by Emma Scott
Jonah shook his head against the pillow. “Not tonight, Kace.”
It was the tenth ‘not tonight’ in a row, and the smile slipped off my face like the flimsy mask it was.
Not tonight. But behind Jonah’s eyes, behind the warmth and sadness and the infinities of thoughts behind them, I read what he was really saying.
Not this night.
Not any night.
Not ever again.
“Okay,” I said, my breath tight in my chest that suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Tears burned my eyes and I was too slow to turn away and too weak to keep them from spilling over.
“I hate this part the most,” he said.
“Shh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Do not be sorry, Jonah. Being sorry means you wish we hadn’t happened, and I’m not sorry for that. Are you?”
He shook his head, his own eyes full. “These last months have been everything.”
“Everything. I have no regrets. But I’m going to cry a little right now, okay? I can’t help it. I can’t…”
I can’t lose you, is what I wanted to say, but I was going to lose him, and so I cried and he held me until I stopped.
I wiped my eyes, then pulled off my shirt and unclasped my bra.
“What are you doing?” he murmured in the sleepy, measured voice he had to use now to say anything, to have enough air to speak.
“Want to be close to you.” I snuggled up tight against him.
Jonah held me close and fell asleep quickly—he was so terrifyingly tired all the time—but I lay awake for long hours, my strong heart beating against his failing one. I willed whatever strength I had into him. I tried to visualize a current of energy, vibrant and gold, emanating from me and seeping into him. Making him better. Making him well.
Don’t leave me.
The next morning, he woke up short of breath, hardly able to sit up without help. Our eyes met, and he brushed his fingers along my cheek. “It’s time.”
I thought I’d collapse against him then, sobbing and wailing—letting the grief pour out of me. God knew I wanted to. But then I’d have to take him to the hospital and this last moment, here in our bed, would’ve been wasted in crying.
Instead, I kissed him like a lover—deep and long, and with everything I had. With every ounce of infinite love that dwelt in me.
I kissed Jonah Fletcher with all of my heart, and with every piece of my soul that would love him forever.
They set Jonah up in a private room, steps from the elevator, the chapel, vending machines and the restrooms. The circle of his friends and family—The Seven, I called us—had access to everything we needed, allowing us to camp out in the waiting room.
No one left for longer than a few hours at a time, and checked back in via text every few minutes:
Is he okay?
Any news on a donor?
What does the doctor say?
The answers stayed the same for the first twenty-four hours: Jonah was resting, no news of a donor heart and the doctor said he wasn’t likely to get one. Jonah’s kidneys—ravaged from the medications—were failing and he was put on dialysis, which made him all but ineligible for a second heart transplant.
“If you’d let me give him one of mine…” Theo said. He looked terrible—dark rings under bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.
“It wouldn’t have helped,” Dr. Morrison said. “His antibody count has always been much too high. The CAV too relentless.”
“So they just took him off the list?”
“Not at all,” Dr. Morrison said. “Jonah was never removed from the donor list. But if a new heart were available, we would have heard already. I’m so sorry.”
He turned to address the Seven. “Right now, the best thing for Jonah is to remain comfortable and spend time with you.”
“He’s not in pain, is he?” Henry asked.
“No,” Dr. Morrison said gently. “And I will do everything in my power to ensure he stays that way. I promise.”
Over the next two days, we crowded into his room, talking and reminiscing. Laughing at his bedside and stepping out to cry in the hallway. By the third day, when Jonah was struggling through the minutes, some instinctive realization took hold of the group.
It was time to say goodbye.
Tania, Oscar and Dena took turns alone in his room. Then the Seven became Four: the Fletchers and me.
“How are you?” I asked Theo. We slouched on chairs in the waiting area while Henry and Beverly sat with Jonah.
“My brother’s dying and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. That’s how I am.”
I stared at my hands through a beat of silence.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I can’t really sit over here by myself anymore,” I said. “Can I…hold your hand?”
Theo moved to sit beside me. His large, strong hand engulfed mine. I studied the tattoos that snaked around his forearms.
“Your designs?”
“Some.”
“What drew you to tattooing?” My voice sounded like I’d been screaming for hours—tear-soaked and hoarse.
“Permanence,” Theo said. “Tattoo is art that bites deep. Leaves blood. Can never be washed away. It stays.” He looked down at me with his whiskey-colored eyes. “You stayed.”
I smiled. “I want a tattoo from you.”
“Name it.”
“Not sure yet. I’ll think about it.”
He nodded and we waited, hand in hand. The Fletchers came out then—Beverly looking frail and delicate, Henry ramrod straight, stoic and stiff—his grief boiling below the surface.
“Theo, dear,” Beverly said in a tremulous voice. “He wants you.”
Theo went in, and I sat wedged between the Fletchers, holding her hand, resting my head against his shoulder. They weren’t my parents, but I loved them. And I felt loved by them in a way I never had from my own. Even Henry’s reserved affection was a million times warmer than my father’s.
I hadn’t thought of him since San Diego. Or my mother. They’d never met Jonah, and now they never would.
Their loss, I thought bitterly, but in the next instant that bitterness morphed into fierce pride, and even joy. I had known Jonah Fletcher. I had been loved by him, and it was a privilege I would carry with me for the rest of my life.
Theo emerged, looking bewildered. He gave me a strange look I couldn’t define, then said, “He’s asking for you.”
Jonah lay on the hospital bed, reclined as he had in his chair in his apartment. A nasal cannula ran beneath his nose, delivering oxygen, but his breathing was erratic. He took little sips of air, his chest jerking instead of rising and falling. His dark eyes were stark against his pale face. His thick silken hair now thin and brittle. Tubes and wires ran into his right arm, held there with white tape. The dialysis machine churned continuously from beside the bed. Another monitored his heart. I didn’t understand the blood pressure numbers but the jumping, electric tick of his pulse monitor sounded fast and agitated in my ears.
“You sent for me?” I said, as I sank into the chair next to the bed. I leaned my elbows on the mattress and took his hand in mine.
“I’m extracting promises,” he said, between short, shallow breaths. “No one…can refuse a guy…in my position.”
I tried to find a clever comeback but I had none. Only the howling wish he was in any other position than this one.
“Do you want anything?” I asked. “Anything at all.”
“No, Kace. Just you. Here with me.”
I nodded. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiled with a weak twitch of his lips. “And that promise.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me,” Jonah said. His voice was weak and soft, but a desperate intensity wreathed his gaze.
“What, baby…?”
“Love again.”
I stared a moment, then shook my head.
&nb
sp; He fought to get a breath in. “There’s more to you than us, Kace. Please…don’t hold yourself back. You have too much to give. So much love, Kacey…So much.”
My chest tightened. “I can’t even think about it right now, Jonah…”
“In time,” he said. “Promise me. If you find someone…”
“Never.”
His fingers wove with mine. “No. You will. Love him. Love him with everything. Like you loved me. Love him more.” His eyes closed. “I’m so happy, Kace. Never like this in my life. It’s…a gift. You know?”
I ran the backs of my fingers along his face. “I know.”
His eyes opened slowly. “Make someone else…feel like I do right now. Okay? Promise.”
I wanted to shake my head and tell him I couldn’t do it. Could never do it. I would never again feel for anyone what I felt for him.
“I love you, Kace,” he said in between shallow little hiccups of air. “I love you so much. Promise…”
“I love you, Jonah. And… Okay. Yes. I promise.” Tears spilled over my cheeks as I nodded. “I promise.”
His eyes closed again. His body settled back into the pillows and his next inhale seemed smooth, the exhale relieved. The corners of his mouth lifted, then stretched further. He smiled. He was beautiful then. Peaceful. Serene.
“I need to tell you something,” I said. “I know you’re tired. Just rest and listen.”
Still smiling, he nodded. “Still here.”
“I love you,” I said. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I wouldn’t give back one second of our time together. Not one.”
“Kace…” he breathed. His hand in mine shook, trying to rise. I brought it up for him and pressed my cheek into his palm. His fingertips rubbed slowly in my hair.
“My heart’s breaking,” I said. “And I’m so happy. You make me so happy. Your love’s made me strong. You’ve made me a better person…” Sobs like little knives in my throat, words trying to dodge around them. “Being loved by you, Jonah…it’s the greatest honor of my life.”
He gazed at me, the tears spilling down his pale face. “God, you… So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful. Don’t want to stop looking at you…but…tired.”
“Sleep,” I said, drawing the edge of the sheet up. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll be here the whole time.”
I bent over him, kissed his lips gently, and held his face in my hands. “I love you.”
“I love you, Kace. Love you…” His eyes closed, and within a minute, he slept.
I rested my aching head on the bed beside him, exhausted beyond anything I had ever known. Wrung out and empty of everything. No joy, no pain, no hope and no regret.
I’d left no word unspoken.
My head by Jonah’s hip, I sank into sleep, where I dreamed I was floating in a sea of glass. Suspended and weightless, beauty surrounding me in ribbons of color and swirls of light. Quiet. Peaceful.
Happy.
Kacey…
No regret.
Only love.
Only you.
I could see a receding shore beneath a sky full of stars. Millions upon millions of stars. Millions upon millions of moments. All of them with her name.
I loved her more than I had ever loved anyone and was loved in return. The knowledge was safe in me, locked in my heart, and when I stopped fighting it and let my eyes fall closed…
I couldn’t see the shore anymore but I knew it was there.
A wind whispered, like a breath. My final breath.
I will love you forever.
Four days later…
I sat on my bed, still wearing my black dress though the funeral was long over. My hand clutched a balled-up tissue, damp with tears and blackened with mascara.
From the bits and pieces I could remember, it had been a beautiful service. Friends from Carnegie came, along with professors and instructors. A representative from the Chihuly Studio brought an exquisite glass sculpture of white lilies for Jonah’s mother and a note of condolence from Dale himself. The world had lost a vibrant new talent too soon, he wrote.
A minister spoke, Dena recited a poem, and everyone took turns speaking about Jonah: telling funny stories, sharing poignant memories. Over and over, I listened to people tell how he made them laugh, how he brought out the best in everyone. How his belief in them made them brave. I think that was me.
Afterward, Beverly came over to where Theo and I stood together, a small brass urn in her hands.
“The desert, at night, under the stars,” she said, pressing the urn into Theo’s hands. “It’s what he wanted. But I can’t do it. I can’t…”
I can’t either, I thought, sitting alone on my bed. I don’t want to be here without you. I need you.
Only a knock at my front door roused me to move. Tania stood outside, still in her funeral black, her eyes red-rimmed. In her arms was a cardboard box.
“I can’t stay,” she said. “I leave for Seattle tomorrow and still have a ton of packing.” She put the box in my hands. “But this is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Jonah made it for you. I helped, but he did the work. God, his artistry… He was a master. He breathed his life into his glass. I’ll never work with anyone better.”
We hugged goodbye, both of us stiff with grief, both knowing if we lingered here, we’d collapse. We made a hurried plan to see each other when she came back in a week. If she came back.
I took the box to the couch and set it on my coffee table to open it.
Inside was a sphere of glass, about the size of a cantaloupe, heavy and dark. Crystal stars smattered against the dark blues and black. A planet—red, green and black—hovered in the center, surrounded by swirls and spirals of light in pale blue that seemed to possess their own illumination. A piece of the night sky trapped in an orb.
“The universe,” I murmured, cradling the orb on my lap, running my hands over its smooth surface. Its exquisite beauty caught up my breath. Afraid I would break it, I searched in the box for some kind of stand to set it on.
A note lay at the bottom of the box. Carefully, I set the sphere aside and drew out the folded paper with shaking hands. My eyes filled when I saw his handwriting. I touched the words, hearing his voice speaking behind every pen stroke.
Kacey,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m (hopefully) at some celestial diner, stuffing my face with bacon and French fries, and drinking real beer. When I’m done, I’ll tip the waiter in rolls of nickels. Because anyone can hit a jackpot, right? You just have to play.
And you have to live. You taught me that. My life was stale and shuttered until you. Colorless and drab until you. I kept my broken heart to myself, until you came and took it in your gentle hands and breathed life into it. Into me.
You taught me how to find life within every moment. You healed my heart, Kacey, when nothing else could.
This ball of glass and fire is as close as I’ll come to showing what you’ve been to me. I tried to put everything you are and everything I feel for you all in one place. But capturing the enormity of you is impossible. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough.
You are a universe, Kacey.
I kept waiting to find the end of your love and beauty, the end of your generous heart. I never did. I never will. I don’t know how or why you chose me to love, and you did choose. You could’ve walked away and saved yourself. Instead, you chose to stay, and so saved me. That’s my legacy: I loved you and was loved by you.
I’m at peace, and I hope to God I gave you the same happiness you gave me. I hope the love we have outweighs the pain when I’m gone.
Live fully, sing loudly. Share your beauty with this world and know I’m watching over you from the next.
All my love to you, Kacey. My angel, my heart.
Your Jonah
I held the letter to my heart, protecting it from the tears dripping off the edge of my chin.
That the love we have out
weighs the pain…
I felt myself nodding as a smile spread beneath my tears. If I had to do it all again, I would. I wouldn’t change one minute, except to tell him sooner I loved him and that being with him was no more a choice than eating or breathing.
“No regrets, Jonah,” I told him, my hand skimming over the piece of the universe. “And I will love you forever.”
Theo drove us west, into the heart of the desert on County Road 20555. No headlights passed us. No street or city lights or even the moon dimmed the star-filled sky. Not the diamond-dust canopy of Great Basin, but hundreds of silvery pinpricks in the midnight canvas above us.
We were silent on the drive through the winding terrain, low, dark hills rising up around us on all sides.
“This looks good,” Theo said, as the headlights illuminated a tiny rest stop overlooking the desert. In the starlight, the land was an undulating plateau of indistinct shapes, stretching out for miles.
Theo parked on the dirt shoulder, then came around to open the passenger door for me. I held the urn secure in my arms, its brass weight warm from my skin and heavy. Outside, the wind gusted cold and sharp.
The headlights cast yellow cones of light around us, glinting off the urn as Theo took it gently from my arms. Neither one of us spoke while he removed the lid and let the wind take the ashes. By the light of the truck, I watched them lift into the sky where they were blown into wisps—like smoke—and then vanished.
I felt untethered, as if the wind would take me too. Lift me up and tear me into a million little pieces and fling them against the sky.
Then his hand closed around mine.
“Stay here,” Theo said softly. I felt his pulse beat through his palm, warm and strong against mine, keeping me from blowing away. Keeping me whole.
My fingers tightened around his as we stared toward the edge of the universe where Jonah now lived.
“I will.”