Touching Down

by Nicole Williams

  Charlie was still asleep at seven, so after checking on her, I went downstairs for a little coffee and a lot of reflection. I felt like every facet of my life required some careful deliberation, from my relationship with my daughter, to my relationship with Grant, to my health. So much had changed in less than a month, and it seemed that as soon as I came to terms with one thing, five more were thrown at me.

  I’d have to explain to Charlie what was wrong with me. I’d managed to skirt her questions last night after the game, but I wouldn’t be able to keep that up for much longer. The talk would have to come soon. I’d had a year to prepare for it, but I still felt totally at a loss. How did a parent tell their child something like this? How did they explain it in a clear and concise way when it came with so many implications?

  Prepared or not, it was essential. Charlie needed to know. That was all I’d worked out by the time I’d finished my first cup of coffee outside, overlooking the grounds as the sun lit up the world around me.

  Next, I let my mind hover on the subject Grant had brought up last night. I knew we needed more information and there’d be no easy decision, but despite my attempts to keep hope buried, some seedlings of it had burst through the surface. I wanted to hope that one of these experimental drugs would deliver that miracle Grant had mentioned. I’d take a fraction of a miracle. As a mother, I needed to hope.

  So measured hope. That’s what I could allow myself. That’s what I could afford. Not the blind variety I’d clung to at first. I could hold on to the hope that some European experimental drug might be up to the task of giving me more time, giving me more days with fewer symptoms. At this point, I’d be thrilled to still feel “present” on Charlie’s tenth birthday.

  So talk with Charlie—sooner rather than later.

  Renewed hope for some drug to be up to tackling some of this disease—measured and careful.

  That left Grant.

  For all of my determination and efforts to keep a distance between us, it had only taken him two weeks to prove just how pointless it was to try to keep any measure of distance between us.

  That wasn’t so much what I was worried about. Being close to him came with its complications, and I hated the thought of him hurting again when I left him, this time, due to no choice of my own.

  It was clear to me after last night that, whatever circumstance we found ourselves in, Grant and I were meant to be together. In whatever way life allowed. Trying to deny that was like trying to deny a person’s thirst for water. It was in my very makeup—he was in my very makeup. I’d love Grant until my last breath, and I knew he’d love me until his last, despite mine likely coming decades before his.

  My worries stemmed not from what I knew for certain, but what remained unsaid between us.

  I hadn’t told him everything. Not yet. Not because I was scared of telling him, but because saying it out loud would make it real. There’d be no pretending that it was just some nightmare I’d wake up from at any moment.

  There’d be no pretending that while my life might be ruined by this disease, at least my loved ones would be immune to it.

  I was surprised he hadn’t figured it out on his own yet, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had a lack of stuff to process without the conclusion he had yet to arrive at. I had to tell him soon.

  My second cup of coffee had been cold for a while when I heard little feet pad up behind me.

  “Are you cold, Mom? I brought a blanket.”

  Sitting up in the lounger, I looked back at my daughter in her solar system pajamas, her hair still a mess and her eyes sleepy-looking.

  “Exactly what I needed.” I patted my lap and took a breath, bringing every scrap of courage I had to the surface. “I need to talk with you about something.”

  Charlie moved closer a bit hesitantly. “About what happened to you at the game?”

  A smile touched my mouth. “Yes.”

  “Are you sick?” She sniffed, dragging the blanket she’d brought out to keep me warm.

  My smile didn’t falter. I couldn’t let it. My daughter deserved my strength, all of it. My weakness could have its way with me when I was alone, but not with Charlie. She’d need to see my strength through this to know it was possible. To know she was capable of the same.

  “Yes,” I answered, opening my arms.

  She sniffed again, a tear spilling out the corner of her eye. “Are you going to die?”

  My smile didn’t break, despite everything else inside me feeling as though it were shattering. “Yes.” I took her hand and pulled her closer, looking her in the eye. “But I’m going to live every day until then.”

  CHARLIE’S AND MY talk had gone through breakfast and straight into lunch. She’d gotten her tears out early, but her questions hadn’t stopped until we’d finished the last bite of the pizza we’d ordered for lunch.

  It was a memory I’d never forget, images I’d take with me to the hereafter. Charlie’s innocent tears, her endless questions, her boundless strength, the spot of pizza sauce on her nose when she’d asked me if I was scared of dying. I’d cherish every last second of it.

  Grant had texted me earlier to let me know he wouldn’t be home until after dinner since he had to pull an extra weight session after practice. After my talk with Charlie, I’d decided today was a good day to get everything off of my chest at once.

  That was why I was in a cab heading for Storm Stadium. Since Charlie’s and my talk had gone so late into the day, she was still at home with Mrs. Kent, going through some school work, and I’d told them to have dinner without me. I guessed this conversation would take as long as Charlie’s and mine had. Probably longer.

  A guard was waiting for me at one of the entrances, so after paying the cab fare, I followed the guard through the door and down a long hall.

  “Mr. Turner’s right this way, ma’am.”

  When the guard slowed his pace to match mine, I realized how slowly I’d been walking. Like each step, I was fighting through mud. When he stopped in front of a doorway, he waved at someone inside.

  “Thanks, Al. I appreciate you escorting her in.” Grant’s voice echoed out into the hall.

  “What a pretty girl like this is doing with a sorry excuse like you is beyond me.” Al shook his head good-naturedly, stepping aside to let me pass into the room.

  The moment I was in the room, Grant’s eyes latched onto me through the mirror he was standing in front of, a loaded barbell resting on his shoulders. “Beyond us both.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled at Al before he waved and disappeared down the hall.

  Grant’s brow lifted before he squatted low, releasing a hard breath when he righted himself. From the looks of the barbell, he was probably squatting close to three of me.

  “Got tired of waiting for me?” he asked with a roguish look on his face before squatting again.

  “Just checking up on you. Making sure you aren’t slacking.” I moved farther into the room, not missing how the scent of Grant’s sweat was already affecting me.

  “Yeah, well, it’s about killing me to get this last set out, but I’m finishing it no matter what. I’ve never given up on a workout before and damned if today’s the day I’ll start.” Lowering again, his eyes went to the ceiling, all of his muscles priming as he popped off another rep.

  “Well, you were up all night messing around.” Grabbing a fresh towel from a shelf, I moved closer. He was drenched with sweat, droplets of it even running off of his hair.

  “Vigorously messing around.”

  I paused while he burned out a couple more reps, then he racked the barbell and turned around.

  “Lots of great equipment in here. Sturdy equipment made for taking abuse.” He lifted his chin at a machine that looked like a person was supposed to bend over it and get some kind of workout, I guessed. From the look on Grant’s face, his plans had more to do with working me over instead.

  “Tempting, but I could smell you from the parking lot.” When I tossed the towel at
him, he caught it.

  “So? You didn’t seem to complain when I worked up a sweat last night.” His grin made my stomach twist before he wiped his face off with the towel.

  “I need to talk to you first.” I turned around and roamed the room, guessing space was a good thing with the way he was looking at me right now and the way I could feel my body responding to him.

  After pulling his wet shirt over his head, he tossed it into one of the laundry carts. I swallowed, trying to pretend I was not noticing how his muscles looked twice as large as normal thanks to him just finishing up his weight session.

  From the smirk that formed, he knew I hadn’t missed it either.

  I looked away and closed my eyes, just to be doubly protected against the sight of him overruling my better judgment. “It’s about Charlie.”

  “What about Charlie?” The husky tone was gone from his voice, his mindset totally eclipsed.

  “I talked with her earlier. About what’s going on with me.”

  There was a moment of silence. “You told her about your HD?”

  “Yeah, I did.” When my eyes opened, I saw Grant’s face had changed as well. Worry lines were drawn into his forehead, creased into the corners of his eyes. “She took it pretty well. At least as well as any child who just found out one of their parents was going to die sooner than they’d thought could.”

  He took a seat on the weight bench close by. “Where is she?”

  “Back home with Mrs. Kent. She’s working on some school work. I think she was happy to have something take her mind off of it for a while.”

  Grant nodded, staring at the floor at his feet. “Do you think I should talk to her?”

  I had to take a seat on the weight bench a few down from him. Seeing him hurting already . . . I didn’t want to crush him with what came next. “Probably. I’m sure there’ll be lots more talks we’ll all have to have.”

  He wiped the towel across his face again. “You could have waited for me to be there with you. We could have done it together.”

  “I know, but you’re going to have to deal with so many of those conversations alone after . . .” I balked at the word again, but no more. No more being afraid to say it, because it wasn’t going to be afraid when it came to taking what it wanted. “After I die”—across from me, Grant flinched, his jaw pushing against his skin—“you’ll be who she turns to. I wanted to take care of this one.”

  “You’re not dying,” he ground out, glaring at the floor.

  “Grant, yes, I am. Experimental drug or not, I’m going to die. There might be a miracle that helps slow the symptoms, but there isn’t a miracle cure.”

  “So what? That’s it? You’re just going to accept that this is going to kill you?”

  My eyes latched onto his. “I’ve accepted that I’m going to die with Huntington’s, and I wish you would too.”

  He jolted off of the weight bench, his arms quivering. “Fuck, Ryan. I’m going to die. Charlie’s going to die. We’re all going to die.” This time, it was my turn to flinch, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t pull his words; each one boomed louder than the last. “But I’m not going to use that as an excuse not to live. To not try my damndest to live as long as I can.”

  I took a few slow breaths before I could reply. “I am going to do everything I can to live as long as I can. I will take any experimental drug that gives me one more day with you and Charlie.” My eyes cut to him, daring him to challenge me once more. His lips stayed closed. “But I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about Charlie.”

  The flicker of anger extinguished from his eyes as he paced with his hands at his hips. “What about our daughter?”

  My lungs felt like they were collapsing. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to gasp for breath. “Do you know how a person gets Huntington’s?”

  Grant waved his arm. “It’s something in your DNA. You told me that.”

  “Yes, it’s in a person’s DNA. Something they’re born with.” I paused to swallow. “And do you know why a person’s born with it?” My voice wasn’t recognizable to my own ears.

  Grant stopped pacing. “No, I don’t.”

  I tried to lift my eyes to his, but they were too heavy. “It’s hereditary.”

  Another stretch of silence passed.

  “So you got it from . . .?”

  “Whatever loser my mom was sleeping with the night I was conceived. At least I think so, because as far as I know, she never showed symptoms of it before she died.” Thinking of my mom made me choke up. She’d died young too, but from a different kind of disease.

  “So, fine.” Grant gripped one of the barbells so hard his knuckles looked ready to break through his skin. “I’ll track the piece of shit down if he’s still alive and make him beg for Huntington’s to kill him instead of what I’ll threaten to do.”

  My head fell into my hands. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t getting why I was bringing this up now.

  I didn’t know I’d started crying until I noticed the dark spots on the floor at my feet. “Charlie . . .”

  It was all I needed to say. Just her name.

  “No. God, no.” Grant’s voice was a hollow echo in the room.

  When my head tipped up just enough to look him in the eyes, his face blanched.

  “Don’t . . . just don’t,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t say the fucking word, Ryan. I won’t hear it. I can’t take it . . . not both of you.” His legs wobbled once before his knees buckled beneath him.

  I rushed toward him, but he’d already fallen to his knees before I got there. His back was shaking with silent sobs, but his eyes were dry. No, his eyes were angry as he glared through the ceiling like he was shooting his wrath at every god and star in the sky that had played a hand in this moment.

  “Grant—”

  “No!” he hollered. “Don’t say it.” His arms tied around his neck as his jaw quivered. “I’m not losing her too. I’m not losing either of you.” Shoving off of his knees, he started to leave the room.

  “Grant, please,” I called, wanting to follow him, so he didn’t have to be alone, but my legs wouldn’t take me. I was stuck. There was no going back, no going forward.

  “Charlie is my daughter. You are the woman that I love.” He rolled to a stop just outside of the door, his expression dark. “No one or nothing is taking either one of you from me without going through me first.”

  “Don’t run away. Don’t go hide somewhere to be alone with this. Stay. Talk. Be with me.” My lip trembled. “I’m hurting too.”

  His shoulders tensed. “I need to be alone.”

  “No, you don’t. Neither of us have to be alone right now.” I lifted my arm, like I was hoping he’d take my hand from all the way across the room.

  “Jesus Christ, Ryan.” He cursed, driving his palm into the doorway. “You’ve had a year to try to wrap your head around this. Back off and give me one goddamned night.”

  ONE NIGHT. ONE day. By the calendar’s estimation, it was an afterthought. But never had one night and one day passed so slowly in my life. Not even when I’d been waiting for the test results to come in when the doctors suspected I was showing signs of Huntington’s.

  Actually, there were times during the night when I’d been certain time had come to an utter and total standstill. I’d only shared one night in the same bed as Grant, but crawling into an empty bed had never felt so cold. I mourned his presence like we’d shared a lifetime of nights together.

  Charlie had been appeased with the explanation that Grant was pulling some extra training sessions, but I knew she wouldn’t be appeased by that for much longer.

  I didn’t know where he was. I didn’t know where he’d slept last night. I didn’t know if he’d shown up for practice this morning. I didn’t know if he was even real anymore. Grant had always been more angel than human to me. More ephemeral than flesh and blood.

  Charlie had been asleep for a while before I decided to go for a quick walk around the ga
rdens. Mrs. Kent was staying over to get up with Charlie since I had an early morning appointment, and I needed some fresh air to clear my head.

  The lights inside of the pool house were out, no evidence of anyone inside.

  Where are you, Grant? I need you. I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to.

  My walk hadn’t taken me far before I noticed a pair of headlights moving up the driveway. A pair of truck’s headlights.

  My throat tightened at the same time my shoulders sagged in relief. He was home. He’d come back.

  After he parked, I noticed his dark figure moving toward the pool house. It looked like he was carrying something. Something large. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to see me yet or if he was ready, but I had to see him. I had to make sure he was okay. I knew from my own experience of learning that my daughter could have the same disease I’d just been diagnosed with, that piece of news was the most heartbreaking.

  He noticed me as he passed by the pool. Even though it was dark, I could make out the look on his face. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t crushed. From the set of his jaw and the line of his brow, he looked more determined than anything.

  “Want to give me a hand?” He lifted his chin at the pool house door as he moved closer. Now I could see that he was carrying a big box. One that could have held one of those mini-fridges I’d lived with during my first few years alone.

  Opening the door, I walked inside and held it for him. Then I turned on a few lights and moved toward the kitchen counter he’d just dropped the big box on.

  “Grant?”

  When my hand dropped onto his arm, he turned around slowly. He looked down at me, the storm still raging in his dark eyes, but he’d managed to harness it. He was controlling the storm; it wasn’t controlling him.

  His arms wound around me, one at a time, before he pulled me against him. “I’m sorry I ran like that. I’m sorry I left you alone.” His voice was thick with emotion as his arms tightened their hold on me. “It will never happen again.”

  My arms found their way around him too. I dropped my forehead into his chest, breathing him in. My angel was real. Solid. Tangible. As my fingers curled into his shirt, I wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to let go. “It’s okay. I understand.”