by Gina Watson
“Someone needs to tell him to chill the fuck out.” Everett said.
“Like you’re any better. Moping around all day because you’re bored and miss your precious Boston.”
“You know Parker, if you weren’t going under the knife tomorrow I’d totally sucker punch you. Expect it when you’ve recovered.”
“Bring it on. I’ll go toe to toe with you under anesthesia and still beat your ass.”
Fiona stood. “It’s getting late so I’m going to go.” She hugged Maura and then Bailey. “I know everything is going to work out well, Bails. It has to because there can’t be a world without you in it.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Parker added.
“You guys …” Tears collected in Bailey’s eyes.
Parker watched Everett follow Fiona out of the family room and had no doubt that he was attempting to ask her out.
“I guess I’ll turn in as well.” Maura said. “I love you, Bailey.” They hugged.
“Love you, Maura.”
Bailey collected the spare pieces of the game and loaded them into the box. “Where’d Everett go?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Come.” He held his hand out to her.” They walked slowly from the family room. Stopping at the foot of the stairs he sat her down on the third step and then leaned in to sweetly kiss her.”
“You ready for tomorrow?”
“Ready to get it over with.”
“Good. Me too.”
The front door opened, admitting Everett. “So, how’d you make out?”
“Shut out.”
Parker laughed.
Bailey looked around confused. “What happened?”
“Everett just got turned down by Fiona.”
Bailey smiled. “You asked her out?”
“I asked for her phone number.”
“She wouldn’t give it to you?”
“Her exact words were, ‘Don’t think because we paired up on Pictionary that I’m going to let you into my bed.’ And something else about not being my Baton Rouge booty call.”
Bailey laughed hard and Parker joined in. “What did you say?” Bailey asked.
“Not only did we pair up, but we won the game.”
Bailey wrinkled her nose. “That’s what you said?”
Everett shrugged.
“Bails, he’s a lawyer. They like to argue instead of apologize for their actions.”
“I’ve done nothing to apologize for.”
Parker cupped Everett’s shoulder. “No, you only assumed she’d have sex with you. Goodnight, Everett.”
For the past few days Parker had wondered what Bailey typed into her phone at odd times as she was doing now where she sat on the stairs. He leaned over the banister and read.
Countdown: One day.
I love Parker. Julian is still being a dick and he’s a cheater. Ari and Court escorted to Razz by their father. Sable makes a lot of slobber and is the only woman I know who snores. Everett shot down by Fiona who is wildly talented and has the ability to make me cry. I love Parker.
Bailey looked up and turned to him, immediately shrinking when she realized he’d read what she’d written. Her rust-colored brow arched at him as she clicked off her phone.
“Whatcha doing?”
“I guess I’m writing a journal.”
“Oh?”
“It’s private.” Her lips tightened in set determination.
“Okay.” Parker pulled Bailey up the stairs by the hand and took her to his bed all the while his belly did flips at her typed words: I love Parker.
Chapter 15
Bailey’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. Reaching for it she saw it was Sheila. Not wanting to wake Parker, she took the phone to the en-suite bathroom to answer.
“Sheila?”
“Bailey.” Sheila sniffled and her piercing voice through the phone was unintelligible.
“Sheila, I can’t understand you. What is it? Is Tate all right?”
“No. Tate’s sick. Nonresponsive. We’re at Tulane Medical. She’s in the ICU.”
“I’m coming.” Bailey hung up the phone and swallowed back the lump in her throat. Oh, God … Oh, God. She sensed a meltdown forming, but there was no time for that. She needed to focus. Sheila and Tate would need her. Quietly she opened the bathroom door. She tiptoed to where her clothes and shoes lay, grabbing them, along with her purse, and exited the room. She dressed in the hallway, careful not to make a sound.
She boarded her Jetta and cued up the directions on her phone. On the interstate the lines blurred from the tears in her eyes. Bailey was only slightly aware of the hum of the tires on the road and the lights that washed her face as she passed them at evenly-spaced intervals. Darkness closed in and the only thing she could feel was a claw tugging her throat raw. The robotic too-cheerful voice of the GPS startled her back into existence.
Bailey exited the interstate and followed the audible directions to the hospital. Walking through the doors she became immediately disoriented by the bright clinical light, chaotic shuffle of chairs and feet, and the medicinal smell. She felt a strong urge to go back to the comfort of her car, but she needed to get to Tate.
A kind nurse offered her assistance and Bailey was grateful. “I’m trying to find the ICU.”
“I’m headed there now, you can follow me.”
Bailey followed, aware that she should probably make conversation, but unable to do so. A nurse wouldn’t mind that so much would she? Surely grieving family members aren’t good at small talk. This nurse was extremely attractive with mocha colored skin, large chocolate eyes with long dark lashes, and an upturned nose. Bailey’s gait slowed a little and she followed along behind the pretty nurse. The sway of her broad hips entranced Bailey and she focused on the swish of her shoes on the tile floor. The nurse led Bailey through the bowels of the hospital, corridor after corridor, until finally they stopped.
“This is ICU. Waiting area is just through that door.”
“Thank you.”
Bailey walked through the doors. She immediately found Sheila. A handsome man stood next to her. Upon closer inspection Bailey realized Sheila and the handsome man were deeply grieving. Doctors and nurses stood around the room speaking softly. Sheila’s cry pierced Bailey’s ears. She fell into the arms of the handsome man and he cried too.
Bailey sat where she stood near the door she so urgently wanted to run through. The anguished cries and moans of the people in the room did not leave room for Bailey’s usual brand of sarcasm. She couldn’t cleverly smart her way out of the thoughts as they sped through her brain like a bullet.
Her head went down to her hands. Her elbows painfully pierced her knees in the absence of padding, still she held them there, pressing down to generate more of the stinging pain. She hovered there and started to rock back and forth reciting words she’d typed in her journal. She’d taken to reading it whenever she felt scared or hopeless. The raw life exposed in the open lines of her consciousness soothed her.
“Bailey.” A hand touched her shoulder. She stopped rocking and looked up into the faces of Sheila and the handsome man.
“This is Aaron, Tate’s father.” Bailey nodded and stood. She’d never been much of a hugger, but she leaped at Sheila and held on for dear life. Sheila trembled with emotion.
When they finally pulled apart Bailey also trembled. “Meeting you at the clinic helped make taking dialysis a little more bearable for Tate. She wanted you to have this.”
Bailey reached for the envelope Sheila offered. She didn’t hear anything after that. Sensation fell away to regroup into one overwhelming sense of touch provided by the letter in her hand. Her fingertips thrummed. Tate’s residual life force existed in the letter Bailey held—Tate’s thoughts from a snapshot moment in time captured in a letter.
Bailey burst through the doors and ran down the corridors back the way she came. She ran and ran, receiving evil looks from bystanders. The halls snaked around and around and she felt them swallowing h
er down until she finally arrived at the automatic doors that displayed the darkness beyond. She focused on the night she could see through the clear glass of the doors, and eventually the terrain beneath her morphed from tile to pavement.
In her car she drove. She had no idea where it was taking her. All she knew was that she still held the letter in her hands. Tate’s letter. Her last words, hopes, wishes. What would Bailey read in the letter? Could she read the letter? Did she want to read the letter? Her car led her to the same spot where she’d encountered the flat tire. Dawn was just breaking and this time the David Seafood lot was full. Nobody noticed her off to the side by the oak tree. She exited and climbed atop the picnic table just as she had all those days ago. She smelled the letter. It smelled faintly of vanilla. Bailey smiled, recalling the day they’d been to the mall and Tate had bought the Vanilla Crush perfume.
Bailey looked at the letter. Standard issue college-ruled notebook paper folded into itself in an impressive square with a flap on top that read pull.
Bailey touched her tongue to the letter and licked. She concentrated on her taste buds, but just as she suspected there was nothing there. Had there been a taste sensation she would not have wanted to miss it. Satisfied she pulled the flap and it released with a resounding snap. She’d handwritten the letter in cursive print with blue ink.
Bailey,
I gave it a go. I tried to hold on, but if you’re reading this then it means my body didn’t keep up, but I already knew it wouldn’t. I don’t know where, when, or how this letter will find you, but I must cover a few things. My wish is for you to have your surgery and live a long life with Parker. I knew I wasn’t going to live long—my dreams told me and prepared me. I dreamed about you too. In my dreams you were a mother and you had a little girl named Tate. That’s how I knew I was meant to live on through little Tate David. For the last few weeks that dream came to me every night. Please watch over my beautiful mother. I know you will be brave and fight hard. I love you.
Tate
It was the first time she’d thought about Parker since she’d received the news. Bailey went down onto her side on the table. She pulled her phone from her pocket. There were a gazillion messages. She bypassed them all to open her journal. Her thumbs hovered to write something. Anything. Bailey searched her mind, wanting to identify her emotions, but nothing was there. She typed the only thing she could find: Tate died. Tate died. Tate died.
Her weight shifted when the table moved. She didn’t have to take her eyes off her typing to know who would be boarding the table. Suddenly her head was cradled onto his warm lap. He feathered his fingers through her hair and bent to kiss her temple. She couldn’t look into his eyes right now so she looked away. He wore shorts and flip-flops. Her eyes followed the dusting of hair on his legs down to his toes where there was a light sprinkle of hair as well.
She rolled to her back, her head in his lap and typed into her journal.
Toe hair. Parker has toe hair. Tate died. Parker’s here. Tate died. But Parker’s here. Tate died. Parker will be here. Parker’s here, I’m not alone. I’m sad, but he’s here.
Chapter 16
Beep. Beep. Beep. Bailey’s head pounded. Light pierced her eyelids even though they were closed. She felt as if she needed to pee, but her body was not working. Disorientation settled into her bones as she lay in a bed that was too hard for her liking. Somewhere a television was on, but she couldn’t make her eyes open.
“Parker.” She knew that name, but she couldn’t place the voice who spoke it.
“Life on the Mississippi,” Mark Twain. Seriously Max.”
Max. Maximilian David. The university provost.
“What’d you, just grab this off your shelf at the university?”
She wanted to smile at hearing Parker’s voice and sarcasm, but she felt so luxuriously lazy.
“It’s a classic. You do live along the river. Maybe you should give it a try. It’s a great read.”
Parker scoffed.
“Well, how’s the girl?”
“If you don’t want to hear Parker go into a bitch fit I wouldn’t ask.”
“Fuck you, Julia.”
“You see?”
“Julian’s pissed because the girl he likes doesn’t like him back.”
What girl? Had he already moved on from Maura?
“That so?”
“Uh guys, somebody wanna fill me in as to what the fuck’s going on?”
“Julian’s in l-o-v-e.”
“Real mature, Parker Pee Pee.”
“Still pretending not to like her?”
“Like who?” Max asked.
“He likes Bailey’s sister.”
Maura!
“There’s a sister?” Max cocked a brow.
“You may know her, she teaches at the university.”
“What department?”
“Yours.”
“Holy shit. You’re talking about Dr. Douglas. Yeah, I’d totally fuck her.”
Hey, That’s my sister you’re talking about you dick! If Bailey could move or talk or even act remotely human she’d have slapped his face.
Thwack! “Ouch! What the hell was that for?”
“For talking shit about my girl’s sister.”
That’s my man!
“She’s off limits anyway.”
“Is she now?”
“Julian likes her.”
“So Julian you tapping Dr. Douglas or what?”
“She’s a liar, I won’t have anything to do with her.”
“Whatever dude. I’m thinking she’d be a sweet little—”
“Cousin or not, I will take you down right here in this hospital room if you don’t watch the way you talk about Bailey’s sister.”
“And just how are you going to do that with one kidney?”
“Come on Max, everybody knows you fight like a girl. I’d even place money on Julian over you in a fight.”
“Fuck both of you. I’m going to get a soda.”
These David boys were quite something. Bailey hoped she’d remember this because she wanted to type it into her journal.
***
Maura and Fiona, Parker and Julian, Everett, Mr. and Mrs. David, the sisters—they were all around her and even though she couldn’t acknowledge them or even focus her eyes on them, they comforted her.
“Davids, listen up! I’m in charge on this floor and in this room. Everybody out! This is the last time you don’t abide by my headcount rule of two visitors at a time. You’ve all been banned.”
Apologies were issued to the angry nurse and slowly the din faded.
Epilogue
“Tate, come on. Daddy’s already loaded everything into the truck.” Bailey’s feet thudded on the wood of the front porch as she walked across and took the steps down to the grass, with Parker’s hand in hers for assistance. She turned, as she always did to commit the Craftsman’s lines to memory. The house was light gray with black and white trim and a bright red door. Next to her Parker hugged her into his side and kissed her temple as he massaged her huge round belly.
“Tate, come on.”
“I’m coming.”
Through the front door exited a little girl with red hair, blue eyes, and freckles. She wore cargo shorts, water sox, and a ridiculous nylon fishing vest with storage compartments across the chest. From the looks of it, Tate had stuffed them full of tools, bait, lures, and other fishing frippery. In one hand was the new rod her daddy gave her for her birthday. In the other, a neon tackle box.
“Tate baby, we’re not driving straight through. Why are you wearing your fishing gear?” Bailey asked.
“I’m going to reorganize my lures. I’m primed for saltwater Gulf. The lake is fresh Canadian.”
Bailey looked at Parker whose pride shone brighter than the sun at his daughter’s knowledge of fishing at so young an age.
Bailey giggled. “She’s her father’s daughter.”
***
Bailey sat with a cup perched o
n her large belly and watched as her husband demonstrated to their daughter how to cast a fishing line from the dock.
As they waited for the fish to bite Tate dug through her tackle box, probably chipping the finger nail polish job she’d barely sat through last night.
“I like your nail polish,” Parker said.
Tate held her hand up to let him get a closer look.
Parker analyzed her hand like it was fine gold and then he kissed her fingers. “It’s very pretty and sparkly.”
“Mommy did it last night,” Tate beamed.
Parker winked at Bailey and joined her on the deck, kissing her belly that had been home to their son for the last eight months.
“I love this place.” She smiled as she looked across Lake Ontario.
“Daddy, I got something!” Parker jumped up and was at her side in an instant. The ink blue water rippled against the setting sun, becoming darker with each pass.
That night in the little lake house they sat and played a high stakes game of Candy Land. It was all very serious since they had an actual pile of gum-filled suckers, jelly beans, and a candied apple from Coney Island, along with some salt-water taffy from the boardwalk in town. Bailey smiled as she recalled the awe in her daughter’s eyes as she took in the sight of the Cyclone for the first time. Since she was too young to ride, they’d promised to return every summer.
“Hmm, I raise you two taffy candies and a Blow Pop.” Parker pushed his offerings to the center pile.
Her daughter and husband regarded her with staunch poker faces, causing her to giggle. “I fold, it’s getting too sweet for me.”
“I call.” Tate shrugged. She tried hard to remain indifferent.
“All right, read ‘em and weep.” Parker laid his lone purple card on the table and moved his Mally Mallo game board piece up a section of brick road.
Tate squealed “I got the one with the red dot so I move all the way up to here.” The top half of her body folded over the candy as she encircled it with her arms and slid it to her side of the table.
Parker frowned. “I really wanted that candied apple.”