by Freya Barker
Not that I needed additional signs, just looking at Nicky is evidence enough.
I leave the kids with her and stick my head into the kitchen, where I find Taz pulling chocolate milk from the fridge.
“Hey, how are things?”
When she turns around I note the strain in her face. “Tough. She spent most of the day in bed but insisted she needed to be up when the kids got home. It cost her though.”
“I see that. I called palliative care. The nurse will be here at seven thirty tomorrow morning, but maybe I should see if someone can come in tonight? Get her some relief for the night?”
Taz shrugs her shoulders. “Not sure she’ll go for that, not with Mom and Dad coming. I already tried to get her to let me give her only the first dose, but she refuses.”
“Let me call,” I insist. “If I can get them to pop in after nine, the kids will be in bed and we can make sure Mom and Dad have left.”
Taz nods, setting the glasses and a plate with cheese, crackers, and grapes on a tray before carrying it inside, while I quickly call to arrange for a nurse to visit tonight.
“She hardly ate at all.”
Sarah pins Taz, who’s putting plates into the dishwasher, with a glare the moment she walks into the kitchen after putting the kids to bed.
From the moment Ed and Sarah showed, the tension had been thick enough to cut. Dinner had been a rather quiet affair, with Sarah and Spencer doing most of the talking. Sofie had been quietly observant, as had her grandpa. Nicky had a hard time keeping her eyes open, and Taz looked like she was trying hard to be invisible while keeping a close eye on her sister.
Some of the tension had lifted while Sarah took the children upstairs. With both Ed and Nicky dozing off side by side on the couch, I’d followed Taz in here to help clean up.
Taz quietly continues to load the dishwasher with Sarah’s eyes boring a hole in her back.
“Mom,” I quietly draw her attention. “Eating takes a lot of her energy. It’s no use trying to force-feed her.”
“Don’t say that,” she snaps, the eyes she turns on me fearful.
“Please, Mom,” Taz pleads with her. “Don’t waste precious time on things that don’t matter.”
Before Sarah has a chance to respond, Taz slips out of the kitchen.
“Come on.” I put my arm around Sarah’s slumped shoulders and guide her inside, where Taz perches on the armrest at her sister’s side, kissing the top of her head before whispering something in her ear. A soft smile appears on Nicky’s lips as she blinks her eyes open.
“How about a nightcap for the road?”
Ed’s eyes shoot open at my offer. “You still have that Glenfiddich?”
“As much as you left in the bottle last time.” I grin at him. “Mom? You want something? A glass of port?”
“Half,” she says, sitting down in one of the club chairs, her eyes on her daughters.
“Taz? Baileys?” I offer, remembering that, like her older sister, she used to love the stuff over ice.
“If you have some, please.”
By the time I have the drinks handed out and sit down, Ed is holding court, regaling old stories in his raspy voice even I have heard many times before. It doesn’t matter, it feels familiar, and from the look on Nicky’s face, it’s clear she’s enjoying the trips down memory lane.
“What are you doing?” Sarah’s voice is suddenly sharp over her husband’s mellow drone. She pushes out of her chair, her eyes on Taz who’s lifting her glass to Nicky’s lips. “She can’t have alcohol with her medications.” In two steps she covers the distance and reaches out, snatching the glass from Taz’s hand. “Are you trying to kill her?”
A sharp gasp from Taz’s lips is the only sound before a deadly silence falls in the room. Ed is the first one to break it.
“Uncalled for, Sarah,” he snaps in a firmer tone than we’re used to from him.
“Mom,” Nicky manages, her hand seeking out Taz’s empty one. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” her mother responds, agony twisting her features as she sets the glass on the table and wraps her arms around herself.
“Mom,” Nicky repeats. “I’m dying. I can feel it, and I hate how hard this is for everyone. I’m gathering moments at this point. Sights, sounds, touches, and tastes, to take with me. It’s all I’ll be able to take when I leave soon.”
Chapter Five
Taz
“Are you awake?”
I am. I haven’t slept yet. It seems like every new day leaves more to process and my tired brain can’t seem to stop churning on every word, thought, and feeling.
Nicky had fallen asleep soon after Chantal, the palliative care nurse, placed a subcutaneous cannula in her upper arm and administered her first dose of morphine. The port in her upper arm would stay there until no longer necessary.
“You okay?” I whisper into the dark room, reaching for the table lamp next to the couch.
“Yeah. Leave the light off?”
I pull my hand back and roll on my side to face her. I can see her eyes shimmer from the hospital bed. “Need me to get you something?” I hear a slight rustle as she shakes her head.
“I’m going to talk to him tomorrow,” Nicky whispers. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”
I don’t need to guess she’s referring to the last blowout fight she and I had five years ago. Nicky had been eight months pregnant with Spencer at the time.
When Sofie was born three years prior, I’d missed it. In fact, I hadn’t had any contact with my family until I came back from a vaccination run in Nigeria, when I received an email from Kathleen telling me I’d become an aunt. I may not have spoken with my family, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love them. I’ve always loved them, regardless of our fucked-up dynamic. Kathleen had no problem providing me with any updates over the years. Eminence is a small town, anything of any significance happens and the whole town knows within twenty-four hours.
I started thinking—some time after Sofie was born—maybe I was cutting off my nose to spite my face. I’d been hiding out on the other side of the world, not giving my family a chance to bridge the gap. So when I heard from Kathleen my sister was pregnant again, I thought perhaps it was time to swallow my pride and take the first step.
My welcome then was only moderately warmer than the one I received this time, and I had to exercise a healthy dose of restraint when dealing with my mother. I mostly avoided her and Rafe, but was able to reconnect with my dad and my sister. It was short-lived.
Then one night—Rafe was out on a call—Nicky and I were hanging out watching a movie when she suddenly burst out crying. She’d been unhappy for a while and confessed she’d indulged in a brief fling with her chiropractor in Mountain View. She was afraid the baby could be his.
I lost it on her. She had the perfect life, the perfect husband, and she’d risked it all. Ugly words flew on both sides. She accused me of jealousy, which prompted me to fire back that she didn’t deserve a man like Rafe. Of course that’s all he heard when he walked in the door.
He was livid, but all I could see was the plea in my sister’s eyes. He said some hurtful things before showing me the door, telling me to get the fuck out of their lives, and I went. I never even tried to defend myself, because it would’ve meant throwing my sister under the bus.
I never returned after that.
“Spencer is his spitting image,” I tell her with a wistful smile.
“I know. I’ve always been the lucky one, haven’t I? At least until now.”
“Honey…” I slide out from under the quilt and make my way to the hospital bed. “Scoot over.”
It’s a tight fit, but I manage to crawl in beside her and pull her into my arms. Her hot tears seep through my nightshirt.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffles.
“I know. I’m sorry too.”
“In spite of everything, tell me you’ve been happy.”
I stroke a hand over her limp hair
and think about her question. “I’ve done work I’m proud of—am passionate about—I’ve seen places I used to dream of, met amazing people along the way, and I’ve learned so much. Yeah, I’ve been happy.”
“Liar,” she whispers. “You still love him.”
My hand stops its stroking motion. “Nicky,” I warn her. This is not a direction I want us to go in, but when my sister has her mind set on something she can be persistent.
“Look after them. The kids, Rafe, they need you. Even Mom and Dad. You’re the strongest person I know, the only person I would trust. I know I’m asking a lot—again—but it would be so much easier to let go if I knew you…” Her breath is getting choppy and I tighten my arm around her.
“Shhh. Rest. I’ve got you. I’ll be here as long as they need me. I promise.”
I watch the early morning light start chasing some of the shadows from the room as I listen to her breath even out again. Upstairs I hear movement, a door closing and then the shower turn on. Rafe is up.
Nicky feels heavy in my arms and I assume she’s fallen asleep, but when I try to slip out of the hospital bed, her hand on my stomach clenches into a fist.
“I’m scared, Taz.”
“I know, honey. So am I,” I admit quietly, pressing a kiss on her hair. “Bonus kiss,” I whisper and settle back, holding my sister as she drifts off.
Rafe
Another restless night.
Sometime in the predawn hours, both my kids had found their way into my bed. In the last year, I had moved into the spare bedroom, but with Nicky downstairs in the living room, she’d asked I move back to the master. In part because of nights like this, when the kids blindly make the trek into the master suite, looking for comfort.
Spencer had been first, half asleep, looking for his mom. It didn’t seem to faze him to find me instead and quickly fell back asleep. He’s still so little; it’s easy to think everything going on is well over his head, but I’m sure more than I’d like impacts him. He merely seems to process difficult information in his sleep.
Sofie is different. She absorbs everything. I’m pretty sure she heard some of the unfortunate scene last night when her grandmother blew up. God forbid she heard the gut-wrenching words of her mom right after, but I suspect that’s what had her coming into the room barely five minutes after her brother.
The one good thing that came out of Sarah’s outburst was Ed speaking up for Taz. I could tell that surprised not only his wife, but also their youngest daughter as well. Sarah apologized to Nicky, and to me on her way out, but not to the person who deserved the apology most. I’d been about to call her on it when I saw Taz give a sharp little shake of her head. I sucked back what I’d been about to say; it probably wasn’t the right time.
I carefully roll out of bed, trying not to wake the kids, but when I pull open a drawer to grab clean clothes I hear rustling behind me.
“Dad?”
I turn around to find Sofie’s eyes on me. “Yeah, Pipsqueak?” I whisper so we don’t wake Spencer. It’s way too early for a Saturday morning. I sit down on her side of the bed.
“She’s not getting better, is she?”
I would’ve done anything to avoid this moment, and yet, I’ve known it was inevitable. I’m about to break my daughter’s heart and it’s killing me. The temptation to lie to her is great, but we agreed we’d be honest with the kids. “I’m sorry, baby, but she’s not.”
Her brown eyes quietly fill with tears as she nods in understanding. Taking it on the chin. It would almost be easier if she’d break down and plead for a different outcome. Seeing this kind of resignation in my little girl is tearing me apart.
“Then why didn’t she stay in the hospital?”
“Because she wants to spend as much time as she can with the people she loves most.” I hope I’m explaining it right. It’s not like there’s a handbook I can consult on how to deal with a situation like this.
“Does it hurt?”
“She gets medicine to help with that.”
“Is she scared?”
Christ.
“I imagine so, but I think maybe we can make it a little less scary if we love her really hard.” She nods with a serious face and pulls the covers up to her nose. I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Try and get a little more sleep.”
I’m almost out of the room to grab my shower when I hear her.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can you make blueberry pancakes for breakfast?”
“Sure thing, baby,” I answer with a lump in my throat.
Sofie hates blueberry pancakes, but they’re Nicky’s favorite.
The curtains are still closed when I walk into the living room.
I’ve come to expect Taz to be up by the time I get downstairs. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness to find her pillow and quilt crumpled on the couch, but no Taz.
My eyes immediately drift to the hospital bed where I find her gaze on me, a very still Nicky wrapped in her arms. I freeze at the sight, but Taz notices and quickly reassures me.
“She’s sleeping,” she whispers.
I nod, breathing in deeply to loosen the tight band around my chest. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
By the time I carry in a mug for Taz, she’s managed to leave Nicky sleeping in bed and is putting away the bedding from the couch.
“Tough night?” I ask, handing her the coffee, keeping my eyes on her face.
“A little,” she admits, groaning when she takes a sip of the hot brew. “Thanks. I needed that. What time is it?”
“Coming on six thirty.”
“Shit. I should grab a quick shower. Chantal’s going to be here at seven.”
“Go,” I tell her, taking a seat on the chair closest to Nicky’s bed. “I’ve got her.”
She shows me a little tired smile before she darts up the stairs and I force my eyes on my wife.
The two girls used to look alike; luxurious red-brown hair, olive skin, and large brown liquid eyes. You’d have to be blind not to see they were sisters.
They couldn’t look more different now. Nicky’s pallor is a sickly gray, her once luxurious hair a lank helmet around her head, and her skin almost translucent. In the past few weeks she’s become a shadow of herself. Taz, with her colorful dreads, bright eyes, and tan complexion is almost the polar opposite. Alive and vibrant.
I take a sip of my coffee, listening to Nicky’s labored breathing. Every so often a silence falls, and I anxiously wait for her next inhale. It’s possible that one of these times the next breath never comes.
Leaning my head back I close my eyes, calming my own heart.
“I was wrong to let you be angry at her.”
Her voice—so unexpected—startles me and I almost spill coffee over myself. “Sorry?”
“Taz. She didn’t deserve the blame she carried.”
Intrigued, I lean forward in my chair and listen.
Taz
“Take over.”
The spatula is shoved in my hand the moment I step into the kitchen, and in the next I watch Rafe’s back disappear out the door.
What the hell?
I’d love to go after him, but the pancakes on the griddle need flipping, and I bumped into Sofie on the landing upstairs, so I know she’ll be down any minute.
Between batches of pancakes, I sneak a peek into the living room to find my sister looking back over Sofie’s head. I didn’t hear her come down, but somehow she ended up in bed with Nicky. I shoot her a soft smile and duck back into the kitchen, not wanting to interrupt their moment.
I’m about to set the table when Chantal walks in the back door, Rafe right behind her.
“How was your night?” the nurse asks, walking toward the living room. I shove the plates I’m holding in Rafe’s hands, and follow her inside.
Sofie shoots out of bed and bolts around us, into the sanctuary of the kitchen.
“I think I’ll stick around,” Chantal says, after she’s
given Nicky her next dose and she’s drifted back to sleep. She had no interest in getting out of bed.
“Okay,” I force out.
“I’m sorry,” she says, putting a hand on my arm. “It could be days yet.”
“Or it could be hours,” I add.
“Yeah. I brought a bag. Is there anywhere for me to put my stuff? Somewhere I can retreat to and write my reports so I’m not in your way?”
“The spare bedroom upstairs. I’ve been sleeping on the couch anyway.”
Once I’ve settled Chantal in upstairs, I head back to the kitchen to find the kids at the table, eating breakfast. Rafe is leaning against the counter watching me.
“You should eat something,” he says softly when I get close.
“She’s staying,” I announce in the same tone of voice, ignoring his words.
“I figured. I’m sorry for earlier. I just…” He sneaks a glance at the kids before his eyes come back to me, “…I needed a minute. I just learned something that shook me.”
I narrow my eyes on his face and notice the pale underneath his tan. He looks shaken.
“She told you,” I conclude.
“About ripped my heart out.”
Chapter Six
Taz
“Is that how people wear their hair in Africa?”
I try not to show my surprise at Sofie’s unsolicited question.
Beyond finding her perched on the edge of the couch that one morning, I haven’t had much interaction with my niece. Sure, she’s spoken to me, mostly monosyllabic answers to mundane day-to-day questions—like what she wants to drink with dinner, or if she has any dirty laundry that needs washing—but little more than that.
“Not necessarily. Historically dreadlocks were worn in many cultures all over the world. I read somewhere, even the Vikings wore their hair in dreads. Every culture has their own reason behind them. For me it was just convenience. In my work, my long hair tended to get in the way, but I wasn’t ready to cut it all off. A friend offered to twist my hair into dreadlocks.” I hide a smile at seeing her interest piqued by my little history lesson. “Grab me the paper towels?”