“You must be Adam,” she said, taking his hand and grasping it between her own. Despite their apparent frailty, her hands felt warm.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss—”
“Please, call me Sarah.” She closed the door behind them. “I hope y’all are hungry. I made one of my own recipes,” she said, finding some type of second wind and leading them past the stairs and down a narrow hallway.
The kitchen gave home to a small, round table, fitted with two spindle chairs and a third folding chair that appeared to have been squeezed in to fit. Sarah had already placed a plate of some concoction at each place setting. Adam peered into the plate in front of him, at what looked like a mixture of pan-fried chicken, fried okra, and zucchini, all combined into one dish atop a pile of rice. Kylie was much braver than he, already poking through the dish with her fork and popping okra into her mouth.
“So, Adam,” began Sarah, hardly touching her own dish yet. “Kylie says you’re a musician?”
“Yeah, part-time. I have a day job as a waiter, but now that we’re picking up more gigs, I’m getting pretty hopeful. My mom is a professional pianist, though, up in New York. She plays for Broadway shows.” He took a tentative bite of chicken and was surprised to find that it tasted much better than its crunchy, over-cooked outside suggested.
“Is she really? How amazing.”
Adam shrugged. “She wants me to follow in her footsteps with cello. I mean, I studied cello for a long time, but it’s not what I’d want to do.”
“How many other instruments can you play?” Kylie popped another okra, her eyes never leaving him.
“Just three. Piano, cello, and guitar. I can kind of play bass guitar, but nowhere near as good as Ollie.”
“You must be quite talented,” said Sarah, propping her chin on her knuckles and smiling.
Kylie’s glance darted between the two, and a pink tinge touched her cheeks while her lips set in a tight smile. Adam wondered what she was thinking while he ate in silence.
“When’s your next show?” asked Kylie to break the quiet.
“Next Thursday. We’re playing at a bar on Rutledge. You should come. You too, Sarah.”
“Oh, no. I’ve never been one for concerts. You and Cat should go, sweet pea,” said Sarah, her head bobbing eagerly.
She still hadn’t eaten anything. Elliott, Adam recalled, had been like that toward the end, nauseated more often than not and with little appetite. Sarah caught his eye, and he forced a smile, quickly looking down at his own plate.
Kylie nodded in agreement. “I’m pretty sure Cat’s off, yeah. I’d love to see you play again.”
Having nearly finished the entire plate, Adam set his fork down. “That was good. Thank you for dinner.”
Sarah beamed at him. Kylie set her own fork down, having finished mostly the okra and zucchini, and murmured her gratitude.
“Oh, you can leave the plates, I’ll take care of them.”
Adam paused, having picked up his plate to bring it to the sink, then set it down. “You’re sure?”
“I can handle it tonight. I can make a pot of coffee if you’d like.”
“Sure.”
Already standing and reaching for a tin of coffee grounds in the cupboard, Sarah called over her shoulder, “Sweet pea, can you clear my things from the coffee table? I think I left a few things out.”
Kylie nodded and disappeared around the corner.
Sarah remained quiet for a moment while she poured water into the coffee pot. With her eyes down, still not turning to Adam, she spoke softly, “I know you haven’t known each other too long, but I see the way she looks at you. My girl can clam up real quick, but I can tell how she likes you. Promise me something, will you?”
“Er…sure.”
“Don’t let her break down when I’m gone.”
Adam froze. What was he supposed to say? Kylie already had a running streak for pushing him away. No, he knew he had to try.
Sparing Adam, Kylie rounded her way back into the kitchen.
“Just some of your magazines were on the table. I put them away with your laptop,” she said.
“Thank you, pea.” Sara smiled sadly and kissed Kylie’s cheek.
Kylie returned home and immediately changed into pajamas before easing herself onto the sofa with a glass of water. She clicked on the television, turned the volume up, and sank into the cushion, leaning her head back, enjoying her last night in her own apartment. A smile crept onto her face. Dinner had gone so much more smoothly than she had expected; she had assumed it would be tense and awkward for Adam, but he had seemed so at ease, so utterly unperturbed.
Her phone, resting against her thigh on the cushion, buzzed. With a frown, she answered.
“Hi, Miss Lewis,” said a woman, “this is Rachel, one of Sarah’s nurses.”
Kylie’s heart skipped a beat.
“Dr. Gordon asked me to give you a call regarding the labs we drew the other day. Sarah’s calcium levels are elevated, above the normal range.”
She sat straight, her frown tightening. “But she doesn’t want any life-lengthening treatments.”
“No, we won’t be doing anything to treat it. Dr. Gordon just wanted you to be aware of it. If her calcium level continues to rise, she may get sicker. In all reality, she may be nearing end-of-life.”
Her blood ran cold. End-of-life. No, this couldn’t be happening so soon. How could it be? It was only April. She had been hoping for six months at the very least.
“What…what do I need to do if she does get sick?”
“With hypercalcemia, she may develop kidney stones, which she’ll have to pass. She may not, either. Some patients sleep more, but that happens frequently when a patient is dying. Some develop confusion. There are a lot of various symptoms that may occur. You can always call us with any questions.”
“Oh…okay,” she mumbled just before Rachel said goodbye and the line went silent.
Holding her head in her hands, she closed her eyes. No, her mother couldn’t leave yet. With trembling hands, she held the phone up, her thumb hovering over the green dial button. Adam would understand, right? Yet something inside her screamed at her not to call. To talk about it made it real.
Hand still shaking, she set the phone down.
Be happy.
Leaning back on his elbows with a colorful towel beneath him on the soft, gritty sand, Adam watched Kylie surf. Her neon rash guard flashed bright against the dark, briny water as she ducked her board under a foamy wave and continued to paddle. The breeze blew strong, but the air remained warm. Here and there, people strolled the beach, some jogging, but otherwise hardly anyone had ventured out to the beach so early this morning.
One Night Young’s next show would be their biggest yet. One of the area’s larger venues—at least, large for what a small act could land—had requested the band and held a capacity of a few hundred people. Adam’s fingers already tingled in anticipation.
Out in the water, Kylie sat up, straddling her board. “The water’s not too bad once you get used to it!” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth.
Adam chuckled. Even from his spot on the sand, he saw her bright grin. Kylie had been trying to coax him into the water the entire morning. A wave began rolling toward her, and she quickly lay flat and paddled hard to catch it. She popped up and steered herself along the wave, riding the crest. Or was it a swell? Kylie had explained all the words and what it all meant in surfing terms, but it all seemed foreign still—probably the same way she felt about the music terms he’d tried to teach her.
Kylie bailed from her board and made her way back to shore, lifting her board under her arm, water dripping from every inch of her. Setting her board down, she plopped down beside him on the towel.
“Thanks for coming out with me this morning,” she said, grabbing an extra towel from her bag and drying off her arms and legs.
“Of course.” He patted her knee. “I can see why you like the beach so much.”
She wrapped her arms around her knees, her gaze cast towards the crashing waves. “I like coming down here when I need to get stuff off my mind.”
“Something on your mind today?”
To chew her lower lip was her only reply. Her eyes turned down to her knees, and she swiped wet locks of hair behind her ear.
“What is it?” asked Adam.
“It’s just…” She sighed. “I got a call last night from one of the nurses after I got home from dinner. Mama’s calcium is too high. But she signed paperwork just last week that she didn’t want any more chemo, no more treatments. DNR orders and everything. She sleeps more and more every day—she’s asleep more than she’s awake. Dinner took a lot out of her; it was the only thing she did all day.”
“Sorry to hear.”
“That,” Kylie continued, her words quickening, “and I’m giving up my apartment to move in with her. Not sure how much longer she has, and even now she constantly needs someone there.”
Her words went quiet as quickly as they had come, and she sat silently while Adam rubbed her back in slow, gentle motions. Her expression brightened, although Adam saw through her pretense. Kylie reached into her bag and extracted a copy of Charleston Charm, flipping through the pages.
“Here, by the way. My first real article for Charm. Just came out yesterday.”
Adam took the magazine from her. A photograph in the upper corner showed the band on stage, all of them sweaty and red-faced, and beside it in bold letters read:
UP AND COMING LOCAL BAND ROCKING THE CITY by Kylie Lewis
Local band One Night Young is making waves, and Charleston seems to be noticing. I had the pleasure of sitting down with the band after one of their shows to chat about their recent success. “Yeah, gigs are really picking up,” says lead singer Adam Bell. “We’re getting at least two or three bookings a week. When we first started out, we were lucky to get one a month.”
The band first formed in 2010 when bandmates Adam Bell, Oliver Hawkes and Shawn Miller met at work, and guitarist and friend Benny Smith soon joined.
“But Ollie and I were friends in school. He got me a job working with him and Shawn, and things just kind of fell together after that.”
The band plays a blend of rock, punk and pop, explains the lead singer. Fans of The Relief, Hadley and Foo Fighters will enjoy the band’s music.
One Night Young’s schedule of upcoming shows, as well as a free download, can be found on their website, OneNightYoung.com.
“Neat. My first interview.” Adam grinned brightly. “And who better to write it?”
Kylie nodded. “You’re sure you don’t want to get in the water?” she asked suddenly. Standing, she tugged him to his feet.
“All right, fine,” he said, feigning irritation.
Kylie grinned and led him down the beach. As soon as the water lapped at his toes, Adam yelped, but Kylie was already jumping her way in farther and leaned down to splash water at him, her laughter cutting through the salty air. A shiver coursed through him, but he reached down to scoop up water to splash back at her. The waves crashed strong against them, nearly knocking him over several times. Kylie had been right; his body quickly grew accustomed to the chill, and he no longer noticed it. Reaching for her, he knocked her legs out from beneath her and caught her in his arms. While she shrieked with laughter and clung to his neck, her legs flailed, kicking wildly until Adam heaved her back into the water.
The breeze carried their laughter to shore while they played for some time, simply forgetting about the world around them. Kylie attempted to teach him to bodysurf on the smaller waves, and he managed to catch a few, riding the waves on his stomach for several feet. Finally, exhausted, they clambered back to shore and eased themselves onto the towel, wrapping an extra towel around their shoulders and huddling together.
Kylie gently leaned her head on Adam’s shoulder. Somehow, the small gesture caught him off guard. Not that she hadn’t done so before, but it was a rare gesture, as if her walls were beginning to crack. In this moment, she seemed so at ease, so calm. A warmth glowed in his chest. Were they even really…together? Neither had said anything definite, but maybe this was how it was meant to be. Whatever this was, he wanted it to last, and his own yearning for something more surprised him.
“Hi, Mama,” called Kylie, kicking off her shoes in the foyer. “I’m home.”
Calling this place home felt odd on her tongue. It had been years since she had referred to the house as home. In the last few days, she had brought over her essentials—like clothing and toiletries—and had larger belongings moved into storage. Amanda had been informed of Kylie’s leave of absence and, although somewhat reluctantly, was kind enough to bid her well. Adam called each day, just to say hello and ask about her day and sent sporadic texts to share something funny. His calls and messages never failed to make Kylie smile.
When no answer came from anywhere in the house, a slight panic kickstarted her pulse. With quickened steps, she made her way into the master bedroom, where she found her mother asleep.
“Mama,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and touching her shoulder.
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open halfway, drowsily, and they roamed the room before landing on Kylie.
“You’re home,” she murmured, wiping the sleep from her face.
“Do you need anything?”
“Some water and my morphine pills, please.”
Kylie held her hand and rubbed her arm. “Where does it hurt?”
“My back.” Her voice was low, on the verge of gravelly.
“Do you need the nurse?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, no. Just the morphine is fine.”
The bottle of pills sat amongst a sea of orange bottles on the kitchen counter. Staring at that sea of orange, Kylie paused, clutching the morphine pills in one hand, an empty glass in the other. Nearing end-of-life. The words echoed. With a shake of her head, she filled the glass from the tap and returned to the bedroom.
“Thank you, pea,” said Sarah as Kylie handed them to her.
“Are you hungry at all? Have you eaten anything today?”
“No, I’m not hungry.” Her arms tensed, her fingers flexing, and a pained look contorted her thin, hollow face. Tears sprung in her eyes, and with a shaky hand, she wiped one away from her cheek.
Panic set in again. “What’s wrong? What hurts?” asked Kylie.
“Nothing. I just…I want you to know how much I love you.” Another trembling sniffle and her voice broke. “And I hope you’ll be happy. Don’t lose Cat. Give that boy a chance. Don’t miss me too much. Don’t be afraid to venture out. Be happy. Just…be happy.”
The jeers of local fans, demanding One Night Young enter the stage, sounded from behind the small curtain. Adam and Benny’s guitar straps were already hooked around their shoulders when Adam’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. Things had been running late, frenetically so. The show had been scheduled to start at 7:00, and they were already twenty minutes behind.
“Come on, Ollie, you done tuning?” snapped Benny, glaring at their bassist.
Ollie plucked the strings a few more times, tweaking two pegs.
“Let’s get out there, then,” said Adam. He gave a quick nod to his bandmates before leading them past the black curtain and onto the stage.
A mixture of cheering and booing sounded, and his heart fell. They were being booed, really? Swallowing hard, he ignored the sound, gave a short wave, and stepped up to the center microphone.
Turning to Ollie, Shawn, and Benny, he murmured, “No intro—let’s get on with it.”
They nodded. Benny started them off, followed by Shawn pounding out a beat, Ollie, and finally Adam.
During their performance, he periodically searched the audience for any sign of Kylie, without luck, causing himself to stumble on the lyrics or fumble a chord in the middle of several songs. Heads in in the front few rows shook from side to side. Mortified, Adam pushed Kylie from his mind
to focus on performing and continued with the show, hoping the band could redeem itself in the eyes of the audience. By the end, they had done so, and the audience had seemingly forgiven them.
Adam’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he stood behind their table of swag after the show.
“Kylie,” he answered, “are you okay? Where are you?”
“It’s my mother. She’s not responding.” A slight quiver marred her words. “I can’t leave her.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Please.”
The blue colonial seemed even more exhausted than the last time Adam had come. The flowers had wilted even more, the overgrown grass needed trimming even more desperately, and Sarah’s silver sedan was yellow with a layer of pollen. Even the walkway had been coated—his tennis shoes left footprints. Before he even pressed the doorbell, the door swung inward. Kylie stood there with red-rimmed but dry eyes, and she sniffed and stepped inside.
No sooner had he stepped over the threshold when he pulled her into his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured in her ear. “Is she still…?”
Her voice deadpanned. “Alive? Yeah. Not sure for how much longer, though.” Her fingers touched the necklace resting in the hollow of her throat.
Adam merely nodded. Despite her outwardly numb, detached mask, Kylie’s piercing gaze said so much: its wideness revealed fear, remorse in the way it continually darted down to the floor, anxiety in the way her brows wrinkled.
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 11
