by Jamie Canosa
Vaguely counting doors in the back of my mind, I got caught up on one picture in particular. Kiernan, Caulder, and their mother stood on a white sand beach, the blue ocean cresting and breaking behind them. Judging from the boys, it didn’t appear to be that old of a shot. What really drew me in, though, was that they weren’t alone. Who I could only assume was their father stood beside Mrs. Parks, his arm slung around her waist and a wide smile on his face.
When Kiernan said his dad wasn’t around, I’d just assumed he meant never. Like me, that he’d never known his father. That, clearly, was not the case. And somehow that was so much worse.
Rustling from the room directly behind me drew my attention. Third door on the right. It could only be Kiernan. Pushing open the door on a light knock, I peeked inside to find him tearing apart his dresser.
“What are you doing?”
Stopping cold, he glanced at me with a mock frown. “I heard you in the hall. I was trying to put on some actual clothes before you came in.”
It wasn’t until right that moment that I noticed he was wearing a pair of boxers. Only a pair of boxers. How did I miss that?
“Oh, my God.” My hands flew up to cover my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Kiernan’s deep chuckle soothed my humiliation. “Just stay like that for a minute.”
I stood there, hands over my eyes like a moron, while I listened to him move around the room. A minute or two later, fingers wrapped around my wrists, gently pulling them from my face. Opening my eyes, I stared into Kiernan’s steel blue ones.
“There she is.” His soft voice was followed quickly by his lips.
He was definitely feeling better. By the time we broke apart, we’d somehow made it across the room and on to his bed.
“Hi.”
Kiernan grinned. “Hi, yourself. Welcome to my room.”
I glanced around, getting my first real impression of the space, having been distracted by boxer shorts and lips earlier. The walls were a pale gray that almost matched his eyes. More photos lined the shelves in here. These ones mostly consisted of people around our age. Old friends, I assumed. A lot were of him and Caulder. The queen sized bed we were laying on was positioned in the middle of the far wall and draped with a deep blue comforter. And it was soft. So soft.
“I like it.”
“Good because I thought we could spend the afternoon. Right. Here.” He leaned over to kiss me again and I had absolutely zero objections to his plans.
***
A solid hour later we lay on our backs side-by-side, both still fully clothed, and stared up at the cream ceiling above us, trying to catch our breath. Kiernan’s fingertips traced idle circles over my hip that had long since stopped tickling.
“Three.”
“Huh?” Kiernan’s confusion wasn’t unfounded. That had sort of come out of nowhere, but I had no other ideas how to start the conversation I wanted to have with him, so I just sort of blurted it out.
“Kids. I want to have at least three.”
For a moment Kiernan was quiet and I wondered if my game had hit a nerve for him. Was it too hard to think about a future he’d never have? Was I being selfish?
“We can’t have an odd number. There would always be one man out.”
“Okay, four then.”
“Okay.” Kiernan rolled onto his side, tracing my lips with his thumb. “Boy first, though. Girls need an older brother to watch out for them.”
“Do I need an older brother watching out for me?”
“Absolutely.” His thumb was replaced by his lips, leaving me with a breathless smile when he withdrew.
“What would his name be? Kiernan Jr.?” I laughed at Kiernan’s scowl.
“God, no. That whole junior stuff is just too confusing.” He thought about it for a minute and smiled. “I would like to name a son Caulder, though. He’s helped me get through a lot.”
I could feel the love he had for his brother every time they were together. Every time he spoke about him. “I like that idea.”
“What about the girls? We’ll have two of each. You pick the girls and I’ll pick the boys.”
“Deal. How about . . . Kaleigh?”
“Kaleigh. I like it.”
“Read it in a book, once.”
“Well, if it’s in a book, then . . .”
“Shut up!” I nudged him with my elbow. “What about boy number two?”
“Aaron.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Nope just always liked that name.”
“Okay. Agreed. And . . . Cameron.”
“Also from a book?”
I shrugged. “I don’t get out much.”
“Caulder, Kaleigh, Aaron, and Cameron. Sounds like the perfect family. And they’ll be beautiful like their mother, and brilliant like their father.”
“Hey! Are you saying I’m not brilliant?”
“Who is whose tutor?”
“Touché.”
“Besides, I called you beautiful.” My hair tickled my neck as he brushed it over my shoulder and leaned over me for a better view.
“You did, didn’t you?”
“I did. But never more beautiful than our wedding day. I can just imagine you all decked out in white like some kind of angel, gliding down the aisle.”
“In a church?”
“If that’s what you want, but I’m imagining something outside.”
“At night!”
“You would look stunning in the moonlight.”
“I’d curl my hair and pin it up, and you could wear a tuxedo. I bet you’d look amazing in a tux.”
“I could show you.”
“You have a tuxedo?”
“In my closet. Don’t laugh.”
“I wasn’t going to laugh. Maybe clap, but not laugh. Go put it on! This I have to see.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! Go. Now.”
Laughing, Kiernan rolled off the bed and began rummaging through his closet. He remerged with a long garment bag and left the room on an eye roll. Five minutes later he was back and looking like something right out of one of my fantasies. A close second to only the boxers he’d been in earlier. I couldn’t believe he could look that good in just five minutes. Sometimes being a girl just sucked.
“Wow.” Twirling my finger in the air, I silently requested him to model it for me, which he did with very little objection. “That will do.”
“Glad you approve.” He winked before slipping out the door to go and change entirely too soon for my liking.
I was propped up on a pile of pillows, waiting for him when he returned in his jeans and tee again.
“Venice.” He crawled up the mattress to join me, sprawling on his stomach. “I’ve always wanted to see Venice. It’s supposed to be very romantic. It would make the perfect honeymoon. I’ll even take you for a gondola ride.”
“You had me at Venice.”
Kiernan laughed and rolled onto his back. “When we get back, I’d like to build a home around here. Stay close to the family if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. As long as it has a white picket fence, I’m game. Added bonus, we’ll have grandma to babysit once in a while.”
“Oh boy, don’t let my mother hear you calling her that. She might faint.”
Our laughter trailed off and we lapsed into a comfortable silence as I considered my next question. And then reconsidered it. I didn’t want to spoil the mood, or upset Kiernan, but I really did want to know. So I went with the classic, “Can I ask you a question?”
The perfect way to commit to asking a question without actually asking it. Because who’s going to let you get away with not asking it once you’ve asked that? And they can’t really get mad at you for asking because, well, they asked for it.
“Sure. Anything.”
Here went nothing. “What happened with your dad?”
Kiernan’s jaw worked. Whether he was holding back anger, or pain, or both I couldn’t tell, but I regretted the ques
tion immediately.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay. He took off. Not long after my diagnosis. Said he couldn’t handle it. Told us all how sorry he was, and then . . . he just left.”
I couldn’t believe it. How could someone do that to their family? A family already going through something so terrible? “That’s awful.”
“It was worst for my mom, I think. She really loved him, you know? And he left her alone. With a sick kid.”
“Kiernan, you’re not—”
“I know. She’s never once acted like I was a burden, but I can see the way all of this is affecting her. Cal’s doing the best he can to fill the role, be there for everyone. It’s just not fair. To either of them. That’s why we moved back here. My mom’s originally from this town and she needed the support. I guess I can thank my dad for sending me back to you, at least.”
There was a long stretch of silence where Kiernan lay beside me, playing idly with my hair, lost in his thoughts, before he looked at me with determination burning in his eyes.
“Jade? Can we be real for a minute?”
“Real?” No, I wasn’t ready to be real with him. Reality sucked. I liked whatever fantasyland it was we were living in much better.
He must have felt my hesitation because Kiernan’s whole face softened even as his eyes took on a pleading that I couldn’t deny. “Just for a minute? I need to talk to you.”
Screwing up my courage, I forced a smile. “What do you think we’ve been doing?”
“Defying reality. And, Jade . . . There is nothing I love more than imagining a future with you. Full of laughter, and happiness, and kids, and grandkids, and growing old together, but . . . we both know that’s not where this is headed.”
The sting of reality bit deep and I felt tears welling in my eyes, useless to stop them. “Kiernan—”
“Don’t.” His fingers fell gently over my lips, silencing me. “I know you don’t want to, but I need you to hear this. I don’t want to be like my father. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Kiernan, you are nothing like him.”
“I want all of those things for you, Jade. I want the joy, and the love, and the family, and the white picket fence, and all of it. Even if I can’t be the one to give it to you. I want you to be happy. And I never, ever want you to feel guilty about it. Do you understand me? I want you to have whatever makes you happy in this life. Okay? I need to know you understand that.”
He waited for my forced nod and then grinned at me.
“And, so you know, as soon as the kids are out of the house, I’m totally getting a Camaro.”
Just like that, the moment was over. We were back to ‘defying reality’. I huffed a laugh, wiping tears from my face. “What color?”
Kiernan looked at me as though I’d grown a second head. “Is that really a question? Yellow, of course. With racing stripes.”
“So, you want Bumblebee.”
“Hell yeah, but I’ll settle for a yellow Camaro.”
“With racing stripes.” I used what little energy I still possessed to return his smile.
“Can’t forget those.” Kiernan tucked me close to his side, wrapping an arm around my waist and dropping his chin on the top of my head. “I love you.”
It was one of those rare, fleeting perfect moments. The kind you want to bottle up and save forever. So I shut my eyes and burrowed deeper into his chest, determined to commit every last detail to memory. The soft material of his shirt, the fresh scent of his skin, the warmth of his arms, and the acute ache deep in my chest. “I love you, too.”
Twenty
Tick.
Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Time was something I’d never really considered before. Sure, I’d stressed about being late, but I’d never contemplated the idea of actually running out of it. I was young enough that time still felt infinite. But it wasn’t. My eyes had been opened, the blissful ignorance of youth swept away, leaving behind the cold, hard facts of life. We all had our set amount and when it was up, that was it. There was no flipping the hour glass over again. And Kiernan’s hourglass was nearly empty.
Each tick of that clock was another second. Another second gone. Another second Kiernan would never get back. Another second closer to the inevitable. My broken heart beat in rhythm with that stupid clock, cracking a little wider with each tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
It was a relentless kind of torture, until, finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. Climbing precariously onto the ratty old couch, I could see myself in its reflective face. I could see the selfish, petty . . . God, I thought I had problems? And I’d laid them all on Kiernan. Dumped them right in his lap like he couldn’t possibly have any of his own. And he’d taken them all on. Every last one. And now . . . Now, he’d shared his with me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help him.
The friggin’ thing was nailed to the wall, hung there long before we ever moved in, and required all of my strength to tear it free. A few good tugs later, I dropped to the cushions with it in my hands, but it wasn't enough. It continued to taunt me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Mocking me from my lap. Daring me to do something about it. Challenging me to put an end to the relentless countdown.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My distraught image stared back at me from the glass, trembling in my shaky grasp. I couldn't stand the sight of it. I couldn't stand the sound. The knowledge. The truth. All of it was just too much.
The clock left my hands, soaring across the room without any conscious effort on my part. I watched it shatter against the wall, raining glass across the floor, but still it refused to grant me peace.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
My feet carried me across broken glass without registering its painful bite until I knelt over the merciless timepiece. With a scream I didn't recognize as my own—one that barely even sounded human—I brought my fists down. Again and again I pounded out my pain with each ruthless tick. Blow for blow until finally the clock surrendered.
I found no relief in my victory, though. Only a deeper kind of hurt. The ticking continued, this time inside my head. Each second feeling like a torturous eternity and yet passing in a flash. Lost and gone forever.
I buried my head in my hands and tried to remember how to breathe. I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't function beyond the pain tearing me apart.
Stumbling blindly through my tears, I somehow made it to my mother’s bedroom door. The forbidden zone. I wasn’t to set foot inside. It was another unspoken rule. One that I’d only dared break a handful of times while she was out of the house. Now I was desperate enough to break it with her right inside because I needed her. I needed my mother, dammit.
Piles of boxes lined every wall, stuffed to overflowing with clothes, papers, and who knew what else. Decades old newspapers and magazines were stacked here, there, and everywhere. A dark form lay sprawled over the rumpled covers on her bed.
“Mom?” I gasped, staggering sideways into the doorframe as dark spots filled my vision and I tried to force air into my screaming lungs. “Mom!”
Nothing. No response. She was out cold, completely oblivious to the fact that her daughter needed her. “Mom . . . P-please . . . I need h-h-help. Mom?”
It was a lost cause. A marching band could have paraded through that room and she wouldn’t have woken. But the saddest part was, even if she had, I wasn’t sure she’d have done anything more than kick me out.
The steel band wrapped around my chest synched tighter and I nearly choked on my next breath. I couldn't do this. I couldn't survive this. I couldn't. Not on my own. I needed help. I needed . . .
Dropping to my knees, I crawled the distance to my room and snatched my cell from the nightstand, collapsing across my mattress. It took three attempts to dial the right number, but it finally began to ring
. He answered on the second ring and I knew immediately that I'd woken him up. And that he didn't care.
"Jade?" Caulder's voice was scratchy, but the concern was clear. "What's wrong?"
"I . . . can't . . ." Speaking without air was more difficult than I'd imagined.
"What? What happened? You can't what, Jade?"
"Breathe." I choked it out and he needed no more.
"Okay." Caulder sounded wide awake now and I heard the distant creak of a mattress. "Slow and steady." His voice muffled for a moment, as though he were speaking through some kind of material, and then returned. "Inhale . . . Exhale . . . Just breathe. I know it hurts. Just breathe through it, Jade. Are you at home?"
"Yes," I gasped, trying to do as he instructed.
"Is anyone else there with you?"
"My-my mother's . . ." Inhale. "Passed . . ." Exhale. "Out." Short, shallow breaths sawed in and out of my lungs.
"I'm on my way. Just keep breathing. I'm on my way."
It was easier said than done. My lungs clamped shut, the lump in my throat effectively sealing off my airway. Inside my aching chest my heart raced a mile a minute. And the pressure. Oh, God, the pressure. It felt like my heart was going to explode with it. I’d heard heat attacks described that way, but I couldn’t be having a heart attack. Could I? Why not? Because seventeen-year-olds didn’t have heart attacks? Because seventeen-year-olds didn’t die? That was bullshit, though, wasn’t it?
I don’t know how long I lay there, clutching my chest and fearing my imminent demise before I heard him calling out to me. “Jade? Jade, where the hell are you?”
It sounded like his voice was coming from under water, barely recognizable, but I knew who it was. The moment my bedroom door crashed open, I knew who I’d see standing there. But the panic in his eyes was entirely unexpected.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Scooping me up with more ease than should be humanly possible, Caulder positioned his back against the wall before settling me in his lap on the bed. The nagging thought that this should feel strange or uncomfortable was lost beneath the flurry of other emotions whipping through me—namely fear. “You’re okay.”