Watching Patrick at the recital was difficult. He tried to put on a brave face, but even the twins seemed to pick up on his illness. They didn't drag on his arms like they usually did, and their voices weren't as loud and piercing as was typical. Grandma seemed concerned, but it was Grandpa I really watched. He knew exactly what was wrong, and I think it bothered him to see this mysterious illness up close.
Jenna finished her piece with a flourish, and when she bowed deeply on the stage, Patrick clapped loudly with the rest of us. But it was obviously taking too much effort. Once all the performers had had a chance to shine the recital was declared over, and we all filed out into the cool hallway. Patrick had brought his camera, and he snapped pictures of Jenna posing in her black dress, Josie pretending to lick one of the walls, and even one of my grandparents walking away hand in hand.
I was standing next to him, so I wasn't expecting the flash to brighten my own face. I turned instinctively, but he was already lowering the camera, the image of my profile captured in that second. He looked at the image, and I saw how serene and detached I looked. He sighed deeply, the sadness in my tilted chin disturbing him.
He glanced up at me. “Can I ask for a smile? Just one?”
My family was already filing out the front doors of the recital hall, out into the cool night air. I didn't want to force a smile. But I knew that I couldn't deny his gentle wish. So I turned to him, focused on how it had felt to kiss him for the first time. Surprisingly, it wasn't much of a struggle. The memory of the darkened entryway, my quiet house… I was suddenly surrounded by it.
The flash went off, Patrick viewed the snapshot, and a thin smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked up from the display to meet my eyes, and the tender look he gave me made my knees want to give out.
“Thank you,” he said simply. He reached for my hand, and we followed after my family.
My car was parked next to the van, where my family was standing and waiting for us to catch up. Jenna and Josie promptly began teasing Patrick and me about the possible reasons for our delay, eyebrows wiggling suggestively, but Patrick just smiled at their antics.
Grandma was saying something to Grandpa, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was staring at Patrick, looking at me only when he felt my heavy stare. Our eyes connected and his face melted into something sickeningly close to pity. I quickly looked away at that point, and Patrick—without turning his attention away from my sisters—squeezed my hand tightly.
“Henry?” Grandma huffed. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
Grandpa shot her a quick smile, his voice only a little edgier than usual. “Charlotte, I told you the night we were married that I'd always pay strict attention to your mouth.”
She smacked his stomach with the back of her hand, but as she rolled her eyes I could see the hint of amusement she felt. “You old fool. Get in the car. I'm ready to go home.” She raised her voice. “Jenna, Josie, come on.” Before she'd finished speaking, Grandpa had taken her hand and was leading her around the front of the van so he could help her inside.
Jenna, standing closest to Patrick, was the first to react to Grandma's order, but she'd barely had time to turn before my Guardian was suddenly wrapping his arms around her thin form. My sister seemed a little shocked by his unexpected display of affection, but that didn't stop her from slipping her small arms around his waist, returning the hug.
“You did great tonight,” Patrick told her seriously. “Keep it up, all right?”
Jenna snorted. “I don't think Grandma would let me quit.”
He drew back with a small smile. “You're probably right.”
Jenna rolled back on her heels and Patrick's hand fell from her shoulders. “See you tomorrow?”
The skin around his eyes tightened, but his voice remained calm. “Maybe.”
Jenna nodded easily and moved for the van, sending an unconcerned wave in my direction on her way to the large sliding door.
Josie was standing nearby, curious as to why Patrick had suddenly embraced Jenna. She became even more bewildered when he turned to her and gave her a quick hug as well. “Take care of yourself, Josie,” he said after a slight pause.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You planning on dying or something?”
I swallowed hard, but Patrick only shrugged at her accusing tone. “Doesn't everyone? We all have to go sometime.”
“Yeah, well, save your words of love and wisdom, okay?” she patted his arm and wriggled out of his hold. She nodded to me. “See you at home—and don't plan on showering, ’cuz there won't be any hot water left.”
She darted to the open door, and that's when I noticed that Grandpa was silently observing the scene near the front of the van. I felt Patrick sidle up next to me and slipped one arm around my waist. Grandpa was eyeing Patrick. I realized he was debating only when he took the couple steps toward us, hand extended.
“Thank you, Patrick,” he said quietly as Patrick took his offered hand. “For all of your service to my family.”
“It has been an honor, sir,” Patrick returned indubitably—in no way could his sincerity be doubted.
I pursed my lips, fighting the urge to scream.
Grandpa's eyes darted to my face, and then he released Patrick's hand and stepped back. “I'll see you at home, Kate.”
I nodded, unable to speak. My eyes were beginning to sting, and my head was throbbing with the sudden pressure. Patrick moved his palm up and down my side, trying to soothe me as we watched my Grandpa fit himself behind the wheel, start the van, flash on the headlights, ease out of the parking space, and roll toward the exit.
Patrick's words were too light to be considered a whisper—much more like a thin exhale. “I'm sorry. I needed to say good-bye…”
I forced my head to dip as I pulled away from him to unlock the passenger side door, the key slipping twice as my shaking fingers tried to fit it into the lock. After Patrick's door was open, I rounded the hood to the driver's side. Normally Patrick moved quickly enough, and he would have had my door unlocked by now. But not anymore. By the time I was inside and closing my door, Patrick was barely closing his.
I reached for my seat belt, but before I could jerk it across my body Patrick spoke.
“Kate, can I ask you something before we go?”
I pretended to glance out my window, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears in my voice. “Yeah, sure.”
He didn't respond right away but took a moment to gather his thoughts. With my peripheral vision I could see him fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist, spinning it in endless circles. He continued to toy with it when his words finally came. “I told myself I wouldn't ask you this. I figured you'd tell me yourself, if you truly wanted me to know. But now that… that our time is so limited… There is something I would like to know.”
I forced my eyes open, as wide as they'd go, hoping that would keep the tears from gathering. I was still looking out my window. “You can ask me anything,” I told him honestly.
“Kate, can you look at me? It would be easier if I could see you.”
I blinked quickly as I slowly turned toward him, still trying to halt the tears just beginning to fall. There was a street lamp not far from where we were parked, and the yellowish light just managed to illuminate the inside of the car. Patrick furrowed his brow with concern when he saw the tears on my face, but there was a new emotion in his eyes that distracted me. He looked afraid. That was definitely not a feeling I'd seen him express yet. I was instantly worried.
“Patrick, what is it?”
He hesitated, essentially squirmed in his seat. His words were dim. “I don't want to hurt you. But… I want you to tell me about the accident. I want to know what you went through. Of course I know the after-effects, but I want to know how it happened. What happened? Can you tell me?”
It was certainly the last thing I expected him to ask about, but that didn't stop my whole body from reacting to his request. My pulse quickened, my breathing spiked. My stomach clenched and
my chest tightened.
“I haven't really talked about it,” I whispered reflexively. “Ever.”
“I know. I just…” He sighed, an edge of frustration in the sound. He quickly looked away. “I thought we'd have more time. This isn't how I wanted it to be. But I want to know what happened to you. To know what it was like for you.”
I drew in a sharp breath and curled one hand over the steering wheel.
Patrick didn't move or say anything else. He was waiting for my decision.
How could I deny him? Haltingly, I began telling the story that had completely changed my life. A story I'd never had to speak aloud before. A story I didn't want to remember.
“It was a Saturday. Dad had made waffles for breakfast. He always made a mess whenever he was in the kitchen. There was batter all over the counter. He'd even smudged some on his glasses—the wire part that went over his nose.” I cleared my dry throat and closed my eyes, lost in the memory of that morning. “Mom was wearing khaki shorts, and her hair was in a high ponytail. She saw the batter on his glasses but didn't say anything. He kept asking her why she was smiling so much, but she'd just shrug.
“I was watching the whole thing. I was trying to get some math homework done before we had to leave for Josie's soccer game. Jenna was playing something on the piano—something she'd written herself.” I opened my eyes and let them flicker to catch Patrick's expression. His eyes were riveted on me, his face pale. He didn't even seem to be breathing. “I haven't heard her write her own stuff since that morning,” I told him.
His head inclined ever so slightly, but he seemed reluctant to speak. He didn't want to distract me.
I bit my bottom lip and turned to stare out the windshield. “Dad was teasing Mom about her shoes. They were her favorite sandals, but they were falling apart. Mom just stuck her tongue out at him and flipped on the radio. She loved music. She couldn't do anything without music in the background.” I shook my head a little. “I don't think I'll ever forget these images. I mean, it was just breakfast. A normal Saturday morning at the Bennett house. But…
“It happened on the way home from the game. Grandma and Grandpa had joined us at the field—they didn't live far away—and Jenna and Josie clamored to go home with them. Grandpa invited me to come along, but my stuff was in my parents’ car. My dad told Grandma we'd see them back at the house. He had to swing by his office at the college. He had some summer term papers that needed to be graded by Monday. I climbed in the backseat. Dad started the car. Mom turned on the radio.
“He didn't notice the waffle batter on his glasses until he got back in the car, a stack of papers on his lap. Mom laughed—thought it was the funniest thing that he'd been walking around all morning like that. He pretended to be upset, but he could hardly hold back a laugh.
“He handed the papers to me. I put them on the seat next to me and glanced up from the book I'd been trying to finish all morning. The clock said it was 11:34, but it was always fast. Almost three minutes too fast.”
My whole mouth was dry. My grip on the steering wheel was strangling. I couldn't feel my fingertips, but I couldn't make myself let go. My right hand lay on my leg, too heavy to move, unable to do anything.
“My dad pulled us out onto the street. We were accelerating. Mom turned up the volume, started to hum along to the song that was playing. And then she suddenly screamed. I looked up from my book. The clock said 11:37. Something white was skidding toward us from across the intersection. It rolled right into us. Smashed us. Glass was everywhere, and I was being crushed. I tried to scream, but I couldn't.”
I was suddenly aware of Patrick's fingers around my right hand. He was gripping my fingers with all his strength. His face was drawn. He looked sick.
Somehow, I forced my left hand to uncurl from around the steering wheel, and I angled myself toward him. My voice was wooden as I rattled off the facts. “The light was green. We had the right of way. We were in the left lane, just entering the intersection when it happened. Someone came from the left side road, trying to turn in front of us, even though the light was red. A white SUV. It wasn't fast enough to make the turn but they were angled just right, and a moving truck in the oncoming traffic hit them head on and sent them rolling toward us. Dad tried to swerve, but it hit us anyway. Dad was killed instantly. Mom died just after the paramedics arrived on the scene.”
I was crying. I only realized it because I couldn't breathe, so I couldn't keep talking. Patrick had lifted my hand to his face. He was pressing his lips against my knuckles, his eyes shut tight.
I swallowed back a sob. “I don't remember much after that. I was trapped. There was blood in my mouth. I couldn't see anything. I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital, with Grandma and Grandpa standing over me. Grandma was sobbing, and Grandpa's eyes were red. I had some broken ribs, but there was some serious internal bleeding. I was pretty cut up—I had a concussion. Grandma just kept saying over and over, ‘We thought we'd lost you too.’ That's when I realized my parents were gone.”
Patrick's hand was shaking around mine, and the air in the car was tense. My body was shuddering as I tried to get control of my grief.
He didn't say anything. As the minutes passed and my cries were replaced by calmer weeping, I began to realize how weird that was. He was usually so quick to comfort me, and I'd never yet had this severe of a meltdown in front of him. I tried to gulp back my tears before turning to regard him, figure out why he was remaining silent.
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring out the front window, soundless tears curving down his cheeks and slowly dropping from his chin. The muscles in his jaw were flexing, and his whole body was rigid. He looked so tortured.
“Patrick,” I fairly growled, not meaning to sound so fierce. I cleared my throat as his eyes swiveled to meet mine.
He must have sensed my question. His attempt to smile failed miserably. “I'm sorry, Kate. I shouldn't have asked you to relive that. I didn't—” he cut himself off, his face contorting in pain. He thrust his head abruptly away from me, keeping me from getting a better handle on his emotions. His chest heaved as he sucked in a deep breath. He tried again. “I had no idea that… That it…”
I leaned toward him, surprised at the intensity of his reaction. My own tears seemed to halt instinctively as I reached out my free hand to touch his knee.
He trembled at my touch, his gaze still locked on the passenger window so I couldn't see his expression. His voice was lined with a cross between pain and desperation. “Forgive me. My death… the experience was painful. Agonizing. Physically, but emotionally as well. Forced from this life, and my family… But I suppose I never managed to understand how hard it is to be the one that remains behind. And now… I'm causing you to go through that again.”
The stinging was back in my eyes, but what could I say? Vent out my frustrations? Attack him with the ferocity of my anger at being abandoned yet again? I couldn't do that to him. I didn't have any desire to increase his misery. He was dying. I needed to try and make this easier for him, regardless of what I felt. What I would surely feel when he was gone. I couldn't focus on that now. I'd have the rest of my life to focus on the emptiness his absence would create.
“Patrick,” I whispered, my voice cracking. He didn't visibly react. I decided to play the card he had earlier. “Patrick, can you please look at me?”
His head ducked. He took a heavy moment to compose himself, and then he carefully slid his wet eyes to meet mine.
I didn't even try to smile, because I knew I wouldn't succeed. I tried to keep my voice from fluctuating with emotion. “Patrick, you're what matters right now.”
“But, Kate—”
“No. Or, if you can't accept that, fine. We're what matters.” I applied pressure to his knee, where my hand still rested. “What's happening right here, right now, that's what we need to focus on. All right?”
His eyes narrowed and he bowed his head, considering my words. “All right,” he echoed at last. I knew that he
wasn't going to stop thinking about me—and I certainly wasn't going to stop thinking about him—but we were both prepared to put on a front for the sake of the other.
As I started the car and aimed for the warehouse, I couldn't stop reflecting on Patrick's words: I never managed to understand how hard it is to be the one that remains behind.
I hated being left behind.
When I dropped him off at the warehouse, he asked if I could come by after school tomorrow. I promised I would, and we shared a quick kiss. And then he was gone. I tried not to let his absence overwhelm me. I'd see him tomorrow.
If only that was enough to stop the tears that drizzled down my face.
School passed slowly without Patrick. I tried to focus on Lee—making sure she was still okay with everything that had happened and asking how things with Peter were going.
“I haven't really seen him much,” she admitted. “We talked for a while, before Mom got home. And then they went out, and I haven't seen him this morning. I think he's afraid of freaking me out.” She shrugged. “I worried it would be really weird, being alone with him, but it wasn't. I mean, no more awkward than it ever was before, surprisingly.”
“Good. I'm glad.”
She gave me a look, glanced around to be sure that none of the special-needs kids were listening, and asked softly, “How long does Patrick have? This sickness… is it moving fast?”
I nodded, unable to look at her. I focused on the tray of food I had yet to touch. “Very fast. The longest anyone lasted was two weeks. Today makes one week for him, but… I think it's down to a couple days.”
She wasn't sure what to say, but that was okay. I wouldn't have known what to respond with. Because I couldn't lie to her—I wasn't okay with any of this.
When school got out, Lee told me that Rodney had asked to take her home. She offered that they could get the twins for me, an offer I was quick to accept. And so I was able to leave the school and head straight for the warehouse, hating that even those few extra minutes meant the world to me, because they were among his last.
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