Sutton shakes her head.
I don’t press it. If there was anything else we could do, Dr. Mikaelson would have told her.
“Should we go back home?” I ask. “How much time do we have? Did he say?”
She shakes, and I wrap my arm around her. “He said it’s progressing fast.”
“He didn’t say how much time?”
“Just that it’s not a lot.” She sniffles. “He doesn’t like to give timelines because everyone is different.”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The reality of the news I knew was coming is far worse than I expected. I’m shivering, and it feels like the temperature has dropped to sub-zero numbers. I can see the beach outside, but at the same time, I can’t. It’s like it’s not there. Like we’re not really here.
“I think we should see about flying back early,” Sutton says. “If she progresses like the other kids, she’s going to be bedridden before long. Let’s get her home to spend some time with our families before that happens.”
“Okay. I’ll call the foundation about changing the tickets.” I force myself up and step outside, where it’s warmer. I’m still as cold as ice.
The foundation handles everything for us, except calling our families to give them the news. We all know what the inevitable is, but finding out that it’s so near is a weight unlike any other. It should remind me of losing Kade, but this is totally different. With him, there was no warning. He was just gone.
This… I don’t know how to deal with this. What to say to Kady. To Sutton. But I have to be the strong one. To be the rock they so desperately need.
The door opens. “Is everything okay?” Sutton asks.
Nothing will ever be okay again. I clear my throat and turn to her. “They’re going to call when our new flight is arranged. We should start packing.”
She nods. “Okay.”
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her. She probably thinks I’m offering comfort, but I need her. Can’t get through this without her. Despite me being out in the heat, she’s warmer than me. Whether she knows it or not, she’s giving me the strength I need so I can turn around and give her what she needs.
I hope I have it in me to get us through this. The future is like a black hole. I want to swim away, but there’s no escape. It’s going to suck us in and never let go.
How can this be happening? Why is life so cruel to take not only Kade away from us, but Kady too? My dad always told me life wasn’t fair, but he never said it would be anything like this. Cruel is too kind a word for the giant cosmic middle finger aimed at us.
Sutton looks up at me. “Are you going to answer that?”
My phone. It’s ringing. Our flight is scheduled. We have to pack. Get our dying daughter back home so she can spend some time with her grandparents, aunts, and uncles.
With shaking hands, I pull it out of my pocket. It drops to the deck and skids off, landing in the sand. By the time I get to it, I’ve missed the call.
I need to pull myself together. I’m no good to anyone like this.
The phone rings again. This time, I answer it.
Sutton
“Do you want to play?” I move some hair from Kady’s face. About twenty strands stick to my hand, thanks to the radiation. Her beautiful hair. It would probably all be gone if she’d been able to get more treatments.
She squirms in my bed and shakes her head. The only times she’s gotten up in the last day is to go to the bathroom. And before that, she grew too tired to play after only a few minutes. It’s been a little over a month since we returned from our vacation.
I smile at her through the tears. “That’s okay. Just rest.”
Kady reaches for her nearest Sparkles stuffed animal. “Is my movie out yet?”
“Not yet, sweetie.”
Knock, knock.
I turn to see one of the nurses in the doorway. I hate that it’s so bad nurses come to the house.
She smiles. “How’s our patient?”
“Tired.” I fill her in on everything, then she takes Kady’s vitals.
Then Kady bursts into tears.
I rush to her side. “What’s wrong? Another headache?”
She wipes her eyes. “I wet myself.”
The nurse and I work together to get her cleaned up.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Kady leans against me after I get her into fresh clothes.
“Don’t be.” I blink back tears and hold her close. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I know better.”
“It’s your owie’s fault.” My voice cracks. “Just like it makes you tired and makes your legs not work.”
“I don’t like my owie.”
“Me neither.” In fact, I hate it with a vengeance. But I smile at her so she doesn’t feel bad for wetting the bed.
“All set,” the nurse says.
I bring Kady over and settle her in.
When Anchor comes in with a snack for Kady, the nurse asks us to sit. We sit on the edge of the bed and she pulls up my computer chair. “I’ve spoken at length with Dr. Mikaelson, and we need to talk about hospice care.”
“Hospice?” I ask. “Isn’t that…?” I can’t bring myself to say the words—the people who come in at the very end. “She’s going to… How long?”
The nurse puts a hand on mine. “The decision is based on her progress. We can’t tell you a timeframe. It varies by the person. But it will mean more equipment and more staff to support you.”
Anchor puts his arm around me. The rest of the conversation is a blur.
We’re at the end. Soon I won’t be able to hold her anymore. She’ll only be a memory.
I leap from the bed and race out of the room. Run down the stairs. Through the house. Hank calls out to me as I go through the living room. I don’t stop. Only pause to open the back door. I race through the backyard, only to discover I can’t breathe any better here. Getting out of the house doesn’t change the news.
Nothing can make this better. All I’m doing is running from Kady when there’s so little precious time left with her.
I lean against a tree and struggle to catch my breath. Did I do something horribly wrong? Is losing Kade and Kady my punishment for something horrible I did? Nobody deserves to go through all of this. Nobody.
Why me? Why us? Am I going to lose everyone I love? Is tragedy going to follow me around the rest of my life?
“Sutton?” My mom’s voice comes from the yard.
I have to tell her. To update people online. Let the world know.
Why can’t I change places with Kady?
“Sutton?”
I step away from the tree. She runs over to me and embraces me. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“You heard?”
She nods, her tears getting on my face.
Somehow, we make it inside, and I finish the conversation with the nurse. I basically agree to everything she says, because what else can I do? There isn’t anything anyone can do. All we can do is make her as comfortable as possible.
That’s it. Our best hope is that she won’t be miserable on her way out.
Then Anchor and I are left in the room with Kady. She’s asleep again, and we climb on the bed and sit on either side of her. We communicate without words. The pain in his eyes matches what I feel. Words are unnecessary.
After a few minutes, Kady’s eyes flutter open. “Mommy, Daddy.”
I kiss her cheek. “We’re both here.”
“I just had a dream.”
Anchor holds her hand. “Was it a nice one?”
She nods. “I talked to Daddy Kade.”
My breath hitches.
“You did?” Anchor asks.
“Yeah, he said he misses you guys.”
I turn so Kady won’t see my tears.
“He also said to tell you he’ll take good care of me.”
I can’t hold back the tears. It’s all I can do to keep from sobbing out loud.
“And he said he’s happy y
ou two are going to take care of each other with us gone.”
Anchor and I exchange a wide-eyed look. We haven’t said a word to Kady about dying. It’s all been about the owie in her head. That’s it.
Kady puts her hand on my arm. “Daddy Kade and I are going to be okay, Mommy.”
I try to stop the new flow of tears, but it’s a lost cause.
She squeezes my arm. “The only things we can take are love and memories. Daddy Kade and I have a lot, and soon we can spend time together.”
My lips waver. Tears fall faster. Words fail me.
Kady yawns. “I’m getting sleepy again. Can you take me downstairs?”
Anchor clears his throat. “Of course.” Then he scoops her up along with the stuffed Sparkles.
I grab one of her blankets and follow them downstairs. We settle on the couch and Hank streams the Sparkles TV show. Anchor’s parents and Lincoln come over, followed by Kade’s family. Rogan and Kenna were just here last week, but are on a plane over again.
We pass Kady around, each of us taking time to talk with her. When she gets tired, she watches the show and naps here and there. Eventually, another nurse arrives with more equipment. Kady gets a catheter and some other stuff I don’t want to think about.
Everyone pretty much stays in the family room, watching the cartoon and talking. Kady drifts in and out of sleep. The light outside grows dark, then light again, and dark again. Different nurses come and go, changing shifts. Rogan and Kenna arrive at one point.
Kady complains of more headaches and the only medicine that helps makes her even more tired. She sleeps for the better part of a day without waking.
At one point, when Lincoln hands her to me, I notice her breathing sounds like a rattle. I flash back, remembering Kade’s last moments. My heart races and I hold her tighter.
Mom asks to hold her, but I can’t let go, so she sits next to me and runs her hands over Kady’s hair. Around midnight, her eyes flutter open. Everyone else is sleeping, except Anchor and the nurse, who is making notes.
I nudge Anchor and he leans over.
Kady’s eyes focus on me and then on Anchor. “I love you, Mommy and Daddy.”
Tears blur my vision. “We love you too, baby. More than you know.”
“Yes, we do.” Anchor kisses her forehead.
“I’ll say hi to Daddy Kade for you.” Her eyes close.
“Wait!” I blink away tears.
She doesn’t open her eyes.
“Kady!”
Her breathing grows shallow. Rattly. It stays that way for about an hour.
The nurse keeps checking.
Then her breaths stop.
She’s gone.
I cling to her and wail.
Anchor holds us both.
Anchor
I always thought Kade’s funeral had been the saddest thing. Until Kady’s. The tiny casket. So many years left un-lived that would never be filled. The same had been true for Kade, but he’d at least made it to adulthood. Kady never got to see four.
Four.
The service was nice. People said all kinds of wonderful things about her. About Kade. A few people sang songs that left no eye dry. There were a lot of pictures of her all around the church—pictures of happy times, mostly. But also some of the end. Looking at them both made me happy and crushed me.
Afterward, everyone went to the grave and released balloons. Kady is resting next to Kade.
Now Sutton and I are sitting in a tree near the lake. It’s winter and cold, and raindrops are pattering on the leaves, but the canopy of leaves is protecting us. Neither one of us has said anything for what has to be an hour.
What is there to say? The only sounds are of the rain, the water lapping on the shore, and of our breathing. At some point, Sutton shivers. I wrap my arm around her. “Do you want to go home?”
She shakes her head and leans her head against my shoulder.
“Too many memories?”
“Too much pain.”
I can’t deny that. I want to offer going back to my house, but that won’t be any better. Memories of Kady fill both homes.
Somebody’s stomach growls. I can’t tell if it’s hers or mine. “Do you want to go somewhere to eat?”
“What’s the point?”
“To take care of ourselves.”
“What’s the point?” Sutton repeats.
“We promised Kady we’d take care of each other.”
She sighs.
“And besides, when we got married, I promised to take care of you. Let’s get some food. Do you want to choose, or do you want me to?”
She only shrugs.
“Looks like it’s my choice. You might regret that.”
Sutton doesn’t respond to my weak attempt at humor. Not that I really expect her to. I wouldn’t, either.
A stomach growls again. This time, I’m pretty sure it’s hers. “We need to eat. Even if it’s just a little. If you want, we can check into a hotel for the night. Just get away from everything. What do you think?”
She shrugs again.
“We can decide later.”
It takes a few minutes, but I finally get her to climb down. We head to my car, then I drive to an Italian place I haven’t been to in years. It’s outside of town, and I’m fairly sure it doesn’t hold any memories of either Kady or Kade for her.
We share a meal, and even then, still leave food on the plate. Afterward, Sutton decides a hotel sounds good. We find a bed and breakfast place and settle on the cushy mattress, fully clothed. She snuggles against me and shivers. I try to think of something brilliant to say. Nothing comes, so I try to think of anything to say. Still nothing. There’s nothing I can say that won’t bring both of us to tears. I’m only holding myself together for her sake. I’m focusing on her instead of my pain, instead of thinking about how my world is falling apart—again.
Finally, I know what to say. “I’m still keeping my promise to be here for you no matter what. If you need to just be, we’ll sit in silence. If you want to talk about her, about him, about anything, I’m here to listen. If you need to yell and hit someone, I’m here.”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“You could.”
“Why?”
“Because the world is the most unfair place there is. Nobody deserves to go through everything we have.”
Silence rests between us before she speaks. “I wish I could join them.”
I pretend that doesn’t hurt. “Where would that leave your mom? Rogan? Me?”
She looks at me. “I don’t want to hurt anymore. I’m sick of the pain.”
“So am I. Believe me. I want it to stop.”
“That’s what I want.”
I study her, worried she might try to end it all. “That would completely ruin me.”
Her eyes widen.
“I’m serious, Sutton.” I take her hand in mine and kiss it. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this, but I know with you it’s possible. Without you, I’ll crumble. The only way either of us are going to make it through the darkness and into the light is by clinging to one another. That’s the only way.”
Tears fill her eyes.
I struggle to keep my composure. “We made it through Kade’s loss together. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. You’ve seen me raw and unedited more than anyone else. You know my every weakness, my every fault, but yet you’ve chosen to love me. Please choose to fight through this. We can do this together.”
She wipes her eyes, but nods.
I pull her close and let my tears fall. We cry together over another massive loss—the very thing that brought us together in the first place. Hours feel like they’ve gone by before we’re both drained and unable to shed another tear. We lay down, still clinging to each other.
“Do you think she really saw Kade?” Sutton asks.
“She must have.”
“Really?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah. She’d been sleeping so long, then she
woke just to tell us that. It was a moment of real clarity, more than she’d had in a while.”
“You think there’s really a Heaven, and they’re there?”
“I think if anyone is there, it’s the two of them—both taken too soon. Two people with the kindest hearts I’ve ever seen.” I clear my throat. “Remember the time Kade found that injured puppy?”
“I forgot all about that. He stayed up all night taking care of her until the vet’s office opened the next morning.”
We talk about Kade for a while, then about how much Kady was like him and how fitting it was that she had been named after him. More tears are shed, but it feels less hopeless than before. Like there’s a tiny ray of light.
A sliver of hope that we actually will get through this together.
Sutton
It’s been five long and painful months since Kady died in my arms. Since I had to let the hospice nurse take my child away, knowing I’d never get to hold her again. Now all I have are memories—pictures, mementos, and her things. I’ve lain on her bed until it no longer smelled like her and clung to her favorite toys until they too lost the sweet scent.
I never want to lose someone I love again. It’s the worst thing the world has to offer.
Yet I’ve pushed Anchor away. Maybe for good. Wallowing in my self-pity, I’ve shut everyone out. Yes, I know that everyone else is suffering. Aching over Kady’s loss. That little girl left a mark on everyone she met, leaving a Kady-shaped hole in the hearts of those who knew her best.
Anchor tried to pull me out of my black hole, but my heart couldn’t take it. I have no room for love. No space for hope. I can’t risk hurting again. Being alone in my misery is all I can take.
There’s a part of me that wants to reach out to him, but that would mean facing the fact that I have to move on with life. Life without Kady. I sleep as much as I can. My dreams are the only place I can still see her. Hold her. Talk to her. When I can’t sleep anymore, I wallow in either her room or mine—both places where I feel closest to her.
Knock, knock.
I groan and roll over in my bed. The last thing I want is to talk with anyone. See anyone. I can’t remember the last time I showered. Got dressed. Left the house. Mom, Hank, Rogan, and Kenna have tried to get me out, but had no success. Mom even tried kicking me out of the house if I didn’t re-enroll in school, but we both knew that was a bluff. She’s not going to send me packing after everything I’ve been through.
The Only Things You Can Take (Wildflower Romance #2) Page 24