Bonus Kisses

by Freya Barker

  She does as I ask and I dump the blueberries I’ve been rinsing under the tap on a few sheets on the counter.

  “What are you making with those?”

  “I’m going to freeze them. Did you know blueberries are your mom’s favorite?” I sneak a glance and catch her nod. “She’s is not very hungry with that medicine she gets. It also makes her mouth really dry. I thought if we froze the berries, she would at least get a taste of her favorite food and the cold would feel good in her mouth.”

  Sofie sidles up to me at the counter and helps me spread the berries onto a baking sheet. “I think she’ll like it,” she shares in a soft voice when I slide the tray in the freezer.

  “I hope so.”

  I clean up the counter and wash my hands at the sink when Sofie speaks again.

  “Why is grandma mad at you?”

  From the mouths of babes.

  My eyes are automatically drawn in the direction of the living room, where I know my parents are holding vigil by Nicky’s bedside. They showed up after their weekly trek to the United Methodist Church in town. When Rafe took Spencer to get some groceries and Chantal headed upstairs to give everyone some space, I opted for the kitchen.

  “That’s not an easy question. First of all I think Grandma is upset because your mom is sick and she can’t help her. I think we all feel like that. As to why she’s upset with me: maybe because I haven’t been home in a long time.”

  I stifle a relieved sigh when Sofie seems to accept my answer without questioning further. I feel like I’ve just navigated a minefield. Parenting is apparently not for the weak of heart.

  Before she has a chance to pelt me with the next difficult question, her dad and brother walk in the back door, loaded down with bags and bags of groceries.

  “Did you guys leave anything on the shelves?”

  Spencer giggles when I take the two heavy bags he dragged inside from his hands.

  “We decided to stock up. Didn’t we, buddy?” Rafe ruffles his son’s hair and darts a grin in my direction. I almost drop the jar of peanut butter at the impact of it.

  Mom walking in is for once a welcome distraction.

  “Good Lord, what did you all get?” she asks.

  “Enough so we won’t run out for a while.”

  Any tension between Mom and Rafe after their run-in—over me—last night seems to have dissipated. I’m relieved. The last thing Nicky needs is more discontent at her bedside.

  “What would you guys like for dinner?” Mom asks.

  I’d planned to do soup and sandwiches for an easy meal, but I’m not about to stop my mother if she wants to do the cooking instead.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs,” Spencer announces at the same time his sister blurts out, “Pizza!”

  “Why don’t we do spaghetti tonight, and save the pizza for a day nobody feels like cooking,” Mom diplomatically intervenes. “Maybe we can order from Nando’s and get some of those cinnamon sticks they have for dessert?”

  “Taz?” I look up to find Chantal sticking her head around the door. “I could use a hand.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, following her out into the hallway.

  “Your sister had an accident. If we do it together we can get her cleaned up in no time.”

  Dad’s sitting on the edge of the couch, looking a little uncomfortable when we walk in.

  “Hey, Dad, do you mind if I help you into the kitchen for a bit? Chantal wants to check on Nicky real quick.”

  His responding nod is almost grateful.

  I grab his walker, help him up, and guide him down the hall. Rafe must’ve been watching the door because he moves quickly toward us. “Keep everyone here for bit?” I ask quietly. “We need to change the bed.”

  “Sure,” he whispers before turning to my father. “Come on, Dad. Let’s get you a drink. It’s about that time.”

  I hear Mom asking what’s going on, but I leave it to Rafe to answer.

  “I’m sorry,” Nicky apologizes when I walk in. “I was too late.”

  “Hush.” I quickly take up position on the other side of her bed, and without wasting any more words, we quickly deal with her wet bedding and nightie.

  “It’s up to you,” Chantal suggests when Nicky is cleaned up, “but I brought a catheter. It would take me two minutes to place and you wouldn’t have to worry about any accidents. Or,” she adds, “as an alternative, we can get you some adult diapers.”

  Exhausted, Nicky waves her hand. “Catheter.”

  Regardless of the fact my sister was naked as a jaybird a minute ago, I step away from the bed to leave Nicky with some dignity while I let Chantal take care of the catheter. By the time she pulls the covers over my sister, Nicky looks asleep.

  “I’ll keep everyone out of here for a bit so she can sleep,” I whisper to the nurse.

  “Don’t.” The voice coming from the hospital bed is firm. My sister’s eyes are open. “I like the sounds. It makes me feel part of life.”

  I make my way over to the bed and lean down, touching my forehead to hers. “You’ll always be part of our life.”

  “I love you, Natasha,” she mumbles her eyes fluttering shut again.

  “I love you too, Veronica.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and press a kiss on her cheek.

  “Bonus kiss,” I tell her, but she’s already drifted off.

  Rafe

  Time becomes tangible when every second carries more weight than the one before.

  That’s what it feels like.

  Over the course of yesterday, Nicky drifted further and further away. Her moments of wakefulness becoming more infrequent and less lucid. Taz explained that was, in part, due to the morphine, but also the ever-waning energy as her body struggles to keep blood flowing.

  Her extremities are so cold and the tips of her fingers and toes are turning blue with the lack of oxygen.

  I helped Taz change the sheets in the master bedroom for Sarah and Ed. It was Taz who suggested they stay. I don’t think they missed the implication. We can all see Nicky’s close to the end.

  Even Spencer, a normally energetic kid, is sensing it, and both he and his sister have taken turns quietly snuggling up to their mom in her bed.

  We even watched a movie last night, trying hard to maintain some normalcy. I ended up carrying the kids to bed while Sarah and Taz helped Ed up the stairs.

  For the past couple of hours, I’ve been listening to my wife’s labored breathing, while Taz is dozing on the couch.

  “Please…” The rasp of Nicky’s voice holds an urgency that has Taz and me both rush to the side of the bed.

  Taz takes one look at her sister and turns to me. “Get Chantal.”

  I don’t argue, and rush upstairs to knock on her door. I don’t wait around and hurry back downstairs to find Taz sitting on the edge of the bed. She has Nicky’s hand clasped against her chest and her lips pressed to her sister’s forehead.

  “Nicky,” Chantal’s voice sounds behind me and I step out of her line of sight. “Do you want me to sedate you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is surprisingly strong, even as her panicked eyes find mine. “I’m sorry,” she mouths, reaching out her free hand and I grab on.

  “No more apologies.” My voice sounds raw, which is pretty much how I feel.

  Nicky looks from me to her sister and back again. “The kids…”

  “I promise they will always carry you with them.”

  She briefly closes her eyes when Chantal administers the medication, only to open them wide searching for ours.

  “Don’t leave me alone.”

  “We’ll be right by your side,” Taz says firmly when I lose the ability to speak.

  Holding each of our hands in hers, Nicky’s eyes drift shut as the midazolam takes effect. I glance at the display on the TV receiver and note the time: three forty-seven.

  Chantal disappears into the kitchen and within minutes I detect the smell of fresh coffee. Then I hear her footsteps going up
stairs, a soft knock on the bedroom door, and the sound of muted voices as she wakes Nicky’s parents.

  Taz and I hold quiet vigil, feeling her hands go slack in ours.

  At seven twenty-five, with her kids still asleep in their bedrooms upstairs, Nicky releases her last breath.

  We never let go.

  Chapter Seven

  Rafe

  “She wouldn’t want that.”

  My head snaps up when I hear Taz voice what I am thinking.

  The past twenty-four hours or so, things have been surprisingly calm. No conflicts at all, only a sad and subdued atmosphere while we all seemed focused on supporting the kids.

  Sofie and Spencer are with Kathleen, who offered to look after them while the rest of us are at the funeral home to make arrangements.

  I look at the ostentatious, heavy oak casket lined in pink satin Sarah wants for her daughter.

  “How could you possibly know what your sister would want?” she snaps. “You’ve hardly been around enough. Suddenly you’re an expert?”

  I can almost visualize the punches landing by the way Taz flinches at her mother’s words. Still, she seems to steel herself and responds calmly.

  “Not an expert, but Nicky brought up the subject of her funeral last week. She was clear about what was important to her. No visitation or viewing, and a biodegradable casket. She wanted us to remember her spirit instead of cry over the body she left behind. Her words, not mine,” Taz quickly adds.

  “I was part of that conversation,” I interject, before Sarah has a chance to throw another barb. “She said since a funeral is for loved ones, we could make that into whatever we wanted, but that she should be able to decide what happened to her body.”

  “But it’s pretty. My daughter deserves something pretty.”

  I lower my eyes at Sarah’s plea and the depth of pain on her face.

  “Sarah…” Ed, who’s been very quiet, lays a shaking hand on his wife’s arm. “Veronica deserves to have her wishes honored. She deserves us remembering her beautiful spirit, so let’s focus on that.”

  The rest of the meeting, I’m happy to let Sarah take the lead. I lean against the doorjamb as the funeral director goes over the rest of the details with her.

  I’m not religious, but on the rare occasion my wife wanted to take the kids to church, I went with them. I understand having a service for Nicky is important to her parents, and maybe to the kids as well, so I don’t voice any objections.

  “Are you okay with all this?” Taz whispers behind me. She’d opted to stay outside in the hallway, probably not wanting to risk another possible scene.

  I turn my head to the side and whisper back, “Yeah. They need this.”

  “I guess. Okay, well, unless you need me to jump in the fray for you, I’ll be outside. I can’t breathe in here.”

  I immediately feel the loss of her heat behind me, but resist turning around to watch her disappear down the hallway.

  “Ready to go?”

  Taz is leaning against my truck when her parents and I walk out of the funeral home forty minutes later.

  “Did you get it worked out?” she asks, looking at her mother.

  “Friday. I need to find her something to wear and drop it off tomorrow.” Sarah seems a little at a loss.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Taz’s eyes dart to me. “I mean, if it’s is okay with you, of course. I was going to suggest it might be nice to let Sofie pick clothes for her mom. Perhaps Spencer could pick some jewelry for her to wear.”

  I swallow hard, moved she thought of something that hadn’t even occurred to me: giving the kids a chance to do one last special thing for their mother.

  “Nicky would like that,” I confirm before turning to her parents. “Mom? Dad?”

  Ed nods, managing only the barest of smiles at his daughter as he battles his emotions.

  “She would,” Sarah says softly, glancing at Taz before she puts an arm around her husband and flashes a sad smile at me. “I should take Dad home. It’s been a long morning.”

  It’s silent in the truck when we head out to pick up the children. I occasionally glance over at Taz to gauge her mood, but she seems miles away. When I pull up alongside the curb in front of Kathleen and Brent’s place, I reach over and put a hand on her arm.

  “You okay?”

  She blinks her eyes a few times before focusing them on me. “I’m not sure,” she answers surprising me with her honesty. “I feel…hollow. Numb. I keep waiting for the moment it’ll all hit me. It’s like holding my breath in anticipation of a huge wave I know will crash over me, and there’s nothing for me to hold onto. I’m afraid it’ll drown me.”

  Before I can react, she’s pulled away from me, has the door open, gets out of the truck, and starts walking toward the house. I scramble to catch up.

  Kathleen, who must’ve seen us pull up, has the door open before we climb up her steps. She immediately pulls Taz into a hug.

  “And?” she asks over Taz’s shoulder, her red-rimmed eyes pinning me.

  “Friday noon at the United Methodist. Interment immediately after, and since there won’t be visitation, Sarah suggested we do coffee and sandwiches in the church hall after to give people a chance to pay their respects.”

  “I can help with that,” Kathleen offers, letting go of her friend before turning to me for a kiss on the cheek.

  “Give Sarah a call,” I suggest, noting Taz is quiet again.

  “I will. Come in, the kids are watching cartoons.”

  Spencer is curled up in a corner of the couch, Kathleen’s husky beside him with her big head on my son’s leg. Sofie is on the other side, but jumps up when she sees us come in.

  “Hey, Pipsqueak.”

  She wraps her arms around my hips and I lean down to kiss the top of her head. “Did you see her?”

  “Not today. We get to say goodbye on Friday.”

  “Us too?” she asks, looking up at me.

  I brush a strand of hair from her face and cup her cheek. She’s the spitting image of her mother and my heart breaks to see her hurting.

  “If you want.”

  Taz

  Spencer is done in two seconds.

  He picked a necklace that was hanging off the dressing table in the master bedroom. It looks like hand-painted pasta, enhanced with copious amounts of glitter. He proudly confirms he made it for his mom last Christmas.

  I half expect Sofie to say something derogatory—if her expression was anything to go by—but she bites her tongue. She does however roll her eyes when her brother disappears downstairs to play.

  “Now you,” I encourage her. “Anything you want.”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbles, suddenly demure. “What if I get it wrong?”

  I grab her hand and pull her down to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. “You couldn’t even if you tried. There is no wrong choice. There are no wrong reasons. The only thing that matters is you pick something you feel would be right.”

  “Does it have to be a dress?” she asks.

  “Nope. It can be anything. Something that reminds you of a fun time you guys had, something that looked really pretty on her, maybe something that still smells like her.”

  She gets up and hesitantly opens the door to the walk-in closet. A heavy weigh settles on my chest as she steps in, running her fingers along my sister’s impressive collection.

  She always liked pretty things, followed the latest fashion trends. Unlike me. My main criteria still is clothes have to be clean, comfortable, and durable. My entire wardrobe fits in my duffel bag, which still sits on the floor in the corner of the spare bedroom. In the morning I just grab in there blindly for something clean to wear.

  I never give much thought to what I put on, something that used to drive my mother crazy. It probably still does.

  Sofie comes out of the closet, carrying a pile of clothes in her arms and dumps them on the bed.

  “It’s hard,” she announces, biting her lip.

&nb
sp; “Do you want help?” Instead of answering, she nods. I spread the clothes out over the bed and step back, pointing at a navy, formfitted dress with three-quarter sleeves. The tag still attached. “What made you pick that?”

  The girl shrugs. “Because she never had a chance to wear it and blue was her favorite color.”

  “Fair enough. How about that?” I point out the pale pink, floral summer dress.

  “She looks pretty in that dress.”

  I note how my niece talks about her mother both in past and present tense. Something I’ve caught myself doing as well. “I can see that. It’s a very pretty dress.”

  During our conversation, Sofie hasn’t stopped stroking the last outfit on the bed. A pair of dark gray lounge pants, a black ribbed tank, and a matching gray, fuzzy hoodie.

  “Can you tell me about that outfit?”

  She picks up the sleeve of the hoodie and puts it to her nose, tears filling her eyes. “It smells like her. She’d wear it around the house, and I’d like to snuggle with her: the hoodie is really soft.”

  I reach over and pick up the sweater, rubbing the material against my cheek before giving it a good sniff. “You’re right. It smells and feels like her.” I try to smile at her through my own tears. “In which one do you think your mom would be happiest?”

  “That one.”

  As I expected, she points at the hoodie I’m holding and I pull her into a hug. Nicky’s sweater is caught in the middle, her scent drifting up around us.

  “Perfect choice.”

  Rafe is at the bottom of the stairs when we come down and takes the garment bag for Nicky from my hands.

  “I see you found something.” He smiles at his daughter. “Good. Check in with your brother, he wanted to draw a picture for Mom. He’s at the kitchen table. Maybe you’d like to do one too?” She doesn’t answer but takes off for the kitchen. “I thought maybe they’d like to leave something with her,” he says, his eyes on Sofie’s retreating back.