by Christina OW
“We need to let him go. The doctors want to make him comfortable, make sure there’s no pain until he’s ready to move on.”
“Move on?” That was a peculiar choice of words. It wasn’t like he was moving out to go to college. Ron was talking about giving the doctors permission to put my son to sleep. Dogs are put to sleep and my son wasn’t a dog.
Ron shook his head, “Sandra don’t. Eric can’t handle anymore. The decision is yours but… Sandra he can’t take anymore.”
I turned around and looked at my baby. He was struggling to breathe even with the breathing mask. Should I even be seeing his heart beating? He was so thin I could see the jumps barely concealed by his little ribs. They stood out too.
“He’s tired.”
Ron rubbed my back, “Yes love, he’s exhausted.”
My throat burned. “He should sleep.”
He held my hand and moved the other to my shoulder. I felt his lips on my temple as he whispered roughly, “It’s okay to let him sleep.”
I looked into my son’s half-mast eyes again. I think I finally understood what they said. But… God forgive me but I couldn’t. I wanted to ease his discomfort, take his pain away but I couldn’t say the words. Just thinking about them gutted me.
“Ron I—I can’t do it,” I cried my entire body wracking with shivers as the truth finally sunk in, as I finally let go of the delusion that my son would get up from that bed bright eyed and in vibrant laughter. “I just can’t.”
He held me tighter to him, “Do you want me to call Steve?”
Steve the fucking coward! He ran for the other direction the moment I told him the news. His parents had come to see Eric twice, the second trip they dragged Steve with them. After that, they never came, never took my calls. They’d written Eric off as dead and that meant they had no reason to try and delay the divorce. As my baby was going through his first round of chemotherapy I was served with notice that I was a free woman after an expedited divorce. I didn’t care as long as they kept paying Eric’s hospital bills but that began to be slow in coming. But Ron took care of everything. He played the role Steve was to yellow belly to. The father Eric needed and the crutch I required in this difficult time.
Now I was the coward thinking this but by God it would be easier to take if someone else did it. I didn’t want to be the one who killed my baby.
“Do you want me to do it?”
“Yes, please!” I responded, maybe too quickly but I was breaking even more inside and I needed it to be done before I changed my mind. I was too selfish to let him go. I needed someone to help me.
“Okay. Climb into bed with him, hold him, sing to him. Sing him to sleep.” He lifted me out of the chair and guided me onto the bed next to my son.
I gathered Eric’s little body into my arms, mindful of all the wires and tubes he was connected to. I placed his head on my chest and I swear he took a steady breath as he cuddled against me. I faced Ron but he shook his head, quickly dashing my hopes.
He wasn’t getting better. He was just relieved to be in his mommy’s arms.
“I’ll be right back.”
I nodded and began to hum his favorite lullaby. For the life of me I couldn’t remember the words.
A few minutes later, I felt Ron’s hand on my shoulder. His other hand snaked by me and cupped the back of Eric’s head. He barely had any hair left. He used to have such beautiful hair.
I heard the low whispers of two maybe three other people in the room but I couldn’t see them, Ron was blocking my view. But I could hear them. They fiddled around with the machines, Eric’s IV and then the oncologist came to the foot of the bed. She gave me a sad look, squeezed my ankle then left, closing the door behind her. We were alone now—Ron, Eric and me.
“Is it done?” I whispered.
Ron sat down but kept his hand on us. He nodded once, slowly, his eyes brimming with tears. “It shouldn’t be long now.”
I held Eric tighter to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have given up so soon. What if there was a treatment out there we hadn’t tried…
“We’ve done everything we could.” Ron said reading my thoughts again.
Yes, everything that could be done had been done. Ron hadn’t left a stone unturned but despite all his efforts, he too couldn’t save my son. I went back to humming, memorizing the feel of my son against my one last time.
It felt like it had been just a few minutes before it finally happened. His chest stopped moving against mine, his hold on my shirt fell away, he grew cold against my skin, his breathes… I couldn’t hear the strangling harsh sounds anymore. There was total silence, the room completely still except for my humming. Then the muffled sounds of weeping joined in. I turned just enough to spot my brother, hiding against the wall his shoulders shaking as he silently sobbed. William was next to him, tears running down free as he held Kristy tightly to him. He rubbed her back as she cried—the weeping sounds were hers. Ron was next to me, tears in his shattered eyes his hands still on us—one on my shoulder the other cupping Eric’s head.
He’d felt it too. The moment Eric slipped away.
But I still needed to be sure… just in case…
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
He nodded, tears dislodging and falling to his cheeks, “Yes,” he grunted.
I wasn’t sure what was happening next but a number of people came in and out of the room moving the machines and pulling the tubes and wires out of my son as I still held him in my arms. But I came awake the moment they tried to pry him out of my hold.
“Wait, I’m not ready yet!” I screamed in a panic.
Ron pulled my arms open then caged me against him, “Take him, please!”
The man lifted Eric off me and placed him on a gurney then covered his little body with a white sheet. Right over his head. It was final, too final.
“No, please no. Don’t do that. Wait! I’m not ready yet! Ron, tell him to wait, please!”
I fought to get out of his hold but he trapped me whispering it was okay into my ear. But it wasn’t. Nothing was okay. I wasn’t ready yet. I needed to hold him one last time. I needed to tell him I loved him one last time. I needed to tell him he would always be my baby no matter where he was one last time. I needed…
The man pushed the gurney with my baby on it, out of the room and my panic grew ten folds. I struggled harder but Ron only held tighter.
“Ron, wait I’m not ready!”
“It’s okay Sandra, it’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay, it never would be.
Once my baby was completely out of view, darkness descended on me and I welcomed it with open arms.
Chapter Four
“Eric!” I came awake screaming his name. Again. How long would this go on? Was I to be forever haunted by my dead son? When was I going to be finally okay, done with my grieving?
I quickly got out of bed and rushed to the door. I needed to find Ron. If I stayed alone one more second with the thoughts of Eric haunting me, I might just lose my mind entirely. But after how I had accused him that afternoon, would he even want to keep me company? I hadn’t meant to hurt him—well maybe I had. I wanted someone to hurt just as much as I did. It wasn’t until I relieved the day my son died in my dreams did I finally remember Ron’s grief. He had felt Eric die and that probably haunted him.
I stopped in my tracks stunned. Was I actually thinking about someone else’s pain? I hadn’t cared about anyone when I was with William and Morris. Was it because they hadn’t shared that final moment with me like Ron had? Would I have gotten better sooner if I’d kept leaning on Ron like I had through out Eric’s struggle?
“Sandra, what is it?”
Ron was standing in front of me, a worried look on his face, and a glass of what suspiciously looked like whiskey in his hand.
“You left me, why?”
He ran his free hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, “I couldn’t stay.”
“Why?”
He walked away, down
the corridor and exiting into the living room and I was right behind him. “Ron, why did you leave me?”
“Sandra—”
“You stayed through it all, even the funeral,” my voice hitched over the last word, “but right after they put—” I squeezed my eyes shut. Dear God I couldn’t say it. It was too painful, “You left. Why?”
He kept his back to me as he stared into the fire place, “It got too much, hurt too much. I just couldn’t stay.”
“Why?”
He stayed quiet nothing but the cracking of wood in the fire could be heard. I stayed where I was, waiting for him to answer me. I got that it hurt but maybe, just maybe it would have hurt less if we’d ridden out the storm together.
“I just couldn’t,” he finally answered. He then turned around, “Wine?”
I wasn’t much of a drinker but I had adopted the habit when I found out its numbing effect. But I didn’t ride that oblivious ride long before Morris and William cleared the house of alcohol and made sure I couldn’t get any.
Was that what Ron was doing? Numbing the pain with alcohol?
“Got any tequila?”
He smiled weakly, “You want to get plastered, do you?”
I shrugged one shoulder, “Just enough to keep the dreams away.”
It looked like he knew exactly what I was talking about by the expression on his face. He nodded once and disappeared down the corridor we’d just come from. I pulled the throw from the couch and sunk before the fire place and just watched the flames as I waited for him. A few minutes later he sunk down next to me holding out a glass to me. I took it and he poured a generous amount of tequila into it before he helped himself to some.
“Why did you come back now?”
He turned away, stared into the fire, “I got tired of running. It was ridiculous really, considering what I was trying to run from was inside me.” He faced me, “And I heard you were doing worse than William. Couldn’t have you trying to kill yourself like he did now could I?”
I actually smiled, “Ron, I’m not your responsibility.”
“Nope, but if I’m to finally have my chance to sleep with you I need you around.” He tried to tease but I could see the fear in his eyes. He’d truly been scared I was going to try to kill myself.
I’d thought about it, a few hundred times but I never could manage getting off the couch to actually do it.
“What are we doing here now?”
He shrugged, “I have no idea. I want to keep hiding out and you need a change of scenery.”
“So we’re hiding?”
He saluted her before he downed the tequila in one gulp. He hissed scrunching up his face, “yes we are.” He responded hoarsely.
“Salud!” I saluted him and down my own drink. Hell it burned all the way!
He refilled our glasses, “So how long should we keep this up?”
“When the bottle is empty and we feel a little numb and it hurts a little less.” I took a long look at him, at how his biceps pressed against his cardigan when he folded his arms over his raised knees. “Or we could do something other than just drink.”
“Oh yeah? What?” he replied absentmindedly his eyes staring into his tequila glass.
“We could have sex,” I blurted out playfully. It was funny when he went completely still right after. But as I thought about it, my eyes roving freely over his body, I wondered why the hell not? I’ve always wanted to, so why not now when we were in bad need of some comfort?
He looked up, a perfect aristocratic brow rose, “You want to shag?”
“Yes, I want to shag,” repeating the word with my take of an English accent.
He chuckled, “There are so many reasons why that’s a really bad idea,” he threw back his drink, hissing as it slide down his throat.
“Why not?” I drunk my tequila for some liquid courage then refilled both our glasses, “Okay. Give me one good—and it has to be irrefutably good—reason why we shouldn’t.”
He opened his mouth to speak but nothing cam out. I giggled, the drink already going to my head.
“See, you don’t have one!”
He shook his head, “No, no. I do. I just can’t think of one at the moment. After a cup of very strong coffee I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something.”
I scoffed, “You’ve had three shots of tequila. I never took you for a light weight.”
“My dear, I was well into my cups when you woke up. You want to talk about it?”
Ah, he heard me scream for Eric. I can’t count how many times I’ve done that since…
I gulped down my drink washing down the unwanted feelings of despair and depression. Tears and wails of anguish were not seduction tools.
“Talking isn’t going to bring him back.” I mimicked his accent again.
“Shagging all night won’t either.” He toasted me, giving me one of his roguish smiles, “But I’m glad my accent amuses you.”
“So are we doing this or what?” I asked impatiently.
He stared at me thoughtfully, “A few hours ago you called me a murderer.”
I chewed on my lip guiltily, “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes you did,” he cut me off. “It was implied very strongly in your angry accusations,” when I opened my mouth to defend myself he raised his hand, “Not to worry. I know it was the pain talking. I understand—well I can’t fully understand the pains of a bereaved mother but I know some semblance of your pain.” he looked down at his left hand then clenched it in such a tight fist that it shook.
“Is that the hand that held Eric when…” My insides burned when I remembered that moment.
“Yeah,” he croaked tossing another shot into his mouth.
I followed suit then in the bravest act since I asked for a divorce. I pulled off my baggy sweat shirt that had been my buddy for days and I just now realized how much it stunk, tossed it far across the room, rose to my knees and moved to him.
“Sandra…”
I’m sure his tone was supposed to convey a warning but it came out as uncertain as he looked. Sited before me wasn’t macho Ron but a man grieving.
“You’re hurting, I’m hurting so why don’t we just take a break from all the hurt and take a little pleasure for just a few minutes.” I came to a stop between his raised knees and placed my hands on his shoulders.
He looked up at me, his hands instinctively lifting to my waist, “Sandra this is a bad idea.”
“I said coming to this cabin was a bad idea but you didn’t listen to me. So why should I listen to you now.” I grabbed the neck of his cardigan and began to pull, “Why don’t we take this off.”
He helped, “I don’t have anything underneath.”
“Even better.” Once I had him bared my breath caught in my throat. I’ve always known a magnificently chiseled body lay below his tailored suit jackets but this… wow! His chuckle drew my attention and I was glad I was a few shots to being shit faced to care if I’d embarrassed myself. “Say one word and we both go to bed horny and alone.”
“We can’t have that now, can we?” his hands snaked under my tank top and my entire body exploded in shivers. Before when they were playful touches just to annoy me I did shiver from the pleasure, from the want, the need—I craved his touch when he drew it away. It was like having an addiction to a drug. And now, now that his touch wasn’t playful or casual but seductive meant to arouse me… it was a complete overload!
“You do things to me…”
“I haven’t yet. Not yet,” his hands pushed the tank top up and over my head baring me to him. I shivered, from the cold, or from the desire, I have no idea but it was a yummy shiver.
He pushed up on his knees and I was still a head shorter, staring at his chest. And what a lovely chest—with a tattoo.
I traced the black rose with falling petals with my finger, “You have a tattoo, you’re mother would be livid if she found out.”
“I don’t make it a habit to walk around shirtless in the presen
ce of my mother so there is no way from her to find out. And your English accent is atrocious, love. Now, something demands my attention.”
“What’s that?” the words were barely out of my mouth when he covered my lips with his. His lips, his kiss was just as I remembered—perfect.
~*~
“Kristy introduce me!” I begged chasing after her around her bedroom.
“No for the hundredth time. Ron is trouble.”
“And he’s hot,” I floated down onto her bed, “Man is he hot. If he smiles at me like that again I swear I’ll die the little death.” A pillow smashed into my face and I rose sputtering, “Really Kristy.”
“I can’t listen to you talking about him like that,” her body shook with revulsion, “Yack! It’s weird.”
“Why?”
“He’s my brother!”
“He’s your brother-in-law,” I corrected, “And there is nothing disgusting about his sexuality. In fact he’s yummy,” I sighed heavily. At twenty-five I shouldn’t be experiencing the kind of sexual drought I was in. My sister was two years younger and already married. She was disgustingly happy and still in the honeymoon phase.
When she began dating the straight laced Englishman, I thought the relationship had a shelf life of a banana but thousands of bananas later they were still going strong. But she’d changed him a bit. His tie used to be perfect, sitting around his neck like a well behaved noose, then as the weeks went by it got looser and looser. He lost the tailored suits and Italian leather shoes and became more into loafers, jeans and a pollo shirt. He was still a rich boy but a watered down version. Ronald Stanford however was the playboy of the two. William was cute but Ronald was flaming hot!
Another pillow hit my face.
“Would you stop that? I can hear all your depraved thoughts from all the way across the room. You want an intro? Fine but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I squealed like a teenage school girl bouncing on the bed, “Thank you thank you thank you sis! I owe you big time. Now, you just have to convince him to stop by here. I’m sure he can take a few weeks off his world tour.”