Surviving Love

by M. S. Brannon

  I push the angry feelings from the memory of that phone call out of my way so I can properly care for my aunt. I step into her room and check her monitors. The home healthcare system has been working closely with me and teaching me how to take care of her. They’ve shown me how to properly bathe her, how to read the machines and change the catheter bag. I do it all, just so she will be comfortable and loved in her final days.

  When I moved here, this was the last thing I expected to be doing. According to my initial plan, I would have been gone weeks ago.

  I help dress her in a new nightgown I’ve purchased for her and then she falls asleep again. I am concerned she won’t make it through the dinner, and I know she won’t eat the meal. Right now she’s only surviving on what’s in her IV bags and that’s it.

  Drake and Mia come through the door, bringing in the cold November air with them. I hold Mia in my arms as she requests to go see her nanny. When we walk in the room, Connie is sleeping again and I instruct Mia to be quiet as I turn the TV on low.

  I then walk back to the kitchen and see the rest of the family has made it. I start pulling items out of bags and setting them on the counter. Delilah comes to my side and puts her arm around my waist, pulling me in for a hug. She’s a lot shorter than me, then again, girls typically are when you’re almost six foot tall. As Delilah is hugging me, I bend down and rest my head on top of hers. She takes my other hand in hers and just holds me, knowing today is going to be very hard.

  “What can I help you with?” I ask as I break away from the embrace.

  “Will you peel potatoes?” Delilah hands me a large sack of potatoes and a knife.

  I get started as I grab a potato in my hand and start taking the skin off. I’m standing at the kitchen counter, but I can see the living room clearly. I get lost in my thoughts while I watch Drake interacting with his brothers. They are all very close and completely different from one another. When Mia comes running into the room, it doesn’t take long before she’s controlling the conversation and demanding all of their attention. She is a darling and as sweet as she can be.

  Delilah moves to my side and starts peeling along with me. We stand there in silence until she breaks up my wandering thoughts. “He’s a lot happier now.”

  “I’m sorry?” I ask, not understanding who the he is that she’s talking about.

  “Drake. Since you’ve came into town, I’ve seen him smile more. It’s nice.” Delilah’s voice is quiet. I can’t think of anything to say. Drake and I haven’t really spent a whole lot of time alone together. We will randomly talk at the bar or text one another about Connie’s condition, but that’s it. Well with the exception of last weekend. “He hasn’t been happy for a long time. It’s nice to see him smile.”

  Curiosity gets the better of me as I look out to Drake, wondering what has caused him to be so sad. “What happened to him?”

  Delilah expels a deep breath and chokes back tears of her own. “It’s not my story to share, Zoe, but just know it wasn’t good. It still isn’t good.” This gets my attention and I now need to know what I’m getting into. I have to know what has caused him to break and not feel what I feel when I look at him. Wait…wait? How do I feel? Is it different? Is it the dreaded feeling of love?

  As the questions zigzag around my brain, I focus once again on my sack of potatoes and ignore any other thought.

  ***

  It’s four o’clock when dinner is done. As Darcie and Delilah put the food on the table, Reggie and Jake move the recliner to the head of the table for Aunt Connie to sit in. Drake and I walk down the hall toward her bedroom when he pulls me into the bathroom and then shuts the door.

  I look at him confused, but before I can say anything, Drake wraps me up in his arms, crushing me to his body.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I left the way I did, but I’m just…”

  “It’s okay. Let’s just make it through today,” I plead, knowing today will be impossible.

  He gently pushes me away from his body and looks deeply in my eyes. He’s debating with something, and I hope it’s his decision to kiss me. Drake leans down and plants a kiss to the top of my head. It’s friendly and stays away from the more he thinks he can’t have, though.

  We quickly exit the bathroom and I wipe the loose tears from my cheeks as we walk into Aunt Connie’s room. She’s awake and smiling.

  “So, how should we do this?” Drake asks.

  “Here.” I start to push the equipment forward. “It’s all portable. I can move this, but we’ll have to get her the wheelchair—”

  Drake stops me mid-sentence as he leans down and picks up Aunt Connie, cradling her in his arms. She’s so thin, and practically weighs nothing. “I’ll carry her and you can follow behind me.” I nod and start pushing the IV bag and heart monitor machine behind Drake as he carries my dying aunt to the Thanksgiving table.

  Drake gently sets her in the plush recliner as Reggie and Jake assist in pushing it up to the table. Delilah helps me move the equipment next to her and Darcie gets a blanket to drape over her legs.

  “Hi, Nanny!” Mia says from her chair seated next to my aunt.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Her voice is breathless and weak. “The food smells so good. Thank you for doing this.” She takes another deep breath as she continues to speak. The rest of us remain quiet, allowing her final words to be heard. “In the tradition of Thanksgiving I want to tell everyone what I’m thankful for.” I sit next to her and hold her hand in mine. I look across the table and Drake is seated on the other side of Mia, putting jam on a warm dinner roll. “This is the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years, despite the fact it will be my last.” Tears from Delilah are heard and my own start to leak from my eyes. “Now, don’t cry, ladies. This is a good day.”

  I look around the table, overwhelmed by this family. I barely know these people, yet they’ve done so much for me and my aunt in the little time we’ve been acquainted. Then there is Drake. He is someone I wasn’t expecting to meet. When I recall all the small gestures over the last few months—the care he has for my family, his family and me—I finally understand the emotions I’m feeling. I think I am falling in love with him. What else would explain the loneliness I’ve felt, or my constant smile when he walks into the room, or the undeniable connection we’ve had from the moment our eyes met. It’s only been a few months, but I don’t need any more time. I am in love with Drake Evans.

  “I just want to say how grateful I am for this little angel,” Aunt Connie says, nodding over to Mia, who is quietly snacking on a roll, getting jam all over her face. “I am so thankful Drake and Presley moved in next door to me a couple of years ago I miss her every day. She was such a precious soul.” I can’t help noticing she said was, meaning in the past. I soon come to the conclusion she is no longer living. Now, all the random comments are starting to blend together. Before I can run away with it, Connie squeezes my hand and whispers, “Then there’s you. I know forgiving family isn’t easy, but you must have your peace with your mother before the regrets takeover.” I nod. “And thank you to the rest of you for making this day special.”

  With that, we all begin to scoop up our food and start the traditional Thanksgiving dinner conversation, which consists of the boys discussing football, forcing us ladies to listen. As we sit around the table, I realize the moment is perfect for Connie. I’m happy we could do this for her.

  Chapter 18

  Zoe

  The house is quiet again now that the Thanksgiving dinner is over and our company has left. Drake and I put Connie back in her room shortly after we began eating and she’s been asleep since. It feels good that we were able to give her what she wanted before she passes away. Not too many people get that option, so I was glad I could do it for her.

  I pull the blankets from the hall closet and make a pallet on the couch then sit in the dark, feeling overwhelmed with two pieces of information. One, I am in love with Drake. And two, he will never love me until he all
ows himself to move past Presley’s death.

  My mind is boggled with scenarios as to how she died. Was she in a car accident? Was she ill? Did she kill herself? As the questions float around in my brain, I know there is only one way for me to find out.

  I pull my laptop off the side table and hook up my portable internet device. Google is flashing on my screen, staring me in the face. I place my fingers on the key pad and hesitate for a moment then I begin to type. I first start by typing Drake Evans Sulfur Heights, MI in the search bar. Links start to pop up and I soon find records of adoption with his name on it along with Jake and Jeremy Evans, the documentation stating that Reggie has primary guardianship for the boys. After I do the math, I figure out that Drake was seven or eight-years-old when that happened. This means something happened to their parents to give Reggie guardianship of all the boys.

  I study the document and come across a name I’ve only heard once, but the reaction his name has exuded from Drake leads me to my next search. I type Jeremy Evans Sulfur Heights, MI and soon it’s flooded with newspaper stories. I click on the top link and see the headline Drug Ring Busted with Evans’s Arrest.

  What the hell?

  “This afternoon, authorities with the Drug Enforcement Agency’s office arrested twenty-two-year-old Jeremy Evans after 450 ounces of heroin was found in his possession. The long time investigation came together when a tip came from Evans’s accomplice, Carter Brown. Brown is currently housed in I-Max prison in Ionia, MI after he plead guilty to the lesser charge of man slaughter for the murder of Presley Quinn. Brown turned state’s evidence against Evans in exchanged for the lesser charge and is currently serving a ten year sentence. Evans…”

  The article goes on, but I push my laptop off my legs, astonished.

  Murder?

  I stand from the couch and grab a soda from the fridge. I crack it open and chug down the contents. This explains the rage Drake has inside of himself. The mother of his child was murdered by someone affiliated with his brother. I am lost as to what I am supposed to do with this information, though.

  Last week when I started to look up Drake’s past I was worried the information would make me want to run, but after reading what I just have, it makes me want to stay. I don’t want to leave him, or his family, or Mia. I want to be with him and help him mend his aching heart. I know he has it in him because of how he’s been with me. Every ounce of the newly founded love I have for him makes me want to try and help him.

  Drake

  I am awoken abruptly out of sleep from the ringing of my cell phone. I sit up quickly in bed and answer it. “Zoe…are you okay?”

  She is sniffling on the other end and my heart starts to beat wildly in my chest. She doesn’t even need to say it because I know the day we’ve been dreading for the last few months has finally arrived. It’s time to say goodbye to a friend.

  As she’s trying to get the words out, I quickly get to my feet and start pulling my clothes on. “Sh…she’s close, Drake.”

  “I will be there in ten minutes. I will be right there.”

  She disconnects the phone and I go into robot mode. I don’t want to think about the emotions that will come when I get to Mrs. Fields’s apartment or how I will react to them. I just want to get there and be there for Zoe. I know she’s hurting right now, so I will myself to be brave for her. I have to be brave. I have to keep myself together. Later, in the quiet of my room, I can fall apart—when it’s over.

  I drive quickly to Mrs. Fields’s apartment, and when I walk in, the space is dark and solemn. Associates with hospice care are gathered in the living room having a private conversation. One older woman looks at me with pity in her eyes.

  I can feel myself starting to breakdown, but I don’t. I swallow the hurt and choke down the looming pain. The feelings arising in my gut are killing me. I can’t ignore them and I can’t overlook the similarities to when Presley died. Although, we’ve known for some time that she was not going to make it through the year, the pain of losing someone you love never lessens. I swallow deeply again, trying to get the large baseball to go back down that’s rising up my throat and eliminating my ability to breathe.

  As I walk back to Mrs. Fields’s bedroom, I see Zoe sitting in the chair, holding her hand. Tears are streaming down her face, and she is holding back from sobbing. Her knee is bouncing wildly up and down, and she looks like she’s barely hanging on. I know how she feels more than she could possibly understand. I’ve been looking like that for well over a year now.

  I enter the room and walk to her side, resting my hand on her shoulder. She grabs it immediately as we listen in silence to the faint beeps of the machines. My eyes affix on the numbers as I slowly watch her blood pressure drop and her heart rate decrease. It’s agonizing to know it won’t be long now.

  “I’m going to miss her,” Zoe whispers to me. I squeeze her shoulder and nod.

  At that point, two hospice staff enter the room and we all wait. At two thirty-eight a.m., Mrs. Fields’s body finally gives out and she’s gone.

  Zoe bends down, kisses her hand and quickly exits the room.

  I take the opportunity to say something to Mrs. Fields. I bend down and kiss her forehead. “I love you. You were like a mother to Presley and I, and a grandmother to Mia. I will never forget you.” Then I step from the room, allowing the hospice workers to do their job.

  Zoe is trapped in the bathroom, refusing to let me in when I knock. “Zoe, open the door,” I plead from the other side.

  “Just go away, Drake!” she screams through the door. It’s pointless to talk to her now, I should know. Out of respect, I leave her in the bathroom to grieve because, again, I know exactly how she feels.

  I sit in the living room and think about what’s to come. I will have to cross the threshold of a funeral home again and relive the biggest nightmare of my life. The reality of what I’ve experienced with Presley is still too raw, even after almost two years, and now I have to do it all again with Mrs. Fields. How will I manage to make it through? I just know the moment I walk into the funeral home, it will be like walking through a torture chamber. I will have to grieve yet again for someone I’ve lost.

  The very thought pisses me off. My entire existence can be summed up with people always coming into my life and then leaving shortly after they arrive, gone forever. It’s like I don’t get a chance to really know someone because time and fucking God take them away from me. I can feel the familiar rage boiling under my skin. This I why I hate God—because, if he wanted me to praise him, he’d keep the people I love around for longer than a few years. I’m always losing someone. I can’t get close to anyone because before I turn around they will be gone and it’s His fault.

  I take deep breaths in and out, trying to suppress the desire to slam my fist into something. My skin is hot and stinging with rage. My feet begin to pace like a caged animal and my shoulders start to tense. It won’t be long before I will start scaring the shit out of all these people, yet I can’t contain my feelings.

  I start to head for the front door to at least attempt to cool off with the bitter, cold winter air when Zoe emerges from the bathroom. Her eyes are swollen and red. She looks completely devastated. Before I realize it, my rage completely evaporates. I take a glance into her broken eyes and am immediately aware that she needs me to comfort her, to ease some of the pain I know she’s feeling.

  I meet her halfway up the short hallway and pull her into my arms. She stiffens for a moment then falls into my body. She doesn’t wrap her arms around me—she’s too weary for that. She only leans in to my frame, using my body to keep her from collapsing.

  I guide her in the kitchen as the hospice staff finish tending to Mrs. Fields. The sounds of the equipment and her body being transported from the apartment sound through the air, the noise is sickening. I hold Zoe tighter, swaying back and forth until the apartment is empty and the noises have ceased.

  Several minutes go by before Zoe speaks. “I want to go home. I c
an’t be here anymore.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you.”

  She only nods then grabs her coat and laptop bag.

  We walk to my car in silence. She’s sitting in the passenger seat staring off into space as I move around the windows, scraping the frost off the glass. When I’m done, I get into my car and drive the short distance to her apartment. Zoe’s breathing becomes normal again, but every so often she will take a deep breath to suppress the onslaught of emotion trying to escape. I recognize all the signs—I’ve been doing them every day since Presley’s death.

  I pull into the parking lot and shut off the engine, but Zoe just sits there, refusing to get out. Her body is shivering from the cold and heartache as a few tears leak from her eyes. I exit the car and swiftly walk to her side. Opening the door, I pull her out and lift her into my arms. She rests her body next to mine as I carry her into her apartment. I step in the door and set her down where she pulls off her boots and tosses her things on the floor next to the door.

  “I’m going to take a shower. Thanks for…for…bringing me home and…” Her words trail off as she heads for the bathroom, shutting herself inside.

  I stand in the entryway of her apartment, debating with myself. When it was me, I didn’t want anyone to be there for me. I didn’t want to hear the words spoken from my family that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to be by myself and fall apart. I’m debating with myself on whether to give this to Zoe. Should I leave her here alone to grieve? Or should I stay?

  Before I can think about it too much, I remove my coat and boots then toss them on the floor next to Zoe’s stuff. I walk to the bathroom, hearing the shower sounding from the other side, however it’s the faint crying that captures my attention.

  I start undressing myself, pulling my shirt over the back of my head, sliding my jeans and boxers down, and then slipping off my socks. I open the door and find Zoe in the shower, holding her face in her hands as her shoulders bob up and down. When I slide open the shower door and step in with her, her head snaps up then she falls apart as she falls into me. I catch her before she tumbles to the shower floor and hold her up against my body to allow her the time to simply cry.