by Freya Barker
“Hi,” Spencer says, looking at me with even more curiosity, but his sister stays silent.
“Sofie?” Nicky prompts.
“Yeah, hi.”
My niece’s brush-off response doesn’t offend me in the least. I understand it. I see the awareness in her eyes and nothing she sees bodes well, and she knows it. My presence here is simply additional proof that things are not all right.
“You guys hungry?” I ask to break the tension.
As expected—he’s male after all—Spencer is quick to confirm with enthusiastic nodding of his head.
“Come on then,” I tell him, noting my sister’s eyes are closing again. “Let’s see what we can drum up.” I take the boy by the hand and start walking out of the room. “Sofie?” I throw over my shoulder, purposely casual. “I think your mom is ready for a nap, want to see if you can help her into bed?”
I can see her hesitation as she looks from me to the hospital bed on the other side of the room, before her eyes settle on her mom. I catch Kathleen’s eye, who seems to easily understand my silent communication.
“Come on, Sofie. Let’s tuck your mom in,” I hear her say, as I lead Spencer into the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later Nicky is sleeping, Sofie snatched a banana and headed up to her room, Spencer is in front of the TV in the rec room downstairs, and Kathleen comes walking into the kitchen.
“Where is Rafe?”
I steel my shoulders, knowing a third-degree was coming. “Had to check on things at the clinic,” I answer, feigning a casualness I don’t feel.
But instead of the probing questions I was expecting, she mumbles, “Hiding already,” and slips out the back door.
From the kitchen window I see her stalking over to the clinic next door.
Rafe
I’m a coward.
I saw Kathleen pull up and my kids get out of her van, but instead of heading home, I ducked my head and kept going over the notes Rick Moore, a colleague from neighboring Winona who’d looked after my practice, had left for me.
Not that I was really processing anything I read, my mind still trying to come to grips with the upsets of this past week. Hiding out in the clinic had become a habit I’d grown into over the past year already and is a safe place to slip back to with life throwing a bunch of curves.
I plan. That’s what I do.
From when I was first placed with my foster parents at nine years old, I started plotting what my view of a perfect life should look like, since up to that point mine had been far from it. My foster parents—both since deceased—were kind enough, but being older and without kids of their own, remained detached during the ten years I lived with them. I craved the sense of family but realized early on I would have to rely on myself to create it.
I had it all worked out in my head. When I came to Eminence and met the Borans for the first time, I thought I’d found it. The town and the clinic were exactly what I’d hoped for, and the family it came with seemed perfect—as did their daughter.
Then I met Taz: younger than her sister by a couple of years and as different as the sun is from the moon. Opinionated, stubborn, irreverent, and uncontrolled, she was like turbulence on a smooth flight. Disruptive and jarring, but at the same time brightly exciting in an almost forbidden way.
Alive and effortlessly tempting. Like a moth to the light, I couldn’t help but be drawn in by her and it terrified me.
I was almost relieved when Nicky ended up pregnant. Even though unexpected, it was something I was able to fit into the future I’d always envisioned.
Look at me now. Oh, the irony. My marriage a contrived farce, the mother of my children dying—and to top it off—the one woman who can make my heart beat out of my chest with just one of her crooked smiles shows up out of the blue.
I’ve lost all control.
The door to my office flies open.
“How long are you gonna hide in here?”
Kathleen has never been a big fan of mine. She’d been a friend to Taz long before she became one to Nicky, and neither of those roles has won me any favors. Whether intending to or not, in one way or another I’ve hurt both sisters and she knows it. She probably knows more than I do.
“It’s work, Kathleen. I’m hardly hiding,” I lie.
“Right,” she scoffs, clearly not buying it. “Well then, when you’re done working you may want to go check in on your kids, instead of leaving them to someone who’s a stranger to them.”
“You’re the one who asked her to come,” I fire back, realizing instantly I’m acting like a two-year-old.
“Yeah, I did, because Nicky asked me to, and because—whether you like it or not—your family needs her. That doesn’t absolve you, though.”
I know she’s right. Like I said, I’m a coward.
I drop my head and run my hands over my face. “Let me check in with Lisa. I’ll be right over.”
“Okay.” Her voice is suddenly much softer. “I’ll just say my goodbyes and be on my way. My kids are waiting at home.”
“Thanks, Kathleen,” I mumble, looking up at her.
“Sure thing. Any time you need a swift kick in the ass, I’m your girl.”
“Why is she here?”
I sit on the edge of Sofie’s bed, nudging her hip. “Scoot over, Pipsqueak.” When she does, I stretch out beside her, tucking her close. “I assume you’re talking about your mom’s sister? She’s here because your mom loves her very much. She needs someone to help her, and it so happens your aunt is a nurse.”
“How come she never visits?”
I should’ve known it would be my daughter—with a natural inclination to challenge everything—who asks the hard questions. So much like the aunt she’s grumbling about, it’s almost painful.
“Not so easy when you’re living in Africa, Sofie. You’ve heard of Doctors Without Borders, right?” I know she has, because I heard Nicky proudly talk about the work they do, not that long ago. She nods almost reluctantly. “Your aunt, Taz, works as a nurse for them. She’s been in several countries in Africa, running clinics and looking after people who don’t always have access to medical care.”
Her reluctant interest is piqued. “What countries?”
“I know she just came from the Congo, and other than that I’m not sure, but I think she may have been in Ghana at some point too. You should ask her yourself.”
Her answer to that is a shrug. “I still don’t get why she has to come all the way from Africa to help Mom.”
Now I recognize the fear in her voice and I tuck her even closer, resting my chin on her head.
I had a chance to check in with Nicky earlier, while the kids were getting ready for bed. She mentioned Taz’s suggestion to let the kids guide when a good time to tell them would be. Sofie’s comment indicates to me she knows the answer to her own question but is not ready to hear it. So I’m careful in my response
“Don’t you think it’s better to have family than a bunch of strangers in your house?”
She looks at me, the lashes framing her pretty brown eyes batting tears away.
“I guess so.”
Chapter Four
Taz
“Are you going to be back for dinner?”
I stop Rafe right before he slips out the kitchen door.
Every morning this past week, he’s done the same thing; disappear as soon as the kids leave for school and come home just in time to put them to bed. Left me to deal with Nicky, the kids, and my parents.
Don’t get me wrong; reconnecting with my sister has been a gift even under these circumstances. Dealing with the kids has been more of a challenge, especially Sofie who still regards me with a healthy dose of suspicion. There’d been a few difficult questions, most of which Nicky had dealt with, but early this morning I woke up to my niece sitting on the edge of the couch where I’ve been sleeping at night, her eyes on her sleeping mother on the other side of the room. She looked like she’d been crying for a while, but when I tried to comfor
t her; she shrugged me off and dismissed my offer to talk about it with a shake of her head before slipping back upstairs.
My parents had come by daily, my mother directing angry glares at me as if the current situation was one of my making. My dad looked lost and I had no clue how to make inroads with either of them.
Tonight they’re supposed to come by with dinner to spend some time with the kids, and I know it’ll be difficult because of what Nicky asked me this morning.
“I’ll try,” Rafe mumbles.
“Try harder,” I snap.
His eyes narrow on me. “Is there something I should know?”
“You mean other than your wife dying?” I hiss, stepping closer in hopes Nicky won’t overhear. “Because she is, you know. No matter how deep you choose to bury your head in the sand.”
“I’m not—” he starts, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“Give me a break,” I scoff, before handing him a dose of reality. “She told me this morning she thinks after today she’ll be ready for morphine, but doesn’t want me to give it to her.”
He looks confused. “Why?”
“Because she knows as well as you and I do what it means once we start with the morphine. She doesn’t want to put that burden on me.”
“Oh.” Realization steals over his face.
Morphine brings relief, but only covers up the underlying cause of the pain and discomfort of fluid collecting around the major organs when a heart pumps ineffectively. The inevitable side effect is unfortunately a slowing down of both breathing and heart rate. In short, morphine will speed up the dying process and my sister does not want me to carry the burden of administering it.
I brush impatiently at my eyes. “You need to call in palliative home care, and you need to be here when Mom and Dad show up for dinner.”
I stiffen when he suddenly reaches out and pulls me against his chest, his arms banding around me. “I’ll call and I’ll be here. I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Without conscious thought, my hands slip around him, grabbing onto the back of his shirt. I press my cheek against him and breathe in his scent. The comfort it provides painfully growing like a balloon in my chest.
Just like that I’m transported nine years back, the last time we stood like this. Me with hope in my eyes and my heart on my sleeve. His arms had felt safe then too, until my mother walked in and those same arms pushed me away. That hurt, but not as much as Mom’s anger. She yelled, telling me, in no uncertain terms, how horrible I was for throwing myself at my sister’s fiancé, especially with a baby on the way. That was the first I’d heard of the pregnancy. The information tore through me like a knife.
The memory still burns ugly.
Ashamed, I blow out a lungful of air through pursed lips and move my hands to his chest, pushing firmly. He releases me quickly and I step out of his hold.
“Taz…”
I ward off anything more he has to say with a raised hand. “Just be here, please. Okay?”
His answer is a sharp nod before he walks out the door. I press my eyes shut and deeply inhale through my nose.
“Taz?” I hear my sister’s voice calling from the living room.
I plaster a smile on my face as I walk in. “Hungry?”
It strikes me how much her appearance has changed, even in the past week. The lines and angles of her face stand out in stark contrast against the graying tinge of her skin. Her eyes are even more sunken and it’s almost like I can see death creeping in.
“Not really,” she says with an attempt at a smile. “I think I’ll save my appetite for dinner tonight. With a bit of luck, Mom’s making her macaroni and cheese.”
My mouth waters at the mention of our mother’s mac and cheese. She makes it from scratch with cream, three or four different cheeses, ham and bacon bits, and tops it with breadcrumbs for a crispy crust. At least fifteen thousand calories per serving, but tastier than any other I’ve ever had, bar none.
“Sounds like a plan,” I tell her, approaching the bed. “I’ll put some water on for tea as soon as I help you get dressed.”
“Let me rest a little longer. I wouldn’t mind that tea, though.” But before I can move, she reaches for my hand and grabs on tight. “Thank you for being here. It means everything.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “There isn’t a place on the face of the earth I’d rather be.” I bend over her bed and press a kiss to her forehead. “Bonus kiss,” I tell her. “Making up for all the ones we’ve missed.”
I put the kettle on in the kitchen, struggling to keep my emotions in check. I thought I knew what it was like to have your emotions worn raw, but nothing compares to this. When I have two mugs ready with teabags I feel a little more in control, something I desperately need for my upcoming conversation with Mom. I grab the phone and dial.
“Everything okay?” My mother sounds almost breathless as she answers the phone.
“She’s okay,” I quickly reassure her.
“Oh. Natasha.” Her voice is immediately flat when she hears it’s me and I roll my eyes to the ceiling. God, give me strength.
“Yeah, it’s me, Mom. Listen, I’m not sure what you had planned for tonight’s dinner, but do you think you could make your mac and cheese?”
It’s silent on the other side for a moment when I hear her derisive snort. “I’m making a rib roast. Nicky needs the iron to keep her strength up and it’s Rafe’s favorite. I’m not about to change my plans because you suddenly have a hankering for my cooking.”
Yikes. Shot to the heart. She can’t seem to help herself. This time it’s me who needs a minute to rein in the need to lash back. This is not the time.
“It’s not for me, Mom,” I say deceptively calmly. “It’s for Nicky. She says she’s saving her appetite, hoping for your mac and cheese.”
“She needs to eat—”
“Mom…”
“—Or she’ll get too weak. You’re a nurse, you know her body needs fuel.”
“Mom,” I repeat, shaking my head. “She’s tired. I’m not going to force her to do anything she doesn’t feel up to, including eating something she doesn’t want, and she doesn’t want to eat anything but your mac and cheese casserole.”
Another silence before she finally responds. “Fine. I’ll bring mac and cheese.”
The next thing I hear is dead air. She’s hung up.
Christ.
Rafe
“Grapes can be very dangerous for Charlton, Mrs. Myers. Remember last time you fed him fruit salad and he was throwing up?”
I try to be gentle with the senior citizen, who brought in her overweight beagle because he was puking. Again.
“But aren’t vegetables and fruits supposed to be healthy for you? You told me he had to lose weight.”
“Yes, Mrs. Myers, but just because they’re healthy for people doesn’t make them healthy for dogs. Haven’t you been feeding him the low calorie food I gave you a sample of last time you were here?”
She has two bright red spots on her cheeks as she mumbles something under her breath I don’t quite catch.
“Sorry?”
“I said, that special food is three times as expensive as the regular stuff. How am I supposed to afford that on my tiny pension?”
I drop my head. We do this song and dance every time she comes in with the dog. Mrs. Myers is not suffering. Her husband, a local dentist who died five years ago, left her very well taken care of, but I don’t have the heart to call her on it. I’m sure the woman is lonely, and I can’t deny she loves her dog; I wish she’d look after him better.
“Lisa?” I call out and my assistant sticks her head in the door.
“Yes?”
“Can you give Mrs. Myers a large bag of the low cal Health Diet, please?”
“A large bag?” Lisa’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline.
“Correct.”
I catch my assistant’s eye roll before she disappears into the back.
It takes anoth
er fifteen minutes before Mrs. Myers—my last appointment of the afternoon—drives off with a sixteen-pound bag of Health Diet in the trunk of her Honda Civic, and her beagle, Charlton, hanging out the passenger side window, his tongue lolling from his mouth.
“You do realize you’re technically paying that woman for bringing her dog in at this rate, right?” Lisa comments from behind me.
“Hmmm,” I mumble, neither confirming nor denying. My mind is already on what’s waiting for me at home.
I slip by her and duck into my office where I quickly finish my notes on Charlton’s file, shut down my computer, and turn off the lights. It’s time to get my kids off the bus.
“Give her my love,” Lisa says when I tell her I’m off.
“Will do. Just in case, would you give Rick a heads-up before you roll out? Things seem to be moving quickly.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Rafe.”
Hearing the emotion in her words I avoid looking at her, having a hard enough time dealing with my own. “Me too,” I mutter, as I pull open the door.
“What’s wrong?” Sofie asks me the moment she steps off the bus and sees me, immediately suspicious.
“Nothing, Pipsqueak,” I assure her, as I hoist Spencer up on my shoulders and grab for my girl’s hand. “Was done early so I thought I’d wait for you at the stop. Grandma and Grandpa should be over soon. Grandma’s bringing dinner.” I ramble in an attempt to distract.
“Is Grandma making dessert?” Spencer asks above me.
“Probably,” I tell him, glancing at his sister.
Her eyes are firmly focused on the house at the end of the driveway, her lips set in a straight line.
Fuck, I want to scoop her up too, take both my kids, and run as far as I can from the heartbreak I know is waiting inside.
“Hey, guys,” Nicky says a tad too brightly when we walk in the door.
She’s sitting in a corner of the couch, her feet up on the ottoman, covered with a quilt. It’s at least seventy-five degrees outside, hardly the type of weather that requires an extra layer. The inability of her body to retain heat is another of the many signs her heart is failing. Another is the cough that seems to have developed these past two days, signaling fluid build up in her lungs.
