Every Last Drop: A Novel

by Sarah Robinson

  “So, we’re talking two to three months.”

  I pulled my lips between my teeth, rolling them back out as I considered how truly short a period of time it was. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, well I’ll be here to help you every step of the way. I can’t actually be involved in the final step as I’m sure you know, but I’ll be there to monitor your heart and vitals, and help your family coordinate aftercare services.”

  Aftercare? It took me a moment to realize she was talking about my body…about what to do with my remains. They slid through me, emotionless—I liked the separation. That wouldn’t be me, just be a body. I’d already be gone. My pain would already be over.

  Everything would be over.

  She continued talking about logistics, palliative care options, and provided me with her contact information for emergencies. She promised to return every morning until symptoms worsened, and then it would be twice daily. She sorted my medications into an easy pill holder and showed me which to take when. By the end of the hour, I felt my entire life had been simplified and the relief was intoxicating. All the unknowns, once so scary, now looked routine.

  I may not have the support of my family, but I had someone, and for now, that would be enough.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Tuesday, August 12, 2014

  After Malaika left, I ventured into the kitchen for a bowl of oatmeal and actually managed to eat about half before I felt sick. Still, I considered it a success and spent the rest of the morning into the late afternoon writing in my journal.

  Actually, it was a word document on my laptop now since after filling a few notebooks, I’d quickly grown tired of the ache in my hand. Thankfully, Kyle transcribed the journals to my computer for me. I could live ten lifetimes and still never deserve such an incredible man.

  Opening my laptop, I sat on the back veranda and added paragraph after paragraph to my book. I felt fierce as hell—professional even. I felt like a real writer now, slaving for my craft as I pounded against the keys. It was illuminating…and frightening. I worried I’d never be able to finish the book in time, my memoir cut short like my life.

  All I’d been writing about this week was the Death with Dignity Act—the different people I’d spoken to about it, how I’d researched it, what information was out there about it for different blog articles that I was trying to get posted on the topic—a slight departure from the book, but I figured still a worthy use of my time. I’d laid it out like a pros and cons list, arguing both sides, and then explaining why I’d chosen what I did. If anything, I felt more assured of my decision than ever, yet somehow even more alone.

  My dad slid open the back door. “Tessa, you’ve got a visitor.”

  Frowning, I glanced back at him. “I’m not expecting anyone?”

  He stuck his head inside, and I heard him talking to someone. Poking his head back out, he said, “It’s the real estate agent’s sister.”

  I hadn’t talked to Carly Wellings since we moved in and the paperwork was finalized. “Um, okay…can she come join me out here?” I was exhausted from a fitful night of tossing and turning in bed thanks to a pounding headache.

  A lanky, young blonde who couldn’t have been older than twenty-two replaced my dad in the doorway. With a huge smile on her face, she put her hand out when she reached my side. “Hi, you must be Tessa.”

  I lightly shook her hand. “And you’re Carly’s sister?”

  “I am. My name is Marley.” When I gave her a funny look, she chuckled and sat on the patio chair opposite me. “I know—my mom had three kids and named them Charlie, Carly, and Marley. Originality was never her strong suit.”

  I laughed. “I like it.”

  “Me, too,” she said in a hushed tone, as if conspiratorially. As strange as this surprise visit was, I instantly liked Marley in the same way I’d liked Malaika earlier. Something about both women put me at ease, and I relished having people in my life like that. “I hope it’s not weird I came by.”

  The corners of my lips twitched. “It’s a little weird.”

  “That’s what Carly told me.” Marley groaned and touched her palm to her cheek, as if to say she was embarrassed. The shine in her eyes and the commanding way in which she held herself told me she wasn’t at all. “But I had to take the opportunity to come meet with you…and ask you a favor.”

  My brows lifted, nearing my hairline. “You’re here to ask me a favor?” I think I liked her even more now. The girl had balls.

  “Yes, and I know it makes this even weirder.” Marley sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees as she excitedly launched into her request. “I’m hoping to become a journalist. Well, I am a journalist, but I’m just freelance right now. I’d like to write an article about your journey, shop it to magazines and publications, and hopefully get your story heard.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Closing it again, I furrowed my brows and stared at her through squinty eyes.

  “It’s a lot to ask, and you don’t know me, but when my sister told me about your decision to move here, and why—I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she continued. “It’s so powerful, and it’ll resonate with so many people. Even the people who don’t agree, they won’t forget your story. It’ll spark debates, fire up passions, get the world talking about a real issue we need to address as a society.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, tilting my head to the side. “What did your sister tell you about me?”

  “Not a lot. She’s a professional, and doesn’t actually know I’m here.” I liked how she defended her sister immediately, even if she was sneaking behind her anyway. “She told me about your diagnosis, and how you moved to Vermont from Chicago to go through the legal process of ending your life.”

  “Well, that’s all true.”

  “Does that mean you’ll let me write the article?” Her hazel eyes shone brighter at the prospect.

  “I didn’t say that.” I put one finger up as if in warning. “I’m writing my own story, you know.” I gestured toward the laptop computer. “I’m writing a book. A memoir, kind of.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “That’s fantastic! I can mention it in the article and drum up more interest about the upcoming release. If I can get the article somewhere big, you’ll get more sales from the exposure.”

  Something between a scoff and a chuckle bubbled up from my throat. “I’m not going to be around to see any sales from this book, Marley.”

  Marley’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit, my fault. Duh, obviously.” Her cheeks reddened, but I enjoyed seeing the first glimpse of the vulnerable woman beneath her intense confidence. “Well, what are you going to do with the book, then?”

  I pointed toward the house. “My husband will shop it around to publishers, if he wants. Or he may just let my family read it and then put it in a drawer for the rest of time. It’s up to them. They’re the only people I’m writing it for.”

  “I really love that idea.” Marley clucked her tongue, genuine adoration on her face. “What if they do decide to publish it? Who gets the profits then?”

  I lifted one brow. We’d literally just met. Since when do strangers talk about finances? Deciding she was harmless, I let myself open up a bit—just a bit though. “Any profits would be split evenly among my family.”

  “Well, even more so why the article would be a great idea. It could give them publicity for the book, and for their futures. If your husband wants to publish it, I’ll help him,” Marley said. “I know literary agents and can help get him in touch with one.”

  I sat back in my chair, squinting my eyes at her. “Can we pause for a minute here? I don’t know you. You’re young and excited about your future, but I’m not a tool to get you to the next level in your career.”

  There was an awkward moment where we stared at each other, her expression as shocked as I felt about this meeting. If I was being honest, she was overwhelming me with all this book talk. My book might not be worth pu
blishing, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend my last few months dealing with rejection letters.

  “I’m so sorry.” Marley dropped her head, looking down at her lap. “You’re right. I really come on too strong—I always have—but this is not about my career.”

  Her eyes found mine and I saw a newfound sincerity. “Carly, Charlie, and me…we didn’t grow up with our parents. Our mother has been in jail for the last fifteen years for killing our father.”

  My mouth fell open, letting out a harsh exhale. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  She waved her hand as if to say it was no big deal. “That’s not the point of my story.”

  “Okay?” Where was she going with this?

  “The point is my grandparents raised us, and they loved each other more than anything. My grandmother got very sick about five years ago—lung cancer. She fought it for a while, but eventually, she was terminal and it was…” Marley swallowed hard and shook her head. “It was really hard. She was in so much pain. She’d reached that point where she’d done everything she had ever wanted, she’d said her goodbyes, her affairs were in order. She was ready.”

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I listened to her story. I understood what she was describing probably more than she did. “I can imagine how hard that must have been.”

  She sighed, swallowing hard again, the bright and bouncy spirit she’d walked in with gone. “It was hardest for my grandfather. Watching her suffer, waiting for God to take her. She was ready, but her body was still hanging on. So, he…”

  A pit stirred in my stomach. “He helped her.”

  Marley nodded. “He couldn’t say no. She was the love of his life, and she begged him.”

  “Five years ago? Before—”

  “Before it was legal,” Marley confirmed. “He tried to ask the doctor for help, but they refused. They waited until after my eighteenth birthday, when all three of us kids were away at college. Wrote us all letters, had their affairs in order so we wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. They thought of everything, and then they took handfuls of medications.”

  My eyes widened and I leaned forward. “Your grandfather wasn’t sick…”

  “I know.” The corners of her lips pointed down as her shoulders slumped. “But he couldn’t live without her. They’d been married for sixty-two years.”

  I was quiet for a moment, allowing the story to sink in and burrow into my heart. I didn’t agree with what her grandfather had done, but I could understand why he’d done it.

  What would have happened if my dad had made that same choice when my mother had died? How much pain would he have caused Elly and me? I saw glimmers of it crossing Marley’s face now, and anger flared in my stomach at her grandfather for leaving them.

  My mind flitted to Kyle. There was absolutely no part of me that wanted him to come with me. Even if we’d been together for sixty years, I couldn’t imagine ever placing such a burden on him. Maybe I’m young and naïve. Maybe I don’t know what love is at all.

  I wanted him to have a full and happy life, to have all the things we’d ever dreamt about even if I wasn’t there to enjoy it with him.

  “The thing is, Tessa—can I call you Tessa?” Marley glanced at me, tears welled in her eyes. She quickly brushed them away and cleared her throat.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “After it was over, the autopsy reported that the medications they’d used had been successful, but it was slow. They both suffered in those final moments…a lot. If the Death with Dignity Act had been legal in Vermont then, maybe that wouldn’t have happened. Maybe my grandfather wouldn’t have felt the need to take the journey with her. Maybe my grandmother could have gotten what she wanted without additional suffering.”

  I sighed, unable to stop frowning. “That’s a lot of maybes. Second guessing everything like that will drive you mad.”

  She licked her lips slowly, consider my words. “It is, and I probably have been driving myself mad over it the last few years, but I can’t help myself. I found a cause I believe in, and I’m eager to do whatever I can to help make this law legal in every state. You shouldn’t have had to move to make this happen. You shouldn’t have to uproot your life with everything else you’re already going through. People should have the right to do what they want with their bodies, with their lives. When I heard your story—despite how very little I know—I knew you could help.”

  I shook my head. “I need to think about this, Marley. Your story is…intense. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry about your grandparents. But I can’t say I agree with what he did. I don’t know if that makes me a hypocrite considering what I’m doing, but he was healthy…he had more time he could have spent with you and your siblings.”

  “He did, and if I’m being honest, I still harbor a lot of anger at his decision,” Marley agreed. “But it’s another reason why I support the Death with Dignity Act—it wouldn’t allow people to commit suicide like he did. It’d help people who are in situations like yours. It allows doctors and nurses to help make sure things go smoothly, pain free, but puts checks and balances into place. The law doesn’t allow for rash decisions; it makes everyone jump through hoops instead, which is a good thing considering what’s at stake.”

  I let out a slight grunt, remembering everything I had to do to get the medication. “Believe me, I’m very familiar with the hoops. Took me almost two months before I got my medication.”

  “So, you have it already?” she asked.

  I nodded slowly. “Marley, I’m not saying yes to the article. I need to think about this.”

  “I understand. I dropped a lot of information on you out of nowhere.” She got to her feet and pulled a business card out of her pocket, then handed it to me. “I think what you’re doing is brave, and I think you have an opportunity to make a difference in the world if you want to.”

  “Thank you,” I said simply.

  Marley headed for the house, and my dad opened the door to let her walk through.

  I watched her go, not missing the fact that she hadn’t said goodbye, and kind of liking her presumptuousness that this wasn’t goodbye.

  I faced the lake, the water lapping against the stones as I pulled my feet up under me and wrapped my sweater tighter. Doing this article could mean turning myself into a public spectacle. Definitely not something I wanted, but Marley’s insistence that I could make a difference wedged under my skin.

  If I were to die today, I wouldn’t feel I’d wasted my time on Earth, or hadn’t made a difference. I may not have won the Nobel Peace prize or cured cancer—irony—but I’d lived a good life, and I had people who loved me and would remember me.

  But…I did like to help people. I always had. The idea that maybe I still could, even in my current state, felt exciting. I’d thought those days were behind me, like I was a burden to everyone I loved now. They’d never say that, of course, but I knew they were sacrificing for me.

  The realization sat heavily in my stomach. Why I’d felt so empty, so misplaced these last few weeks…everything I’d been doing was for myself. The move, the doctors, the medications. I’d completely turned away from all the things that made me happy, that made me…me.

  I’d spent my entire life dedicated to taking care of the people around me. I’d raised Elly when my mother couldn’t, comforted my father when he had nothing left, and built a home for Kyle to return to after every deployment that made him feel secure and adored. Taking care of others was my life, and it made me happy.

  Marley’s promise that I could still make a difference filled me with a familiar feeling of purpose and passion. This article could help others, and my book could help my family. I could still help. That’s who I was.

  That’s who I wanted to be when I died.

  My resolve hardened and I knew then and there that not only would I do the article, but I was going to finish this book. I was going to make sure it was published.

  Cancer be damned—I had a purpose
.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tuesday, August 12, 2014

  “What’s all this?” Kyle asked, entering the bedroom later that evening.

  I glanced at him, taking a second to appreciate his rock-hard muscles pressing against the fabric of his shirt. His biceps looked like they might rip his sleeves completely, and a stirring in my core definitely appreciated the view.

  “Hello to you, too,” I said, a flirtatious lilt to my words.

  His eyes darkened and his jaw set as he stalked over to me. My wandering eyes must have been a dead giveaway to what I was thinking. “Tessa…” he growled, a timbre in his voice that vibrated inside me.

  I waved to the pile of books and papers around me. “I’m just doing some research.”

  “Research for what?” He pushed aside enough to be able to sit on the bed. His fingers trailed down my inner thigh.

  “The Death with Dignity Act, not only in Vermont, but everywhere. Carly’s sister was here earlier, she’s a journalist—”

  His brows furrowed, and he looked confused. “Our real estate agent?”

  “Yep, her little sister is Marley—long story—but she wants to write an article about me and what I’m doing. She does freelance, so I’m not sure where it will end up being published, but I think it’s a good idea. I think I could make a difference. So many of these laws and cases—” I gestured to the stack of papers around me. “They cause so much suffering, and they take away any freedom we have over our own bodies.”

  “Tessa,” Kyle began, a groan following my name. “This is a sensitive topic. You know that.”

  Piling up the rest of my papers, I put them on the nightstand. “It’s also my life. And I had to upend everything for it. You did, too. We shouldn’t have had to do that, and maybe if I talk publicly about it, then we can save someone else the hassle we had to go through.”

  Kyle’s tongue slid across his lower lip and he moved farther on to the bed, resting against the headboard. “Tessa, I don’t regret moving here. I don’t regret doing anything for you.”