by Kendall Ryan
She sits down with him on her lap and feeds him little bites of crackers that she's broken into tiny pieces. I never knew this could be so captivating, but for some damn reason, they have captured my absolute attention.
***
When Sophie and I crawl into bed that night, we're both suntanned and lethargic from the afternoon spent entertaining.
"I'm glad our families met," she says around a yawn.
"Me too."
"What did you and my dad talk about?"
I guess she noticed that I commandeered him all afternoon.
"Mostly we talked about my work. A little bit about my family. Nothing too exciting. Just small talk," I lie.
I won't tell Sophie, but I'd told her father that I'm madly in love with her. She's it for me. I asked for his blessing and told him I planned to spend the rest of my life loving her. He stood there with a serious expression as though he was sizing up not just me as a man, but also my intentions. After a tense moment, he smiled and shook my hand and then welcomed me into the family. Our mid-day fuck was actually a celebratory fuck, she just didn’t know that.
"Let's get some sleep, baby." I tighten my arms around her, hoping to stop any further questions.
Chapter Twelve
Colton
The following Tuesday at work, I get a series of phone calls from Kylie, then Marta and then finally Beth. I let them all go to voicemail and wonder if all of the women in my life have suddenly gone crazy. I'm meeting with my senior staff today, having a strategy session about trying to turn around the third quarter before the earnings report comes out next month.
When my phone flashes again, I glance down at the screen. The text from Kylie causes me to drop the stack of reports I'm reviewing.
Colton, answer your damn phone! Where are you?!
At the office, what's up? I type out, annoyed.
You need to come get Sophie. Her sister passed away.
Staring at the words on the screen, I try and fail to comprehend their meaning. We'd just spent the weekend with Sophie's family. Becca was fine. She was thin and complained of being tired, but she'd been fine. No. This had to be some type of mistake.
Excusing myself from the boardroom, I tap out a text to Kylie, confirming that I was on my way. I call Marta on my cell while racing down the stairs. There's no time to wait for the elevator, not while my girl needs me.
"Colt, where have you been? I've been trying to…"
"I know. Kylie just told me."
"Oh God, Colton, it's horrible."
***
I drive like a rocket all the way to Kylie's. When I reach her house, I don't bother knocking, I charge my way inside, my eyes seeking Sophie.
Instead I find Kylie in the front room, her expression distraught. "Thank God you're here."
"Where is she?" I bark.
Kylie points to the back of the house. I rush down the hall and find Sophie sitting at the kitchen table looking down at her hands, a now cold mug of tea sitting beside her along with a half dozen used tissues.
The room is silent and lifeless. I fucking hate it.
"Sweetness…" I murmur against the hum of the refrigerator.
Sophie's head lifts and her expression is one I've never seen her wear and one I hope to never see again as long as we live.
Her skin is pale, her mouth is drawn into a tight line, but her eyes are the worst. They are blank and unresponsive – two haunted pools of blue that, despite her silence, scream of pain and trauma so deep my stomach lurches as I fear she'll never be whole again. Becca wasn’t just her sister, wasn’t just her best friend. She was Sophie's twin. It's a loss that I can't even begin to understand.
"Come here, baby." I pull her into my arms and she rises easily, letting me pull her to my chest.
She buries her face in my throat and sobs.
I clutch her tighter, hating that she's in pain and I can't do a fucking thing about it. "I'm so sorry." The words feel hollow and so inadequate, I want to swallow them back down the second they leave my mouth. I want to ask what happened, but I know now is not the right time. So instead, I let her cry, holding her tightly against me and muffling the sounds of her crying with my suit jacket.
A few minutes later, her sobs quiet and I smooth her hair back away from her face. "Can I take you home?"
She nods and lets me take her hand and lead her out to the car while Kylie watches from the doorway with a sad, wistful look.
When we arrive home, I dismiss the household staff. Vacuuming and polishing crystal vases suddenly seems far less important. I lay Sophie down in my bed, where she curls into a little ball, hugging my pillow against her. I take her cell phone from her purse and call her father.
"Mr. Evans?" My voice breaks and he makes the sound of a muffled sob on the other end.
"Colton, how is she?"
"She's in bed right now. Hasn't spoken a word yet." I wish I had better news to report, but it's the reality of the situation. "I'll take care of her, sir."
"I know you will."
"What happened? Becca seemed fine when she was here…"
I learn that when Becca returned home Sunday, she complained of mild swelling and pain at the site of her port catheter. Within hours, a fever had spiked and they rushed her to the ER. The doctors began antibiotics for an infection that was roaring, unchecked through her system. Within hours of being admitted to the hospital, she'd slipped into a coma as the aggressive infection took full advantage of her weakened immune system.
Her reduced health had contributed to the problem – and the deadly infection had a direct line of access to a vein in her chest, courtesy of the port installed to make her cancer treatments easier.
Her father has to stop twice to compose himself. I tell him it's okay – he doesn't have to continue, but each time, he takes a few minutes to get himself under control and carries on with the story. When he's through, I have no idea what to say. So I tell him we'll be there soon.
After ending the call, I call Marta, instructing her to ready the pilot and my plane and to make arrangements for me to be away from work for a while. It's the worst possible time, but disaster doesn’t plan itself around your calendar, it just sweeps in and punches you in the face, demanding your attention. And right now, this situation has my full and undivided attention – and my first priority is Sophie.
***
A few hours later, we're aboard my jet and it's ascending smoothly into the night sky. I had to carry Sophie to the car and help her board the plane. She's weak and disoriented and that haunted empty look hasn't left her eyes once. Not while she laid in the bed staring at the ceiling, not when I explained that we were flying home tonight, and not now – while she watches the little lights twinkling ten thousand feet below us.
I've packed our bags, which in addition to toiletries and random articles of clothing, each include formal black attire suited for a funeral.
I lift the bottle of bourbon from its resting place at the center console and pour myself a measure. Glancing over at Sophie, I'm reminded of our first evening together –this plane, her somber mood for an entirely different reason. She'd been fighting to save her sister's life. My stomach tightens and I chug down a bitter sip of alcohol, needing its numbing effect now more than ever.
It's only once we're up in the air that Sophie speaks her first words to me.
"Can I have some of that?" she asks, nodding to the glass decanter sitting beside me.
"Of course." I'd offered her water, tea and tried to get her to eat, all of which she'd refused earlier. And while I knew the strong liquor wasn't the best thing for her empty stomach, I wouldn’t deny her. Pouring a moderate amount in a glass, I hand it to her.
Her fingers brush mine and Sophie's eyes lift to meet my gaze.
"I love you," I tell her.
"I know. I love you too," she says, then she takes a big gulp of her drink and grimaces.
We don't talk about what will happen when we land. I've never seen her childhood
home, but now isn't the time for nostalgia. I want to provide her comfort and take away every ounce of her pain. This is the most frustrating, fucked up situation I can imagine. I hate it. I want Becca back. I want my sweet, full of life Sophie back. I hate the thought that crosses my mind – without Becca's existence, does Sophie's own existence dim?
She drinks two big glasses of bourbon, which I let her have against my better judgment, and then falls asleep against my shoulder.
Tightening my arms around her, I watch her as she sleeps, and vow that whatever comes next, I will be there for her.
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie
I never thought I had to fear an infection. Cancer – the big, nasty C-word was my enemy – not some illness that crept in uninvited at the eleventh hour. It isn’t fair. And I don't understand. She'd been doing so well.
I hate how empty and lifeless our shared bedroom feels. Yet I can't help myself from laying on Becca's bed since it's the only place in the house I can still feel her.
I can hear Colton and my dad downstairs somewhere talking quietly. I don’t know what I'd do without him. He is my rock and my love for him has only quadrupled in the past two days.
My mom comes in when the sun begins its descent across the sky.
"Honey?" she taps on the open door and enters.
"Hi, Mom."
She sits down on the bed beside me. "As soon as we got to the emergency room, Becca asked one of the nurses for paper and a pen."
I wonder why she's telling me this, until she pulls a square of paper from her pocket and hands it to me. "Even though we assured her she'd be fine once they got the antibiotics into her system, she seemed to know something we didn’t. She wrote this in a fury while they attached her to an IV drip and removed her port. Then she folded it up and told me to give it to you. I haven’t read it."
I hold the paper in my hands. It's still warm from my mom's hand and I savor the image of a determined Becca in her one last rebellious act against the fucking sickness that took her.
"Can you leave me alone?" I ask my mother.
She nods and rises from the bed, giving me privacy for what is sure to be an emotional moment.
I unfold the paper and laugh at the drawing that jumps out at me from the bottom of the page. It's a poorly drawn penis with large balls and squiggly lines of hair jutting out from them. I smile for the first time in two days. Tears dart to my eyes and my love for her grows, if that’s even possible. I haven’t read a damn word of her letter, and my mood has already lifted. She knew I'd need this. She knows me too well.
Sophie,
Thank you for taking me to Rome. Holy shit those Italian guys were hot. Thank you for being my best friend, thank you for every sacrifice you made for me, big and small. Thank you for always giving me your pink Starbursts.
I blink down at the words, recalling the countless packages of Starbursts I bought from hospital vending machines over the years. The pink were Becca's favorite, and even though they were mine too, I always forfeited them to her. Every single time. Without question. Without hesitation.
I love you without end. Don't you dare think for a second that that love is gone. Don't you dare mourn for me. Miss me. Every day, just as I will miss you. Then get on with living. Do it for me. Because I can't. I will be there in every starry night, in ever whisper of breeze against your skin when you jog, I'm in every package of Starbursts, smiling down at you when you eat the pink ones.
A single tear slips from my eye and I brush it away before continuing.
Whatever happens, please know that I am with you. ALWAYS. Go love that hot man of yours, you lucky girl, you. You two are going to make some damn fine babies one day. And that makes me so happy.
At the bottom is the penis drawing and her name along with a heart. That's it. The whole letter. I read it twice more, then fold it neatly along the same creases and carry it across the room, tucking it into my purse for safe keeping.
My mom taps on the door and enters again. Her face is open and expectant. "Well? What did it say?"
I take my time, considering how to answer. "Everything."
She nods. "Good."
Crossing the room to sit beside me again, my mom reaches for my hand. "What are your plans after the funeral tomorrow?"
We're having a luncheon at the house after the funeral, but I know that's not what she means. I think we're all wondering the same thing – how do we go on living in a world where my bright, lovely sister no longer exists?
"I figured I'd stick around here for as long as you needed me. Colton probably has to get back to work, but…"
She shakes her head, stopping me. "Your dad and I will be okay. We've known this is a possibility for a long time."
Was I the only one so blind that I didn’t see what was going on, didn’t understand the risks? Becca continued wasting away while everyone fed me lines that the experimental treatment I'd miraculously funded did nothing. That word resonates far deeper than I'd like. Nothing. It'd all been for nothing. The auction, selling myself, meeting Colton...
No. As soon as I think that last part, I know it's not true. I'd be lost without him right now.
My mom continues, "Dad and I have each other. You don't need to stay here, Soph. You should go home with Colton. Becca was so happy you found him."
I pull in a deep breath and nod.
***
When we leave Northern California it feels so wrong driving away and knowing that my sister is in that cemetery. Part of my heart has been buried in the cold, hard earth. She doesn’t belong there. But then I remember her letter. She isn’t there. She is in every ray of sunshine that shines too bright, in the whisper of the wind against my skin as we board the plane. I know for certain that she is still with me. I see her in my mirrored reflection of the plane's window, in the stray thoughts that are too feisty to be entirely my own. I feel her presence in the squeeze of my heart and I feel whole again. Colton pulls me close and tells me he loves me, and I think maybe, just maybe I will have the strength to do this.
Chapter Fourteen
Colton
Against my better judgment, I returned to work. Sophie assured me that it was important that we both resume our normal schedules. But as one week turns into two and Sophie continues her descent into a woman I no longer recognize, I know I need to call in reinforcements.
There were a few days there that gave me hope she was getting better. She'd gone for a jog, had stopped by Kylie's to see the baby once, and had actually talked to the grief counselor I sent to the house. But as I arrive home from work tonight, my heart shatters at what I find.
Sophie is sitting on the balcony that extends from my office. The wind is whipping her hair wildly around her face and goosebumps cover her flesh. A storm is coming, but she seems oblivious to that fact.
Her skin is pale, and her expression hollow. She's merely a shell of the girl I fell in love with. Giant blue eyes are staring blankly at the ocean and she's taking huge sips of my bourbon straight from the bottle. And the way she no longer grimaces at the taste tells me that this is probably a regular occurrence. Fuck.
"Baby?" I ask, approaching her with caution.
Her head turns in my direction and she blinks several times. "I'm losing it, Colton."
I kneel down on the deck in front of her and cup her face in my hands. "Losing what, sweetness?"
"Everything. The sound of her voice. The way she smelled. How it felt when we were together…"
I sit there, speechless, holding her cheeks and watch her eyes fill with tears. Fuck, Colton, think.
She's completely fucking broken right now and I'm worried that the only one who'd know how to put her back together again is Becca, the sister she shared a womb with for nine months, the best friend she loved without question. I'm terrified that I'm not enough, that my love will never be enough.
"I have to pee," she says after several seconds, then rises unsteadily to her feet.
I walk her to the bathroo
m, helping to keep her stable. "How much bourbon did you have?" That shit is strong. Strong enough to knock me on my ass after one small glass.
"Not enough," she says, her feet twisting beneath her. I grab around her waist, keeping her face from smacking against the floor. Dammit.
When we reach the bathroom, I maneuver her into the room, pull her shorts and panties down to her ankles and then sit her down on the toilet. "I'll be right outside the door."
She nods and I close the door behind me.
I can hear the sound of her peeing and muttering something to herself. Something about pink Starbursts. What the hell?
Standing in the hall, I fish my cell phone from my pocket and dial Pace's number.
"I need your help."
"Sophie?" he asks.
"Yeah. She's drunk off her ass. Drank a whole bunch of that hundred-year old bourbon. I'm scared and I don't know what to do."
"That shit's strong. Has she eaten?" he asks.
"No, I doubt it. She mumbled something about pink Starbursts."
"I'm on it, bro. Just breathe. I'll be there soon."
Just as Pace makes it inside the house, the sky turns dark and a loud roar of thunder crashes in the distance. The rain will be here soon.
"Where is she?" he asks.
"The bedroom." I'd laid her down with a photobook from my last trip to Africa. It seemed that she could look at the photos of the small villages, the people, the children for hours on end.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks.
"We need macaroni and cheese."
"You should have told me, I could have picked some up." He holds up a plastic bag that is filled with at least a dozen packages of Starburst candy.
"No, we need to make it homemade."
"How do we do that?"
"I don't know. Google it, I suppose."