by Rachel
“Will you take me home?” she asked as she tugged her long hair from inside her shirt and looked at him, a half smile touching her lips.
“Yes,” he replied hoarsely, and together they strode down the corridor, blurring past nurses, doctors, and visitors as they made their way to the exit. The hallway smelled of lemons as a janitor mopped the floor, pausing long enough to allow them to pass.
As Bastian held open the outer door, a burst of cold air greeted them. Kaylee stepped through and he followed, slipping his arm around her waist, holding her close not only to warm both of them.
As he drove toward Kaylee’s house, Bastian tried not to think about Smith and all the things the “good” doctor had said, but some things were easier to forget than others. As Bastian pulled onto a road and eased into light traffic, he spotted the pond from a short distance. Christmas lights glowed around it, and a freeze had hardened the water, allowing skaters to coast across its icy surface.
“Stop the car.” Kaylee said, jerking upright.
“Are you all right?” Bastian veered sharply to the shoulder. His heart racing, he set the brake and turned to face her.
She nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Kill the engine and let’s go.” Throwing open the door, she scrambled out of the truck.
“Are you crazy?” he fumed. “You just got out of the hospital. Goddamn it, Kaylee. You should be at home in bed, resting, not trekking in this weather.” He sprang out, slamming the door.
Kaylee whirled. “You’re right. I just got out of the hospital.” She grabbed his hand and led him down a hill toward the rink, but as Bastian saw where she was headed, he abruptly stopped and tugged her to a halt.
“You didn’t want to stay in the hospital, so I said I would bring you home. This isn’t home.”
Kaylee dropped his hand. “Okay, Bastian, I am going to die. That’s true. But right now I’m still alive. You want me to go home and stay there until I stop breathing? That’s the reason I don’t want different medicines or treatments. I don’t want to spend my time in bed sleeping. Right now I want to skate, and I’m damned well going to. I’d like for you to come, but that’s up to you. Either way, I’m going.” She turned and trudged toward the rink, not looking back.
“You don’t want to stay in bed even if it means longer, Kaylee?” he asked softly. He could feel a burning in his throat, and he knew he didn’t want to talk about this. Talking made it real.
Kaylee paused and looked up at the stars. “It’s not about duration. Some people who live to be 98 never know what it’s like to live.”
Bastian winced and folded his arms across his chest. “Then what is it about, Kaylee?”
She turned to face him. “It’s about what life is and what it becomes. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in throw-away moments.”
“What?” He stepped toward her, frowning.
“Moments I don’t remember because they didn’t matter.” She reached up and touched his face, smiling.
“Am I one of those?” He caught her hand.
“God, no, Bastian. My whole life might have been before you, but not now.” She leaned toward him and rested her head on his chest. His arms drew her body ever closer to his.
Together, they lingered like that for a long moment before Bastian felt strong enough to pull away. “You said you wanted to skate, lady.”
Kaylee laughed. “That I do.”
Chapter Eighteen
For more than two hours, Angie had sat at Kaylee’s kitchen table, wondering when Bastian would reappear. She drummed her fingers and looked at her purse, then sought out her cell phone. Punching the numbers, she waited.
“Hello? Daddy?”
“Did you find him?” a male voice asked.
“Yeah.” Angie scooted the chair back from the table. “He’s a successful art teacher.”
“Where are you? I can catch the next flight.”
“I don’t think that would be wise. He was pretty shocked to see me, and right now he’s got a lot of things he’s working out.”
“I take it he doesn’t relish the idea of seeing his father these days.”
“I don’t know.” Angie leaned on the table. “He’s hard to read. I think more than anything he just needs some time, and then maybe he’ll be ready.”
Angie heard the front door close and stiffened. “I’ve got to run, Daddy. I’ll call you soon.” She thumbed the disconnect button before he could argue and slid the phone back into her purse. Bastian walked slowly into the kitchen, carrying an unconscious Kaylee in his arms. Angie jumped up.
“Is she all right?”
“As okay as she can be, all things considered.” Bastian ground his teeth and drew Kaylee more tightly to him. “It’s been a long day and I’m going to put her to bed. I’ll be right back.”
He stepped out of the kitchen and started up the stairs. Tears that blurred his vision, merging all the colors into one, spilling down his face and he staggered.
“God, help me,” he whispered.
He forced himself to the bedroom and laid her on the bed as he let the pain spill down his face. With her hair fanned around her head, she appeared a flying angel. He wondered at how he’d never made the connection. The painting in the living room—the angel with its three-dimensional wings. She’d said it wasn’t very good—that she didn’t have his talent for seeing, but she had. Whether she’d known it or not, it had been a self-portrait of sorts painted of a time close at hand but not yet come—this moment. She’d seen it coming for nine months. And with the folds of the mosquito netting draped about the bedside, casting shadows amid the muted sliver of moonlight stealing in at the window, he could see her wings—God, how he could see them. And one day—one moment—they would lift her into soundless flight, and with a faint whisper of breath, steal her away forever. Trembling, he gently began to undress her, starting with her shoes and socks. The whole time, she slept, unaware of his touch and the tears he couldn’t control.
For a few moments, he let them warm his face. He allowed himself a private chance to acknowledge that his heart was breaking. Then he forced himself to go into the bathroom and wash his face before joining his sister downstairs.
Angie stood to greet him. She toyed with a silver bracelet she’d taken off her wrist. “Why is she out of the hospital? I thought they were going to keep her.”
“She’s stubborn,” he said softly. “She said she didn’t want to be there when....” He could feel his whole body tense. His stomach rolled, and he thought the words might actually make him vomit.
“I’m sorry, Bastian. I wish I knew how to help.” Angie touched his hand. Tears pooled in her eyes, glittering in the fluorescent lighting.
Bastian nodded. “I wish that, too.”
* * *
Fluorescent light filled the sunroom where Denna sat, surrounded by stacks of old papers, scrapbooks, and pictures. Her normally coiffed hair fell in disarray, and the harsh lighting settled in every wrinkle on her face. Soft terry pajamas draped her body, and her shoulders slumped. One book lay open in her lap, and her trembling fingers flipped the pages as she scanned numerous newspaper clippings. Many of the old photos showed a much younger Denna, surrounded by children. She squinted at them. The children. Other people’s children. Still staring at the photo, she reached to the wicker table, grabbed a sweating glass filled with Bourbon, and brought it to her lips where it stayed until the glass had been drained. She reached to set it back on the table and accidentally smacked it against the corner, cracking the glass. Two empty ones stood next to it. Her hand returned to the scrapbook and began to peel the pages back faster, blurring the clips and pictures.
“I know you’re in here, Kaylee,” she whispered, but her trembling hands said otherwise as she came to the end of the fifth book she’d looked through.
She shoved it off her lap and stood, heading back to the bar. As she walked, she touched the furniture, clutching here and there to guide her unsteady balance. Once at the bar, she pic
ked up another glass and filled it with more bourbon. With the bottle still in hand, she brought the glass to her lips and drained the contents then refilled it. She drank that one quickly, too, and then, on legs less steady than before, turned and headed to the shelf where more notebooks stood at attention.
“I have to find it. I have to find her baby book. I know I made one,” she slurred, staring at the blurry bookshelf before her. Tears pricked her eyes, pooled there, and spilled down her face, blurring her mascara into smudges beneath her eyes. As she grabbed the bookcase, she began pulling out the books, glancing at the first pages and then tossing them to the ground, ignoring the rings that had popped open and pages that had flown around her feet. With twenty books on the ground and only two left on the shelf, she saw it–a white leather cover that said “Baby.”
A hand flew to her mouth, and she whispered, “Oh, God.” Her whole body shivered, and she grabbed it from the top shelf.
Despite the mountain of scrapbooks and pages that covered her feet and ankles, she managed to step over them and stumble back to her chair. She skimmed her fingers across the leather cover and peered out the windows to see the pink and blue approach of the sun. One finger traced the gold, embossed letters on the cover, and she turned her attention back to the book.
Her hands slowly tugged the cover back, and the first page showed a very pregnant Denna, all smiles, with her hands atop her belly. Underneath the picture, she’d written, “Waiting for a miracle.” Denna touched the photo, her pregnant belly, and ran her hands over her stomach. She closed her eyes and remembered that moment.
Flipping the page, she saw Kaylee’s first baby picture–a black-and-white snapshot taken just before the two of them had left the hospital. Kaylee snuggled against her mother’s chest and slept with her thumb in her mouth. Despite the lack of color, Denna remembered the pastel pink of the cotton dress and the small silken bow tied in Kaylee’s almost non-existent hair.
Denna stroked the photo, her trembling fingers lingering on Kaylee’s small hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the picture. “I never meant for it to be like this. I only wanted to make us both happy.” Tears choked her words, and she dropped the scrapbook in her lap. Rocking back and forth, she tried to swallow the tears, but they kept coming until they’d spilled down her face and the sobs had exploded from her chest.
“I can’t do this.”
* * *
Despite being fatigued, Bastian could not sleep. He lay next to Kaylee in the darkness, staring at her profile. The peaceful sound of her breathing was the one reassuring thing that told him tonight would not be the night, and he clung to that. It was the only thing that kept him from running outside and screaming like a madman. It kept him from shattering windows and wrecking his truck just to destroy something as he was being destroyed. Most of all, it kept him staring at her face and waiting until she returned to this world.
Still, dawn rose before Kaylee as its golden glory streamed through the window. He reached out and touched her hair. As he stroked the silken strands, her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled weakly at him.
“Hey, Boyscout. How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough,” he replied, brushing his fingers through her hair.
“Cheater.” she said, rolling toward him.
“How is that cheating?” Bastian asked, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead.
“You’re supposed to wake me when you get up.” She nestled against his chest.
“But you look so cute and innocent when you sleep.”
Kaylee laughed. “Damn, that will ruin my rep.”
“I’ll never tell.” Bastian stroked the length of her back, re-memorizing the feel of her skin against his.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” She pulled away from him so she could see his face.
Bastian gazed toward the window. “You needed your sleep. You were worn out.”
“So?” she shrugged. “I don’t care how tired I am. I just want to be in whatever world you’re in–awake or asleep, it doesn’t matter.
Bastian sat up and dangled his legs over the edge of the bed. “We really need to get you out more.”
“I’ve been out. I’ll take being with you any day.” She trickled her fingers up his sides and laughed when he shuddered.
“Masochist.” he retorted, brushing his fingers at the bend of her knee, prompting a squeal. Kaylee tried to get away, but he held her down. “Had enough?” he taunted, holding her wrists still as he tickled her. Her back arched, and she tried to break free, but to no avail. “Had enough?”
“I’ll never have enough,” Kaylee replied between giggles and gasps for air.
“Hungry?” He released her hands and leaned close. He cupped her chin in one hand.
“Starved.” She licked her chapped lips, moistening them before she brushed them across Bastian’s.
“And what would my lady like to eat?” he asked between kisses.
“You,” she said breathlessly.
He smiled. “Food first. Me later.”
She laughed softly. “I guess French toast sounds good.”
Bastian smiled, watching as strands of her dark hair fell toward her face. He brushed them back. “That sounds good. Do you want me to feed you?”
Kaylee arched her eyebrows and grinned devilishly. “Uh huh.” She leaned over and kissed his neck.
He closed his eyes for just a moment and groaned softly, allowing himself to revel in Kaylee’s touch before, he stood. “Hold that thought while I make breakfast.”
Bastian padded down the hallway and took the stairs two at a time. As the clock struck nine, he bounded into the kitchen to find Angie sitting at the table. She wore jeans and a sweater. He spotted her suitcases and purse next to her chair and stopped suddenly as she looked at him instead of the paper. Swallowing hard, he raked his fingers through his hair. Still, Kaylee had left one of his button-down shirts draped over the back of a chair and he pulled it on.
“You always did get up early,” he managed. He walked to the fridge and took out the eggs and milk.
“You always did think nine was early,” she countered, folding the newspaper back into its original position. “How's Kaylee?”
“Hungry. I was just going to make her some French toast. You want some?” Bastian pulled a bowl down from one of the cabinets and cracked two eggs into it. He poured a dab of milk and sprinkled in some cinnamon.
“No thanks. I was–”
”What are you afraid of? Food poisoning or something? A little salmonella can do wonders for you, I’ve been told.” Bastian whisked a fork through the mixture.
Angie smiled. “It’s not that.” She nodded her head toward the door. “A cab should be here any minute to drive me to the airport.”
“You just got here. I know I was a bit brusque when you arrived, but while I’d expected many things, seeing you right at that moment hadn’t been one of them. I’m asking you to forget about the person who’s been lumping you in the same category as Dad. I should never have done that. I had no right. I’d like you to stay for a few days.”
Bastian’s hand stopped moving, and he turned to face his sister. He frowned and shrugged, lowering himself into the chair beside her.
“You don’t have to apologize.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I’m not leaving because you were rude—and you were. I’m leaving because you and Kaylee need this time. It’s important to both of you. And as long as you’re with her, I know things will be okay. Besides, I did what I came to do.”
“Apologize? Is that what you thought you needed to do?” he asked, leaning closer. “You didn’t. This wasn’t your fault. Besides, I did my own fair share of damage.”
Angie smiled. “It’s not just about apologizing. It’s about letting you know I love you as you are. If you’re happy, so am I.”
“You didn’t have to call a cab. I would have driven you to the airport, you know.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched his back.
>
She laughed and checked her watch. “Maybe I like cabs.”
Bastian folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well, the way they drive here, you’re putting your life in their hands.”
“No offense, Bastian, but I’ve seen the way you drive.” She pointed a finger accusingly. “And let me tell you there isn’t much difference.”
Outside, a car horn blared, and Angie jumped, startled at the noise. Her hand settled on her chest, and she shook her head. The color drained from her cheeks.
Bastian laughed. “Did I mention just how polite they are?”
“No, you must've forgotten.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Bastian stood and grabbed her luggage.
“Are you crazy?” Angie touched his arm. “You’ll freeze to death.”
“Nah,” he said, heading toward the foyer. “The Neanderthal in me loves the cold.” Together, they walked to the door, which Bastian held open before following her down the walkway to a yellow cab. The driver stepped out and held the trunk open, allowing Bastian to deposit Angie’s suitcases. Then he slammed the trunk shut. Feeling the coldness nip at his ears, Bastian turned to face her.
“You know where to find me.”
She shivered as a frigid breeze brushed across her face. “Yeah, I guess I do, Bastian.”
He reached out, took her into his arms, and squeezed her. “I’m so glad you came, Angie.”
“Me, too.” She returned the embrace and pressed her face against his chest.
For a moment, they stood until a shiny black Mercedes pulled into the drive. “Great--the Wicked Witch of the North has arrived.” His arms slackened, and Angie stepped back.