Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Sometimes we need a hand to hold.
Sometimes we need someone to hear us.
And sometimes we need a few minutes sitting behind a shed to catch our breath. A tiny timeout from reality. A few moments to reconcile our greatest fears.
“Zach?”
Blowing a long breath out his nose, he turns his head toward me. I can see it in his eyes, that pain bracing for me to say something too emotional, too encouraging, too something.
“The mower is not cutting well. I think you need to sharpen the blades.”
I wait.
And wait a little more.
Until …
A smile steals every inch of his lips, and his eyes redden with tears I know he’ll never shed in front of me. On a slow nod, he whispers, “Thanks.” A few more nods. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Sure.” I grin and stand, holding out my hand to him.
Of course, he doesn’t need my hand to stand up, but he takes it anyway. I lean back with all my weight as I pull him up to his feet. We dust off our backsides and risk a glance at each other at the exact same moment. And now that our gazes are locked, I can’t look away and neither can Zach.
Not because we’re in love.
Not because of any sort of attraction.
No.
It’s a silent exchange of respect. I think he’s possibly the most wonderful husband to have ever walked the face of the earth. And if I’m reading him correctly, he thinks I’m the worst maid to have ever walked the face of the earth … but I’ve done something far greater than keep his house dust-free. And for that, I feel his unspoken gratitude. As I smile, I think he feels my gratitude as well.
“Zach?”
He stops just before reaching the back door.
“She’s in pain,” I say.
Swallowing hard, he nods slowly and disappears into the house.
CHAPTER TEN
Forewarnings are great. For example, those bumps on roads outside of town to forewarn drivers of an upcoming stop sign. Clouds growing dark before the onset of a storm. And hospice nurses arriving at houses to make sick people as comfortable as possible … and to forewarn family of what to expect.
Zach calls hospice, which makes it feel like it’s only a matter of time until the inevitable. It also feels like forever. It’s been a week. A week of moments that have felt like the end. A week of moments that have felt like she’s rebounding. Doing better, not worse. How many times can family say a final goodbye? The uncertainty has everyone on edge.
She’s on morphine, and that seems to help, but it also robs her of these last chances for coherent moments. It’s hard to watch Zach struggle with his desire to keep her out of pain and his desperate need to connect with his wife, not the drugged-up version of her.
Alert but in pain?
Or …
Sleepy and disoriented?
I’m not sure Zach would have ever called hospice without a nudge. Denial blurs good judgment almost as much as whisky.
For the most part, I keep to myself, holing up in my bedroom with Harry Pawter. As close as I am to Suzie, I’m not her family. So I let them come and go, each time saying that final goodbye, just in case. I’ve replaced the tissue box in the hall bathroom three times, and I’ve gone through a whole box myself in the past three days.
As I scroll through my photos, there’s a knock at my door. “Come in.”
“Can you help me find something in the garage?” Zach asks, a little uneasy. Not frantic, but definitely anxious.
“Sure.” I set my camera aside and follow him to the garage.
The boxes that used to be neatly stacked along the wall in the third stall are now scattered everywhere, ripped open and littered with things hanging half out of them.
“What … are we looking for?” I swallow the lump in my throat and blink away my tears as I open a box that he hasn’t torn into yet. The air is thick with tension as waves of restlessness flow from Zach.
“I’m not sure. It’s a box that has some stuff from her childhood. Something blue. That’s all she said.” A nervous voice that could cut through the side of a mountain delivers his words on a rush of harsh, labored breaths.
My heart plummets into my stomach, sending an instant sensation of nausea into my throat—all hot and acidic.
“What about this?” I ask while peering into a box that has some old photo albums, a teddy bear, and a few dolls.
“That’s it.”
I step aside as he fishes through the contents.
My glass that’s always at least half full feels a little on the empty side at the moment. I realize it’s not just Suzie. It’s Brady. It’s Harry Pawter. Mountains of debt and the lies that have come from it. It’s being estranged from my mom. It’s my lack of friends. It’s knowing that my one true friend is dying. It’s having slept in a car for months and sometimes fearing for my safety. It’s questioning my life and my future.