Long Road Home

by Marie Meyer

  “I know,” he mumbles, enveloping me in a tight embrace.

  The last few nights have taken their toll on Cayden. He hasn’t shaved, the beginnings of a scruffy beard darken his face, along with matching circles under his eyes. Katy is sleeping for the two of them.

  “Sit with me?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.

  “Always.”

  His fingers inch between mine, holding on for dear life. Silently, we push farther into Katy’s room, the dim lights casting long shadows on the walls. Strange, the birthing rooms at the hospital and this room have the same ambiance, the low soft-white lighting, generic landscape paintings, and floral wallpaper, yet, the difference in atmosphere is striking—the buzz of electricity in a birthing room is palpable, a hospice room leaks breathable oxygen, death slowly suffocating everyone inside. How can nearly identical rooms be so different—one bursting at the seams with life, and the other shriveling like a rosebush past its season?

  Cayden pulls another chair over for me, and we sit. He slips the Bible into her right hand, and holds on to her left—a lifeline. “What am I going to do without her, Ren?” he whispers, grabbing for my hand with his free one.

  I squeeze. Can I transfer my energy, my life, to him…to Katy? If I could, I would freely offer it. Anything, everything, all that I have, it’s theirs to take. But I have no superpowers. The best I can do is hold him and be his anchor when the hurricane comes.

  We sit like this for almost an hour; not speaking, holding each other, and watching the rise and fall of Katy’s chest.

  Cayden pops up from his chair and brushes a hand over her head. “Mom? I’m here.” His voice is like soothing warm tea on a scratchy throat—calm and inviting…a healing balm. “Mom?”

  Behind the deep timbre of Cayden’s voice lie the remnants of the boy he used to be. I can hear it when he says, “Mom.” The sound of a child lost, searching for his mother, missing his safe harbor in the big scary world. The real meaning behind that one word…Don’t leave me.

  Katy stirs.

  “Mom?”

  “Frank?” she croaks, her eyes still closed.

  Tears prick my eyes. Cayden flinches.

  “No, Mom. It’s me, Cayden. I’m right here.” He sits on the edge of her bed, pressing both of his hands into hers.

  Katy’s eyes flutter open, heavy lidded. “Baby,” she breathes.

  Cayden’s smile is brighter than the Milky Way on a clear night in the middle of the ocean. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Ren brought your Bible.” He lifts it off the blanket, holding it up for her.

  Katy turns her head. “Thank…you, Ren,” she manages to say.

  I stand, joining Cayden at her bedside. “You’re welcome.”

  Katy smiles, her eyes shifting from Cayden to me. “This”—she lifts a bony finger, pointing at us—“makes me happy.”

  Cayden glances at me, draping his arm around my shoulder.

  “My family…” Katy trails off, clutching the Bible close to her heart, drifting back to sleep.

  I turn my eyes to Cayden; he has the most striking profile. A single tear slides down his bearded cheek, but it’s the smile on his face that says everything I need to know. He is seeing our future—children, laughter, picnics, Little League, skinned knees, bikes with training wheels…a family.

  It’s time to grow a pair and tell him, Renata.

  I see me, shattering his dreams.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cayden

  “Let us know if she needs anything else, Mr. Sinclair.” The nurse tucks Mom’s blanket around her and moves toward the door.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I slump into the chair next to Mom’s bed. No one can give me a definitive answer as to when it will happen…when she’ll draw her last breath. They say five minutes, or tomorrow, or seven days, or a month. It’s cancer’s call. And it’s biding its time, lurking in the shadows with one more bullet.

  Her chest rises…

  I hold my breath, waiting for it to fall. Waiting. Is this the last one?

  She exhales.

  And so do I. Only to play the waiting game again.

  As a Marine, battle tactics are ingrained in me: know your enemy, be one step ahead of your enemy, know when your enemy will strike. Eliminate the enemy.

  I know Mom’s enemy. But how am I supposed to stay ahead of a silent killer, know when it will fire the kill shot? None of my training, none of my talents, nothing I have in my arsenal will defeat this foe.

  I am useless.

  My phone vibrates, the noisy buzz filling Mom’s quiet room. I dig it from my pocket and glance at the message. How is she? How are you? It’s Ren.

  Same. We’re both the same. I hit send.

  Her response is immediate. I’ll be there as soon as I get off.

  I slide my fingers over the screen, typing back.

  “Cayden?” Mom croaks.

  I’m on my feet, stuffing my phone into my pocket. “Mom.” Scooping her hand into mine, I squeeze, but not too hard, she’s so frail. “What can I do?”

  Moms know everything, right? They always have the answers. Voices from the past fill the silence.

  “Mom, where is my football uniform?”

  “Middle drawer, left side, under your Hard Rock Café T-shirt.”

  “Mom, what’s twelve times twelve?”

  “One hundred forty-four.”

  “Mom, are we out of milk?”

  “No, it’s on the door, bottom shelf. Get a glass, don’t drink from the carton!”

  “Mom, how do I know if a girl likes me?”

  “If, at school, you’re the same kind, charming, helpful boy I see at home, then she likes you. And I’m a girl, and I like you.”

  “Mom, what can I do?” I’m twenty-five years old, and I need my mother’s wisdom more than ever.

  She smiles, giving my hand a weak pat. “Baby.”

  “It’s good to see you smile.”

  “You have always been my smile.”

  I cough, swallowing the lump in my throat. I’m a grown man, a Marine, I don’t cry.

  Mom shifts, struggling to sit up. “Let me help you.” I put my hands under her withered body and slide. She weighs nothing. I might as well have been moving air.

  Wheezing, she’s out of breath from trying to push herself up. The same Katy Sinclair who climbed Mount Kilimanjaro unassisted.

  My eyes sting.

  “I need…something,” she says

  “Anything. Tell me and it’s yours.”

  Closing her eyes, she draws in a deep breath. Mustering the strength to speak.

  Five…six…seven breaths.

  I’ll wait until she’s taken a hundred breaths as long as she keeps breathing.

  She opens her eyes again, and smiles. “I need a promise.”

  “A promise?”

  She nods, wincing. Breathing. “Find peace in the simple things.”

  “Okay? What do you mean?” I hook my foot around the leg of the chair and drag it closer, not willing to give up her hand for a second. Sitting beside her, I wait for more.

  She remains quiet. Please, Mom, keep talking. Keep fighting. “Take your time. It’s okay.” My thumb slides over her cold hand, over the hills and valleys of bones and tendons right below the skin.

  Her eyes lock on mine, fierce and determined. A look I’ve seen many times before. Her “mom” look. The one that says, “You better listen, or I’ll have your ass.” Even as sickly as she is, she can still deliver that special, loving brand of “mom fear” in my grown man’s heart.

  “You’ve always been so ambitious, Cayden. Big dreams.” She pauses for a breath. “There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, it keeps you excited for the next turn of events. Spurs you on. But…sometimes those big dreams overpower our simple, most precious realities.

  “Don’t let your big dreams, your ambitions, blind you. Find peace in the simple. Grab on to it and don’t let go.”

  I clutch her hand
a little tighter. “I promise.”

  Her faded green eyes plead. “I had big dreams too, Cayden. When I was pregnant with my second child, I imagined all the things you and your little brother or sister would do. I fell in love with those dreams. I clung to them so tightly. And then I miscarried.”

  That memory still drives a nail into Mom’s heart. I can see it on her face. “You don’t have to do this. Save your energy.”

  “You need to know this. It’s important. Let me finish.”

  I nod.

  “You were only three, too little to remember, but when I lost that baby, I fell into a deep depression. Scared your father to death. He didn’t know what to do, how to help me.

  “One day, I was curled up in bed, it was a bright spring day. A robin had built its nest in the gutter, right outside my window. Those obnoxious birds chattered all day long.” She smiles at the memory. “Anyway, your dad came in and announced that he was taking you fishing. I knew what he was doing, trying to get a rise out of me, playing on how much I loved to fish. I told him to have fun and I threw the blankets over my head and went back to sleep. Do you remember that fishing trip?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t. I wish I did. So many other fishing trips come to mind, but you were always there.”

  Mom coughs, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, it’s okay. Can I get you something?”

  She moves her bald head side to side. “No.” Pulling in some more oxygen, she dives back into her story. “On that trip, my sandy-haired little boy”—she pats my hand—“caught his first fish. And I missed it. I was at home, pining for dreams that weren’t going to come true. I was missing life, my simple realities.

  “That’s why I love my pictures so much. They remind me to find the peace and joy in the simple. I see so much of myself in you. I’m not going to tell you to stop dreaming, Cayden, but don’t be like me and let those dreams become false realties. Hold tight to the treasures you have. Find peace in them, because they are your life.”

  “You have my word, Mom.”

  She sinks down into her blankets and closes her eyes. The fervor and intensity of her message left her drained. “I say this because I see the lofty dreams in your eyes. You’re still clinging to the hope that I’m going to make a miraculous recovery and be fine.” Mom shakes her head. “I’m not. I’m dying, Cayden.”

  “Mom—”

  Lifting her hand, she says, “Stop.”

  I close my mouth and let her continue.

  “You haven’t gone home in days. You only eat when Ren brings you food.” She points to the door. “You’re life is out there, Cayden. I want you out there living it, enjoying all your treasures, not in here, clinging to a false reality. I will not let you hide in here and miss something amazing.”

  She’s saying goodbye. I won’t let her. Not yet. My vision blurs.

  I want to tell her how strong she is, that she shouldn’t give up yet, but the second I open my mouth, the words will pour from me along with the tears pooled in my eyes.

  No tears, man.

  “I hurt, baby. I’m ready.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m ready to see my Frank again,” she says, a weak smile on her lips.

  I press my thumb and index finger hard into my clenched eyes, holding my breath. FUCK!

  “I love you, Cayden. You are the greatest treasure of my life.”

  Lacing my hands behind my head, I look up at the ceiling, pulling in a big lungful of oxygen through my nose. It takes a minute, but I manage to compose myself enough to look at her. “I love you too, Mom.”

  “Go, baby. Go home.”

  I suck my lips in and give my head a fervent shake.

  “You promised, Cayden.”

  A single tear runs down my face. I don’t break my promises.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ren

  “Ren…” Cayden chokes on my name.

  Oh, God…

  I hit the emergency stop button on the treadmill, wrap a towel around my neck, and hop off the machine. “What is it?” My chest heaves; I’m breathless from my workout and strangled by the word I fear is coming.

  “She’s gone.”

  “I’m on my way.” I jog to my room, pulling open drawers and yanking out any clothes I can find.

  “I’m already on my way to you. I’ll be there in five.” The line goes dead.

  Dead. Katy’s dead.

  Three weeks in hospice and now she’s gone.

  Stripping out of my sweaty tank top and sports bra, I trade them for a clean bra and a Mine Shaft T-shirt. Five minutes. He’ll be here in five minutes. And his mom is gone.

  The waterworks are churning—inevitable, I know—but I hold them at bay. You have to be strong for him, Ren. He needs you right now.

  At my small kitchen table, I shove my current therapist-suggested art project—mosaic glass tiles and glue—into a box, tidying up a bit. Not that I think Cayden will care if my apartment is a mess—I know he won’t—but I need something to keep myself busy or I’m going to break down in a heap of blubbering sadness, and that’s the last thing Cayden needs from me right now.

  I really loved Katy. I wish I had known her before she got sick. But most of all, my heart breaks for Cayden. The bond he had with his parents was unique and special. I think of my parents, how devastated I will be when they’re gone—how broken I was when Griffin almost died. My family’s still whole, intact. Cayden’s isn’t, he’s all that’s left. And as much as I want to lie to myself, say he has me, it’s not the same. I’m not enough.

  Distractions don’t work, tears sting my eyes anyway.

  Bzzzz… the door sounds.

  I run to the speaker by my door and click the button to open the security entryway.

  Stepping into the hallway, I watch the elevator bank.

  Bing.

  The doors clang open.

  Cayden steps out, still in uniform, shoulders hunched, shuffling toward my apartment.

  “Cayden.” My strangled voice punctures the silence.

  Don’t cry, Ren. Don’t cry. Be strong for him.

  A tear rolls down my face, betraying me.

  Cayden lifts his stormy green eyes, locking them on me. His steps quicken.

  Another tear…

  I run, crashing into him. He throws his arms around me, holding tighter than he ever has before.

  Cayden folds me into his body, steel arms press behind my head, crushing me. Grief and anguish contort his body like a soda can in a vacuum.

  He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move. Just holds me—a tether tying him to this world. If he lets go, he’ll drift away into a dark oblivion.

  I shift in his vise-like arms, circling an arm around his middle to support his weight. One foot in front of the other, I lead him the few steps to my apartment, and kick the door shut behind us.

  Inside, I don’t stop until we collapse, entwined together, onto the couch. Inertia or the burden of sadness, Cayden’s head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut. He lets go of me to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I wasn’t fucking there,” he growls.

  I can give him the whole “You were there in spirit” speech, but I know that sentiment won’t be of any comfort. Nothing I say will make this better. But, if I can get him talking, he won’t feel like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.

  “When?” I keep my voice blanket soft.

  “Hospice called the office just after noon. I was out on patrol.” He drops his hands but keeps his head back, not making eye contact. “Riggs radioed, told me to come in.” He pauses, his shoulders moving up and down with each breath. “Cap met me at the door, hauled me into his office and delivered the news. Told me to take some time off.”

  Cayden lifts his head. Storm clouds brew in his usually placid green eyes. “I came straight here. I know I should have gone to her…but I couldn’t face her. Not after I left her alone…when she needed me.”

  There are no words.
I place my hand on his clean-shaven cheek and stroke my thumb under his eye. Tilting his head, he leans into my touch, closing the distance between us. His lips seal around mine, a soft, gentle kiss, a summer breeze rustling the leaves of a tree. A kiss with a hint of pleading, whispering, Find me.

  I scoot closer, my pulse kicking up a notch when his hands migrate to my cheeks, cradling my head. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, more insistent, pushing my lips apart.

  He takes, kissing harder, a desperate frenzy. Dropping his hands to my side, he tugs at the hem of my shirt, unrelenting and urgent. I can’t keep up, he’s moving too fast.

  “Wait,” I say, my hands on his chest, pushing back.

  His shoulders heave and he continues his silent pleading.

  I know what he wants. Hell, I know why he wants this. To lose himself, to forget his pain, a reminder that he’s not alone. But, is this the right time? I don’t want him to regret it later…to have me be a reminder of one of his most painful memories. I know what it’s like to have sex linked with something awful, scary, and sad. I don’t want that for him.

  “Are you sure?”

  Cayden brushes away some of the curls that escaped my ponytail, the storms in his eyes subsiding a bit. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I need you, Ren. I’m so fucking lost, but I know you can find me.” He moves in again, pressing a single, heavy, demanding kiss on my mouth. “Please,” he exhales.

  I’m still not sure this is the best idea. But, the need to take his pain away, hold him, and show him how loved he is takes over.

  “Okay.” I breathe.

  Locking our fingers together, I stand, bringing him with me. My toes sink in the plush carpet as I lead him toward my bedroom. With a quiet snick, the door seals us away from the ugly world. It’s just the two of us. In here, we can right wrongs, share heartache, breathe life, heal wounds, and find the other half of our broken spirits.

  Cayden lifts my shirt, crushing his lips to mine. He’s not wasting any time. His fingers make quick work of the hooks of my bra, pulling it down my shoulders. His right hand gropes, palming my breast while his left grabs my ponytail, yanking my hair free of the elastic.