by Toni Blake
“Dahlia,” he said. Just that, her name.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” She didn’t smile, but he believed her anyway.
“Me, too,” he told her, but then shook his head as he dried his eyes on his coat sleeve. “I mean, I’m not—because I can’t believe this—but I am, because...damn it, woman. I don’t want this to be happening.” He wiped his nose now, and someone shoved a handful of tissues into his fist.
“Of course not,” Dahlia said. “Me neither.” Her voice was too quiet, like an echo of itself. “I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Zack didn’t know what to say. There were a million things. About loving her and being loved by her and being so angry at her for stealing these last weeks he could have spent with her—except, no, he couldn’t have. He’d been paralyzed and neither of them was very portable right now. So life had stolen these weeks. Life had stolen a lot, from both of them, always it seemed, and he was mad as hell but there wasn’t time for that tonight—there just wasn’t time. And so he simply looked at her, reached out to take a hand turned frail and bony.
“We’re here now,” Suzanne stepped up to say. “We’re here with you, and we love you.” She stood across the bed, reaching down, touching Dahlia’s arm through fleecy pajamas laden with pink flamingoes.
Meg approached as well, beside Suzanne. “I’m here, too, Dahlia.”
“Sweet sounds, those. Your voices. I love them so,” she said. Her eyes flitted to each of them, her head unmoving on the pillow. “You’re all quite wet.” She let out a small laugh.
And they laughed, too—just because it was such a nice surprise, that little burst of joy. “It’s snowing like crazy out there,” Suzanne told her.
But Dahlia moved on to the business of dying. “There are letters for each of you. And, Zack, the important papers are in a purple metal box in my office at the café. I think you have keys to everything, but I’ve given mine to Giselle and marked what they go to.”
“I don’t care about any of that right now,” Zack said.
“It’s important, my boy. The things I can pass on are important to me.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Purple metal box in the office. And keys with Giselle.”
“Oh, and the blanket. Giselle, can you get the blanket?” As Giselle stepped away, Dahlia went on. “Girls, I finished the blanket this winter, as promised. I worried I wouldn’t make it, but I did.”
“What blanket?” Zack asked, confused.
“She’s been knitting a blanket,” Suzanne said, wistfully, “for three years. She vowed to finish it this winter.”
Giselle returned from the bedroom carrying a fluffy multi-colored blanket of browns, purples, and greens, which she laid on the foot of the bed.
“Zack, it’s for you.”
“You really made this?” She was a woman of many talents, but she’d only seemed to dabble in knitting, so the pretty blanket truly surprised him.
“Yes—and turned out quite nice, I think.”
“I’ll love it forever, Dahlia.”
“Now I’m very tired—but I have things to say.”
Zack’s chest tightened at the reminder that this was suddenly the end. It made no sense.
“Meg, my dear, come close.”
At this, Suzanne stepped back, allowing Meg to take her place.
“First, I know you’ve seen more than your fair share of cancer.”
Zack tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Meg had survived leukemia in her youth—a fact he’d tried never to think about, but suddenly it seemed more real, and he knew he shouldn’t have run from facing that part of her life. And of course together they’d nursed her great-aunt Julia to her death.
“Don’t let it haunt you, Meg,” Dahlia said. “Life is too grand for that. Your heart is large, I’ve loved you like a daughter, and I believe the life of your dreams is finally at your fingertips. I know what you’re going through is hard. You have every right to be hurt by Zack and Suzanne’s relationship, and hurt that she didn’t tell you. You’re so strong, Meg, that sometimes people forget you can be fragile, too. And I have no idea if these two have what it takes to make it—but either way, you have to keep loving Suzanne and move on. You have to see the bigger picture. For your sake as well as hers.”
She stopped, took a deep, labored breath, then looked to Suzanne. “Now Suz.”
Suzanne hurried back closer, and Zack’s heart clinched watching the love in her eyes for Dahlia, and the pain they were all trying to muddle through right now in order to be there for her.
“Sweet girl, I have adored you since the moment you arrived here on our lovely little rock. I’ve watched you struggle, I’ve watched you grow, I’ve watched you take chances and come out stronger for it even when the result stung. I’ve also seen you make mistakes that hurt others. It happens to the best of us, trust me. We all want to be loved for who we are, without conditions. And yet we put understandable conditions on the ones we love. It’s quite a conundrum at times. The important thing is to keep loving, even through the conflicts.
“I love you for many reasons, but I love you most now for taking care of my nephew when I couldn’t. Who knows where miracles come from—but I credit his amazing progress to you, and I leave this world more peacefully believing he’ll walk again. Even if on crutches or a walker, he’ll have a far better life than I feared six weeks ago. And more than that, you’ve opened your heart to him. And you’ve allowed in unexpected joy under extraordinary circumstances. And though I’ve not gotten to spend time with either of you since this occurred, my heart says there’s much joy and companionship there for you both if you allow it.
“Which brings me to you,” she said, shifting her focus back to Zack on the other side.
He met her gaze, stroked his thumb over the back of the hand he still held. “My boy, my dear boy. You didn’t get the family you deserve. And neither did I. But we found each other, didn’t we?”
He nodded. Stroked her hand again. Answered small, because tears threatened. “Yes.”
“You’ve been the light of my life, Zachary Sheppard. You’re the child I never had. The flip side is that I’ve spent most of your life worried for you. Worried for hurts you haven’t let go of, wounds that never healed. And I worry, frankly, how you’ll get by in a world I’m no longer in. But a funny thing happened on the way to my demise.” He flinched at that, but kept holding her hand, muscles tensed, back rigid, as he peered down into her loving eyes. “You hurt yourself so badly I feared no one and nothing could fix it. And then...Suzanne fixed it.” She stopped, blinked, sighed, let that sink into him.
“I’m no expert on matters of the heart, matters of romantic love. It’s been my downfall in life.” As her gaze shifted to each of them, Zack suspected they were all surprised by the words. “I’ve long talked myself into believing I was just too strong and independent to be with one man forever, and that I left a string of broken hearts behind me. And it’s true, I did. Only I’ve come to have regrets. I’ve walked away from great loves, and...why? Ah, those conditions we put on each other, I suppose. Even if I just called it a thirst for freedom.
“Love came easy to me—perhaps too easy, and therefore I didn’t value it as I should. I had three lovely marriages, and yet I always wanted more. More what? Some perfect, unattainable, unsustainable passion? An existence of wine and roses and perfect compatibility twenty-four hours a day? Only now do I realize that it doesn’t exist. And that I didn’t appreciate what I had in those men. We all have our path and I carved mine. I can only conclude it was all meant to be—even having to say goodbye to Pierre when I discovered I didn’t have much time left. But if I can give you, my dears, any lessons, it’s that I don’t want you to miss out on what I missed out on. Love is rarer than people think. Hold on to it, my dears. Hold on to it. Don’t throw love away. Listen to me, all of you. I don’t wan
t you to reach the end of your life and look back with misgivings as I am right now. I thought I was strong enough to do this on my own, die on my own. But that’s the thing I’ve learned. In the end, it’s the people you love that make life seem...like it mattered.”
She stopped then, shut her eyes. Zack’s throat threatened to close up with emotion, but he said without forethought, “I love you, Dahlia. I love you.” It wasn’t his usual way—had he ever even said those words to her before? It suddenly seemed a shameful oversight, but he knew she’d always known, and at least she was hearing them now. “I love you,” he said again.
She squeezed his hand. Then whispered, eyes still closed, “Love you, too.”
“We all love you,” Suzanne said. “So, so much.”
“Yes,” Meg added. “We love you, Dahlia. We love you.”
Dahlia went quiet, the room bathed in only the rhythmic sounds of a rolling, shushing tide on the TV they’d all forgotten about. She had no more energy to focus on her imaginary beach, but Zack hoped maybe the sound brought her some comfort.
Yet then she began to stir, flinch, jerk her hands away from being held.
“Are you in pain?” Giselle asked from where she stood next to Seth.
“Mmm,” Dahlia responded, appearing unable to say more.
“I’m increasing her medication,” Giselle said. “I don’t want her to be in pain.” And a moment later she came to the bed holding what looked like an eyedropper.
“What is it?” Meg asked.
“Morphine. We just put it under her tongue.” Giselle leaned down. “Dahlia, open your mouth for me. Can you open your mouth, love?”
Dahlia appeared to struggle with even that, still trembling, convulsing slightly. Zack struggled to hold back tears as Giselle gently maneuvered the little tube into his aunt’s mouth. “There we go,” she said soothingly, as if to a small child. “There we go. Better soon.”
Dahlia had clutched at Giselle’s wrist as she gave her the morphine, and appeared distressed as the nurse pulled back. That was when she whispered two words. “Hold me.”
And Zack bounded up on his good leg and bent over, taking her frail body into his arms. “I’m here, Dahlia, I’m here.” Just like saying I love you, he wasn’t sure he’d ever held her, either. “I’m here,” he whispered again.
His heart beat too hard as it broke inside him, and it would have been easy to...slip away himself, in a different fashion—to pull back from it all in his head, view it from a distance, like he was watching a movie and not really a part of it. That was what he’d done through most bad things in his life, his natural response to enduring the unendurable.
But he couldn’t do that now. Dahlia needed him. He had to be here for her, he had to love her through this until it was over.
Only when her body went limp in his arms and he realized the medicine was taking effect and also taking her in to sleep, did he gently rise up and sit back down, watching her breathe.
“She looks peaceful now,” Suzanne said.
With Meg’s great-aunt, he’d gone to the next room, left Meg with her aunt and the hospice nurse. He’d told himself it was a private thing, death, that he didn’t belong there. He was pretty sure he’d been wrong, though, because if Suzanne were to walk away right now, he’d feel as alone as that little boy who’d watched his mother do the unthinkable.
An hour after they’d arrived, all sitting in chairs around the bed now, Dahlia’s breathing began to change, becoming even more audible.
Zack found himself leaning down near her ear, whispering the words in his heart. “I don’t want to say goodbye.” As if he’d believed such a declaration could change the outcome. But nothing changed. He squeezed her hand, hoping she would squeeze it back—but she didn’t. He began to rub her arm ever so gently. Just in case she could feel it, in case it brought comfort.
And indeed, Dahlia seemed to rest easier, relaxing back against the pillow, and Zack watched as a small smile graced her face. She opened her mouth to murmur, “There are angels in the room.”
Meg reached for Seth’s hand—and Zack would have held Suzanne’s, but she was too far away, so they locked eyes and that was enough. After which he found himself glancing around, at the ceiling and into shadowy corners, for the angels. He didn’t see any, but wanted to believe they were there.
He was still searching when Suzanne asked, “Is she still breathing?”
He looked down at Dahlia. They all watched, imaginary waves the only sound, as Giselle moved in with a stethoscope, pressing it to her chest. And Zack kept waiting, waiting for his aunt to take another breath, because surely it wasn’t quite time for this, surely she would be with them just a little while longer. Just a few more minutes, Dahlia. Just a few more, and maybe then I’ll somehow be ready to say goodbye.
But then Giselle stood up straight and said, gently, “I’m sorry. She’s gone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SUZANNE WOKE UP to the sun shining in nearby windows. It felt normal at first—she lay next to Zack, it was wintertime, he was rehabbing, they were lovers. But then the sharp blade of memory pierced her heart. Nothing was normal at all. Dahlia had died last night.
At the crushing weight of it, she dissolved into silent tears. Having grown up in a house where the simple act of crying could bring down the wrath of her father in an instant, she had perfected the art of quiet crying, and the old impulse kicked in automatically now—she didn’t want to wake Zack and make him cry, too. So she rolled to face away from him and let the tears trickle onto her pillow, reaching for a tissue box on the end table. There’d been no gentle easing into this.
The snow had ended for the strange, sorrowful walk home—and despite the hour and strange circumstances, Giselle hadn’t given them a choice, pretty much insisting they go a short while after Dahlia’s passing. “It’s best,” she’d said. As they’d left, Giselle had handed out letters from Dahlia for each of them. No one had read theirs; they’d all taken them home for later.
Suzanne had pondered calling for the same snowmobile that had originally carried Zack to the doctor, but it had felt somehow as if it would add insult to injury. And so despite their utter exhaustion and the difficulty of moving him, the strange party of four had set out in the snow—Seth and Suzanne supporting Zack, and then eventually Seth and Meg when Suzanne could no longer carry his weight.
She’d walked behind them then—Zack flanked by his ex-lover and her new boyfriend—feeling as if she’d stepped into a nonsensical dream. Were they all thinking about regrets, as Dahlia had advised? Or were they just muddling through, trying to get home where they could all collapse and mourn and try to wrap their heads around this? Suzanne attempted the former but only succeeded at the latter.
Every time she thought she’d gotten a grip on her tears, they returned. Stop it, stop it now. You have to be strong, for Zack. She turned to watch him sleeping. And thought again about everything Dahlia had said to them. Are you going to let me love you, Zack? In a forever sort of way? God knew he’d been through enough lately that maybe he’d really changed, but she wasn’t sure how to trust that yet. Are you going to forgive me, Meg? She prayed Meg would take Dahlia’s advice to heart, but last night they’d been like estranged sisters being cordial only for the greater good of the family. And hearing Dahlia’s words had reminded her—Meg had suffered a lot. That could be easy to forget because Meg usually glided through life so smoothly, not letting it show. Maybe she was done living life gracefully, done turning the other cheek. Maybe she was mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.
Inhaling a fortifying breath, Suzanne quietly forced herself up and out of bed. She wasn’t sure if Zack would eat, but she intended to make breakfast anyway because it was healthy to stick to routines. Mostly the routine of his exercises—he had to keep doing them, no matter how devastated he might be—and the routine of breakfast seemed like a good start
toward that.
Though she, too, feared how Zack would survive in a world without Dahlia—the one person who’d given him unconditional love. Would he be the same man Suzanne had come to know after this? He’d just lost the very foundation of his life.
It was cold, so she built up the fire, starting with orange embers left from overnight. Padding to the kitchen in yesterday’s socks, she pondered what to cook. Eggs and bacon? Pancakes? Omelets? What would be the most restorative? The most comforting?
What are you thinking? Food can’t fix this.
Then she covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. Dahlia is gone. Dahlia is really gone. As a barrage of new tears came, she rushed to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Lowering the toilet lid, she sat down and buried her face in her hands as sobs overtook her. She couldn’t stop them. She might have been skilled at quiet crying as a girl, but when Cal died, she hadn’t had to be quiet, and for the first time in her life, she’d learned to cry out loud. And now she couldn’t hold back, giving in to the sorrow until she sank off the seat and onto the floor. Dahlia—why? Why did you have to go? I thought you’d always be here. Why?
When the bathroom door swung open, she looked up to see Zack on his crutches, peering down on her. “Why are you in here?” he asked simply.
She bit her lip, reached to wipe her eyes. “I had to cry, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
He gave his head a short, sad shake. “You don’t have to hide from me, Suz. We’re in this together.”
She blinked, heartened by the sentiment even if she said, “But it’s...worse for you than me. You’ve loved her a lot longer.” And she’s everything you had.
“Yeah, but...you loved her, too. And it’s okay. Okay to cry.”
She nodded and, realizing she remained inelegantly sprawled on the floor, started getting to her feet.
“I’d offer to help you, but...” He loosed his hands from the crutches just long enough to point at them.
