“Tell Thane and Isobel I said hello.”
“I will.”
* * *
I’m consumed by my father-in-law’s request. It’s all I’ve thought about all day.
Harry isn’t simply dying. He’s a victim of a slow, agonizing death. The end is in sight, almost within his reach, yet so far away.
I hate what Harry’s experiencing but how can I possibly kill my father-in-law? I can’t. It isn’t right. Even I know that.
Bleu opens the bathroom door and the scent of her shower gel invades the bedroom. She stands in the doorway giving me a view of how she looks in one of her new satin gowns. “Like?”
“Love. You look beautiful.”
She comes to bed and crawls over me. Her mouth roams my neck. And chest. And stomach. It’s making its way below my waistband. “Mmm … I love my hot, Scottish husband.”
She stops when I don’t lift up for her to pull down my sleep pants. “What’s wrong?”
How do I say this without alerting her to how poor her father’s prognosis is? “Nothing is wrong. It was a long day with Harry and I’m having a difficult time getting him off my mind. It sort of makes it impossible to get it up when your father is in my head.”
She rolls off me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”
“It’s okay. His condition is a lot to take. Trust me. I get it.”
“How much longer do you think he has?”
“It’s getting close,” she says quietly.
“How do you know?”
“I went through this with Julia, my adoptive mom. I recognize the signs but he’s hiding them from us.”
Does she know? “What do you mean?”
“He’s in pain. I can tell. But he isn’t admitting it because he thinks he’s protecting us.” She’s crying. “I don’t want him to suffer. I’d do anything to take it away for him but there’s nothing I can do.”
She’s sobbing. I usually tell her to stop because I can’t stand it but it seems a selfish thing to say right now. This isn’t about me. If she needs a good cry, then she just does.
I pull her into my arms. “Cry all you want. Kick if you need to. Scream as much and as loud as you like. Do whatever you need to do. No one is here but us.”
“It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest. I can’t breathe. I can’t catch my breath.” She’s sobbing harder. She scoots away and I feel her leave the bed.
I get up and turn on the bedroom light. She’s standing in the corner of the room with that same wild look in her eye—like a scared animal ready to flee. “You’re breathing fine. You just need to slow it down so you don’t hyperventilate.”
She’s frantically fanning her face with her hands. “I’m burning up. I can’t breathe when I’m hot.”
I grab the closest thing I can find and use it to fan her.
“My hands are tingling. I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“You’re hyperventilating. Slow your breathing. Do it with me.” I’m afraid touching her might worsen it, so I stand before her and breathe in and out slowly, making the motions with my hands. “Do it with me, Bonny.”
She’s wide-eyed and trembling. She places two fingers against her carotid. “My heart’s beating too fast.”
Shit. What is happening? “Do I need to call for help?”
“No. It’ll pass but I need time.”
It feels like an eternity before she begins to come down from whatever the hell just happened. “It’s going away.”
She moves toward the bed. I sit next to her. “What was that?”
“Panic attack.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“I’ve been having them since I was seven. They started after my mom’s murder.”
“How often?”
“Sometimes I go months without one. But they come more frequently when my anxiety level increases.”
Harry’s illness has her completely stressed but I’ve not seen her do this. “How often are they happening now?”
“That’s the fourth one today.”
“You’re experiencing attacks that bad every day, up to four times?”
“Sometimes five or six.”
“How did I not know this?”
“I hide them.”
How? “There’s no concealing that.”
“When I feel it coming, I go into the bathroom and stay until it’s over.”
I’ve noticed several times she’s slipped away unexpectedly but I didn’t think anything of it. “How does one feel?”
“Like I’m dying. I can’t breathe. It’s like being smothered with a pillow all over again. It’s agonizing and there isn’t a thing I can do to stop it.”
Bonny is stressed to the point it’s affecting her well-being. She doesn’t want her father to suffer. His condition is hurting both him and her.
This changes everything.
* * *
We’re at the hospital by nine, as we have been every morning since we married. It’s certainly not the typical way newlyweds spend their honeymoon. But Bonny wouldn’t have it any other way. She won’t leave her father. And I wouldn’t ask her to.
“Ellison and I are going to Starbucks. ’Tis the season of everything pumpkin. My favorite. Want anything?”
“Aye, you know what I want.”
“Dad? Care for a coffee or pastry?”
“I’ll … pass, girlie.”
I’m glad the two of them are gone. It works out perfectly because I wasn’t sure how I was going to swing being alone with Harry.
“Bleu and I discussed you last night. She told me some things that put all of this into a different perspective.”
Harry perks up.
“You aren’t fooling her. She knows you’re in terrible pain and it’s hurting her. She’d do anything to take it away. It’s killing her to see you suffer.”
“Don’t want … that for her.” Neither do I.
“In the middle of discussing your condition, she became so upset that it triggered one of her episodes.”
“Panic … attack?” Harry’s even more short of breath today. He can hardly put two words together. I can’t see this stretching out much longer by natural means.
“Aye. A bad one. I’ve never seen her like that.” The attack she had in Edinburgh wasn’t like this. This was something entirely different.
“She scared the shit out of me. I thought she was dying.”
“Been like … that since … little girl.”
“It lasted an eternity. When it was over, she admitted she’s been having up to six a day and hiding them from us.”
Harry closes his eyes and barely shakes his head. “Good … Lord.”
“She described how she felt afterward. It made me think about you and what it must be like for you all day long. I was lying in bed last night holding my breath. I wanted some idea about what it must feel like but it’s not the same. So my question is—are you still asking me to assist you in your voluntary euthanasia?”
“Yes.”
Once I consent, there’s no going back. I’ll be agreeing to mercy kill my wife’s father. “All right. I’ll do it. But she can never know.”
He smiles and a most unusual expression comes over his face. I think it’s relief. “Thank … you.”
“When do you want me to do it?”
“Need to … say goodbye … to my … girls first.”
“Of course. Do you want them to be with you when you go?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want Bleu or Ellison to harbor feelings of guilt for not being present when it happens. Do you want to know when?”
“No … I’ll live … every moment … like it’s … the last.”
“I’ll make it painless. You’ll go to sleep and never know.”
“You’re a … good man, Sinclair. You just … haven’t … figured it … out yet.”
“Bleu is the only good thing about me.” She’s the only re
ason the light inside me bothers to battle the dark.
“My girl … has a way … of bringing out … the best … in everyone.”
It’s true. My sweet lass has brought out a whole new side of me, one I didn’t know existed. “I don’t know how she can love someone like me. But by some miracle, she does.”
“You don’t … know this … but you’ve helped … to heal … her heart.” He pauses but I can tell he has more to say. “I knew it … the night you … came to … ask for … her hand.”
I was positive I’d never love anyone. I didn’t believe I was capable but that was before Bleu changed everything.
* * *
It’s a new day—and it’ll be Harry’s last. I’m not looking forward to assisting him in leaving this life. It may very well be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’m predicting the onset of an attack for Bleu when he goes—probably a series of them. I dread that as much as being the one to end Harry’s life.
This is clearly his worst day yet. His breathing is much more labored, his color an ashy gray despite the additional oxygen. I seriously doubt he’d last much longer without intervention anyway. So why would I help him leave this world when he’s well on his way out on his own? He wants to die peacefully with dignity, not lying in a bed unable to move while he slowly drowns. I can give him that.
I have everything I need in my pocket—three large syringes. Each is filled with a hefty dose of medication intended to deliver a peaceful death. All I have to do is wait for the right time to inject them into his IV.
I luck out when Ellison and Bleu decide they’re hungry and want to go to the cafeteria. I opt to stay behind.
Harry was an agent for thirty years. He’s not stupid. He didn’t want any warning of when it was coming but he knows what I’m about to do. I see it in his eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Go in peace, Harry.” I push the first of the three medications through his IV.
“I have … a letter … for you. Top drawer … of the … bedside … table. Took me … awhile … to write it. Read it … privately.”
“As you wish.” I slip the envelope into my interior jacket pocket. I connect the second syringe to Harry’s line and take my phone from my pocket. I push the medication as I make the call that is going to devastate my wife. “Bonny. I think you and Ellison should come back. Quickly.”
I connect the third to Harry’s IV. “They’ll be here soon.”
I’ve timed the walk from the cafeteria to Harry’s room a dozen times. I have around two minutes with a brisk walk so I count to sixty and then push the last syringe slowly over the last thirty seconds.
Bleu and Ellison burst into the room half a minute later. Each rush to Harry’s side. “What’s happening?”
“I think this might be it.”
“I’m calling Marge,” Ellison says as she moves toward the door.
Harry stops her. “No, princess. Family only.”
I suddenly feel like an outsider, not fit to stay. “I’ll step outside.”
“Stay, Sinclair.” Harry struggles to catch his breath. “You are my family too.”
His fingers move toward Ellison, not more than an inch. “Come.”
She moves to his bedside and takes his hand. “What is it, Dad?”
He moves his other hand in Bonny’s direction. “You … come … too.”
She does as he says, taking his hand in hers.
“I’ve loved each of you differently, but always equally. Both of you have been my pride and joy but for different reasons. You’ve been the best daughters a father could hope to have.”
Bleu and Ellison are sobbing, each proclaiming their love for their father. It brings me to tears.
Bleu presses her father’s hand to her face and kisses it.
“Girlie girl. You’ve … done good … with Sinclair. He’s going … to be … a fine husband.”
Bleu’s attention temporarily turns from her father to me. “I know. That’s why I can’t be sorry for the way things have gone.”
“Sinclair is … going to … watch over you.” Pause. “Be your protector … and Ellison’s … until she has … a husband … of her own.”
“Both Sin and I will protect her.” Ellison looks from her father to Bleu with her brow wrinkled, her eyes narrowed. It’s the same confused expression I’ve seen Bleu wear.
“Elli … never settle … for less … than you deserve.”
“I never have, Dad. I certainly won’t when it comes to a man.” She brings his hand to her face. “He’ll have very large shoes to fill.”
Harry struggles for his next few breaths. His voice is so soft and low it’s barely audible. “I’m very tired. I’m going to rest my eyes now.”
His lids close and the depth of the rise and fall of his chest shallows with each breath.
I’ve watched many men die but never like this—peacefully, without fear.
“Jules.” It’s the last word he utters before his breathing ceases. His face is relaxed, no longer grimacing from pain. Harry is finally at peace.
* * *
Bleu and Ellison are busy making Harry’s final arrangements. They’re choosing flowers, something they don’t need me for, so I decide to steal away for a private moment to read my father-in-law’s final words. “Bonny, I’m going to step out for a minute. Can I get you anything? Maybe a coffee or a snack?” She’s eaten so little the last few days. I can’t imagine that being good for her body considering the blood sugar medication she takes.
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
I decide to visit the chapel since it’s quiet. A good place to expect no interruptions. That’s where I take a seat and open Harry’s letter.
Sinclair,
In case you’ve not yet figured it out, Bleu isn’t your typical woman. The events of her childhood caused great, lasting damage. Avenging her mother’s death is only one piece of her; she became obsessed with making sure no one ever hurt her again, physically or emotionally. In the process, she closed herself off, unable to connect with others. Until you.
If you’d asked me a year ago—a month ago—I wouldn’t have chosen you for my daughter. But today is different. With the depth of your love, you’ve healed her heart. It’s a father’s hope and dream for his daughter to find such a man.
You’ve come to know how easy Bleu is to love. Always remember that, even when she gives you reason to forget. Because she will. Please be patient with her when she does.
I’ve heard it said that those who cannot forget the past are condemned to relive it. Sinclair, I fear the only way for Bleu to forget is to finish this once and for all. Do it for her. Help my girl forget the hurts of her past.
Harry
I fold the letter and return it to the interior pocket of my jacket.
No worries, Harry. I’ll do whatever it takes to heal this hurt for our girl.
Chapter Nine
Bleu Breckenridge
Edinburgh, Scotland
My life has been a whirlwind the last few weeks. Amazing love. Crushing grief. I basked in the light of one while curling into a ball in the shadows of the other. In my blackest hours, Sin executed his role as my supportive husband perfectly. I needed him and he was there, my beacon in the dark. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect source of light and strength.
Today marks a fresh beginning in our lives. Sin and I have come home to Edinburgh. I’m sad about leaving my sister behind but excited to begin my life with Sin. The events of the recent weeks consumed us to the point that we were unable to explore our new roles to one another. Now, I finally get to be a wife to my husband.
As Sin’s wife, my position within The Fellowship has changed. Everyone within the brotherhood has expectations for me. And I have no idea what those are. Stepping into this unfamiliar part is frightening.
I fear we won’t have time to breathe before our lives are thrown into yet another tailspin—beginning with our home. Sin claims his flat is no
longer a suitable place to live since we’re married. He says we should live in a house and would like to begin looking for one immediately. He’s already phoned realtors and has them searching for estates with a minimum of four bedrooms.
Sin’s already mentioned making the appointment with a fertility specialist. We agreed we’d see one as soon as possible but it feels like another thing we’re jumping into. I understand it’s just a consult—not the actual procedure itself—but I’m a little worried it’s something he’ll want to pursue soon because it’s what The Fellowship will want, rather than what we want.
He’s so hopeful when he talks about it. I guess I might be too if I hadn’t already been counseled—by more than one doctor—concerning my poor prognosis. Granted¸ they weren’t the best doctors money could buy like the ones Sin plans on seeing.
I wait for Sin to unlock the door of his flat—I mean, our flat—and shiver against the cold. He uses his foot to push open the door and scoops me from the ground. “Welcome home, Mrs. Breckenridge.”
He carries me over the threshold and kisses me hard before returning my feet to the floor.
Mrs. Breckenridge. I’ve only heard him say it a few times. “I like hearing you call me that.”
“Then I shall do it more often if it pleases you, Mrs. Breckenridge.” He kisses the top of my head.
I put my arms around his midsection and squeeze tightly. “It does indeed, Mr. Breckenridge.”
“Welcome home.”
Entering his building still reminds me of traveling through a time warp. An old exterior. A modern interior.
I glance around the flat. Nothing has changed from four months ago. Off-white walls. Warm-toned wood flooring. Streamlined. Neat. Classy in a boring sort of way. Lacks color, with the exception of the television when it’s on. It’s a man’s defined space. The enormous flat screen says it all.
“Is it as you remember?”
I stand over the cocktail table. I lift copies of Women’s Health and Advanced Photographer, looking at their dates. July editions. Four months old. “Exceedingly so.”
The Next Sin Page 9