and wish this was a moment I could enjoy it but the burden is weighing so heavy I forget to breathe.

  I hit my knees to the hard ground. Having Shame here, his familiarity to the family and the surroundings of a past that I’m so scared to forget finally become my undoing. I feel the wet grass from the evening rain but I don’t care so I just sit on my knees with my face in my hands. He steps to me quick, and his hands go immediately to my back in comfort. He sits himself down in the grass, his back against the tall oak then picks me up and sits me in his lap. Ever the gentle tattooed giant, he doesn’t want me wet or cold while I’m grieving out loud. He just rubs my back and lets me cry. His cut is cold from the fall breeze and mist but that doesn’t keep me from burying my head onto it. It is safe and I feel protected. Closing my eyes, I just release my shock that has finally turned to sadness.

  He continues to just rock me back and forth slowly as I cry, murmuring into my hair that it will be alright, that I will be alright. I can’t really make out all of it between my sobs and hiccups, but I do hear his familiar words, those words I waited for as a child, then as a teenager. Beautiful words from this beautiful man that came here during my time of grief and no matter how angry he was at me before this moment, he won’t leave me until he knows I’m okay. There’s a certain peace in knowing that.

  “I love your face, Sweetheart”. He holds my head tighter to his chest and just continues rocking and kissing at my hair and temple in turn.

  “She’s not gone yet, baby. You still have time and you need to use this time to come to peace with it. You have an opportunity to let her go without any regrets.”

  I know he’s right but it doesn’t help me right now. He moves my face so that it’s moved away from his chest and we are looking at each other closely. Taking his hands and moving them behind my neck, he traces his thumbs across my cheeks to sweep away my tears. His thumb presses under my chin to hold my head up to his.

  “She’s not gone yet.” He repeats.

  “Hem isn’t okay, Shame. He loves her so much, the bond those two have is just so strong. I’m worried about him, he doesn’t have a dad and Warren is horrible to him, always so hateful.” I’m adding to my worry now.

  “Sweetheart, Hem is much stronger than you give him credit for. Let him absorb what is happening and then you lean on us for support. You’re going to need it. It isn’t Hem I worry about, it’s you. You’ve been lucky enough to never experience real loss in your life yet. Hem has always protected you from this worlds ugly, so this will hit you and when it does your family is here.”

  Shame finishes and then moves my head again so it is tucked under his chin tightly. Rocking back and forth, my sobs start to subside and I am able to close my eyes as my body relaxes and finally molds into him.

  “Did you talk to Hem? When he called you, did he sound okay? He was so broken when I left, but I had to walk away. Father Marcus being there, it was like they invited the Grim Reaper to dinner.”

  He waits for just a beat, then I hear him sigh, “Yes Sweetheart, I talked to Hem. No, I won’t lie to you he is not okay. You’re right about him and Lynda. The bond they have is strong, but she will help him through this. I’m here as well. Like anything else, it will just take time to get used to the idea. I have to tell ya though baby, probably not good karma to be comparing Father Marcus to the Grim Reaper.” I feel him smiling at the crown of my head and I let out a relieving giggle, my relief is short lived.

  I turn away from Shame’s neck when I hear a throat clearing from behind me and hear the voice laced with anger.

  “Are you about finished here, Shame? She’s mine to console, not yours. Put her down and walk away, friend. I don’t want your disgusting hands on my girl. Mace get your ass over here, now.”

  Greyson. Greyson is here. How? Oh of course, Dad called him. Nice. Even while grieving Dad ensures that I remain on his perceived right path of life.

  Shame stills below me. Still gripping my back but now he’s pulled me even tighter to him. Malice leaks from Greyson onto Shame. I know I should do something or say something but honestly, I don’t have the energy for this right now. The protective cocoon that I have been spinning in with Shame feels far too safe to leave but I know I have to calm the storm that’s about to break.

  This is our place here at the lake and at this moment Greyson is the outsider and Shame will protect anyone that enters, in the form of thief, foe, or fiancé. The definitions all mean the same to Shame and Grey is all these evils wrapped in one.

  “Greyson, you’re here. Thank you. I wasn’t sure if anyone called for you. I’m sorry I didn’t, after the news I was just in shocked and came out here to get some clarity.” I’m rambling and I’m nervous. I feel this, so does Greyson.

  �
��So you were thinking that you would find some clarity in… this… him? I don’t believe this shit! Are you fucking kidding me right now, Mace? Didn’t you and I already talk about this once, recently if I remember right? From the looks of it, we should probably talk about it in greater detail.”

  Oh God. I know that he is referring to the night in the car, outside the Club. My insides twist a bit and now not only am I nervous, I feel actually a bit afraid. I flinch a tad under the hold of Shame. I try to further explain.

  “Hem called Shame so I would be around something familiar and not sitting alone scared and upset, Greyson. You know as well as I do that you hate Hem. Hell he knows it. It isn’t as if Hem has you on speed dial, come on. It’s no more than that. Stop overthinking this please, for me.”

  “Overthinking? No, I’m not overthinking. Apparently I’m seeing this very fuckin’ clear. What the fuck are you doing sitting on his lap, Mace? Warren called me concerned for you and apparently there is no need. You are out here, sitting under your childhood brothel being felt up by some undereducated piece of shit that doesn’t know his ass from his Harley. Do you want to be a club whore? Do I treat you too well? God, is that it? Maybe I am too soft with you? How about I put my cock in your mouth and call you a slut and see how you respond, hell my dick is getting hard just thinking about that scene. Jesus, Mace. I know you or at least I thought I did. I see it on your face, you wanna be a slut? Well alright baby, let's go home so I can bend you over and ass fuck you like a good little whore like you deserves.” He’s seething in anger and it’s just rolling to Shame and I in waves now.

  Before I can gather a response I’m being thrown, literally thrown into the air and set down square on my ass. Shame has moved so quickly I haven’t registered what’s about to happen. I’ve seen Shame pissed, but I realize in this moment that I have never seen anything like the Biker Shame about ready to thrown down, and I can’t move because everything is happening so fast that I am registering all of this in slow motion. I mouth for Hem to help, my voice is lost.