by Jewel E. Ann
The glass doors to Lila’s room gave us a glimpse of her before we ever stepped foot inside. Graham stopped, taking a deep breath while reaching for my hand.
I squeezed it. “We love Lila the most,” I whispered.
He squeezed my hand in response, keeping his gaze on her. Nothing could have prepared me for seeing Lila with half of her face and skull bandaged, looking so lifeless. As Graham opened the door, the beeping monitor told us she was alive, but it was the only sign of life. I moved to one side of the bed as Graham took his place next to her on the other side.
“L-Lila …” His voice completely shattered.
My hand made a fist at my mouth as the room blurred behind the welling tears. His body collapsed over hers. He took her hand with both of his, resting his forehead next to her head on the pillow. Silent sobs racked his body.
Regret curled its relentless claws into my gut, punishing me for ever doubting his love for my best friend. Everything seemed so petty compared to that moment. How could I worry about her job, her becoming a mother, her losing her independence?
Life was about breaths and heartbeats.
A smile.
A wink.
The squeeze of a hand.
Sunrises and sunsets.
The rest … it was all extra.
When forced to choose what really matters, it all became so clear. This moment. The only moment.
I slipped out of the room, out of sight, and slid my phone from my pocket.
“Hello?” my dad answered in his middle-of-the-night voice.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“Evelyn …” his voice gained a bit more life, a deep tone of concern. “What’s wrong?”
Swallowing hard, I wiped my tears before taking a slow breath. I knew once I started to speak, everything would have to come out really quickly. “Lila was injured while skiing today. It was bad. She had surgery. Now, she’s in the ICU. Ronin saved her, but then his heart stopped beating, and we don’t know why. He’s okay now, but …” Covering my mouth with my hand to stifle my sobs, I fought to find another sliver of composure to keep talking. “I’m not. I’m not okay. I need you and Mom.”
That was it. No apologies for waking them. No apologies for asking my sick mom to make the trip to Aspen in the middle of the night. I knew what it meant to be a parent—that unconditional love thrived on being there for your children when they needed you the most. And while I had never battled cancer, I couldn’t imagine anything short of death itself keeping a mother from her child in pain.
“We’re on our way.”
I let the phone slide from my ear, hugging it to my chest. My heart felt ripped apart in too many directions.
My mom.
My young children.
Ronin.
Lila.
I couldn’t be everywhere at once and everything to everyone. I couldn’t fix all the broken pieces.
For the next twenty minutes, I stood outside of Lila’s room, watching Graham cling to her like a lost child. Unchecked tears flowed from his red eyes as he kissed the exposed side of her face and whispered things in her ear. Sometimes, he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the ceiling as if praying to a god who allowed so many bad things to happen that day.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I realized that if God existed, she and her infinite power might have been the reason we were at the hospital and not planning funerals. I didn’t know. But I knew how it felt to not believe in something as improbable as God, yet so desperately needing the hope that something was more powerful than myself and the imperfect and mortal doctors tending to my loved ones.
A miracle.
We needed a miracle. And what could be more miraculous than something all-knowing and all-powerful putting the unfixable pieces back together? So I decided to try the concept of power in numbers as I closed my eyes and asked for a miracle from a God I doubted. If her love was truly unconditional, she would not hold my wavering faith against Lila and Ronin.
I asked for more breaths.
More heartbeats.
More smiles and winks.
I asked for more moments.
Then I told Her I would let Her know when I was ready to let go. I realized it was a bold move on my part, but if there was truly something to “ask and you shall receive,” then I had nothing to lose.
Not true.
I had everything to lose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Family.
Two days and many tests later, Ronin came home with a monitor and instructions to always have someone with him in case … well, Dr. Waters didn’t say the actual words, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.
In case his heart stopped doing its job.
“Your parents should be here in about two hours if their plane arrives on time.” I handed Ronin a cup of tea as he sat on the sofa with Anya asleep on his lap and Franz next to him, flipping through the pages of a book about sea creatures.
Best. Life. Ever.
“I want at least two more.” I grinned, taking my own tea to the recliner so I could just … stare at my world all cuddled onto the sofa.
“Two more cups of tea?” He brought the mug to his mouth and blew at the steam.
I smirked. “Kids. I’ve just been blown away by family since the accident. Our parents. Even Graham’s parents shocked me by showing up an hour after they moved Lila to the ICU. Graham didn’t think they were coming until the next morning. I know he hated them seeing him so broken—weak in his words—but that’s the point, right? I mean, of course I want to have lots of days like this … fire, hot drinks, books, and naps with our kids. I want to travel the world with them. Birthdays. Graduations. All the good stuff. We brought them into the world for all of that … but also because no matter how strong we think we are, everyone needs someone at some point in their life.”
A barely detectable smile graced Ronin’s face. “I’ll have a dozen kids with you, Evelyn.”
“What’s wrong?” I set my tea onto the coffee table and moved to the sofa, scooting Franz and his pile of books over just far enough to allow me to sit by Ronin. “You’re in pain. I can tell. Why? What’s hurting you? Is it your heart? Are you having trouble breathing? Do you feel dizzy or lightheaded?”
We had a defibrillator just feet from the sofa on the kitchen counter. I knew how to use it. Ronin had a heart monitor. Yet, I wasn’t truly prepared to administer CPR or shock my husband in front of our two kids. My parents were at the hospital with Lila, planning on coming to our house close to the time of Ronin’s parents’ arrival.
Just a couple of hours. He had to keep his heart beating a couple more hours—forever really—but at the very least, a couple more hours.
“I’m just…” he shook his head, but it didn’t erase the tension on his forehead or release the tiny creases next to his eyes “…fine. It’s nothing.”
Twisting my body to the side, I grabbed his face. “Don’t lie to me,” I whispered so Franz didn’t focus in on us. “I know when you’re in pain, so don’t tell me it’s nothing. Tell me where and how bad.”
“I ache all over. But my leg especially. Can you take Anya?”
“Of course.” I scooped up her limp body and carried her to the bedroom, managing to lay her down without waking her. A true feat.
“Franz, your grandmas and grandpas will be here soon. I think you should go to your room and color pictures for them.” I kissed the top of his head.
He loved to color and draw. Ronin felt certain he got Julien’s artistic talent.
“Okay!” He slammed his book shut and ran to his bedroom, leaving a scattering of books on the sofa and floor for me to pick up.
Ronin rubbed his right leg, grimacing a bit.
“Roe … I’m scared.” I drew in a brave breath as I sat next to him without touching him. It took lots of slow, deep breaths to keep from breaking down. Franz didn’t need to see me crying. I had no way to explain it.
“Why are you scared?”
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My gaze remained on his hand slowly rubbing his leg. “Because I’ve researched all the possible things Dr. Waters said might have caused your heart to stop beating, and none of them had body aches and leg pain as symptoms. They’re missing something, and I’m so scared that they won’t figure it out until it’s too late.”
“I don’t think they’re missing anything.”
Jerking my head to make eye contact with him, I squinted. “Why would you say that? Unless you know what it is but you’re just not telling anyone. And if that is the case, I’m going to be so damn pissed off at you for letting me go through all of this unknown, thinking the worst, angry at doctors, and praying to a God I don’t believe in about a problem I can’t define.”
After rubbing his lips together for several seconds, he shifted his blank stare to the window, blinking a few times at the new round of snow swirling in the air. “It’s hard to explain.”
I grunted a laugh, shaking my head while running my fingers through my hair. “Well, you need to try to explain it to me because I can’t keep myself from completely unraveling without any explanation.”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you remember when I told you that I had something happen to me when I was younger? It affected my speech for a while, and kids made fun of me?”
It was shortly after we met. The day after the Va-ness-uh karaoke incident. Years later, I still remembered how insane and insecure I felt that night. Not a finer moment of mine. With a slight cringe, I nodded.
“What happened to me was quite significant.”
How did I not ask him more about it at the time? Oh, right … I was drowning in my own embarrassment and insecurity.
“What happened?”
“My uncle was remodeling his house. We stopped by to visit him. The adults talked, except mom. She stayed busy keeping an eye on Julien. I decided to snoop around a bit. I honestly don’t remember much after that, but apparently, I came across some exposed wires that were live. I was electrocuted.”
“Yes.” I took his hand and turned it over to rub my thumb along the scar on his hand. “But you got better.”
“I did. Eventually.” He curled his hand into a fist, flexing it several times. “That day … my heart stopped beating.”
“Roe …” I whispered as a chill slithered along my spine. “Why are you just now telling me this?”
He relaxed his hand, face expressionless. Eyes vacant.
“My uncle performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. They were gravely worried that I would have severe brain damage because it took so long to get my heart beating on its own again—it took the paramedics a long time to get there. As a result of the accident, I had speech issues for many months.”
“But you got better.” That was my line, and I would repeat it a million times if that made it a fact.
“Sort of …” He wouldn’t look at me. Something outside or years away from that moment held his attention.
“You don’t think so?” I cocked my head to the side. “You think your heart issues stem from that accident? Do you think it’s possible it damaged your heart or its electrical system somehow?”
“No.”
I froze, opening my mouth to say … what? I didn’t know. No. How could he say no? It made the most sense. “Then what’s your point? What’s the connection?”
“It’s funny…” he rubbed his temples a few times, inching his gaze to mine “…you don’t believe in God, but you’re open to the idea of parallel universes.”
“Well …” I said slowly. “One is based on faith, and the other is based on scientific probability. But if it matters, every time you get sick, I pray. At the hospital, I prayed for you and Lila. I like the idea of God even if I can’t wrap my head around it. What does this have to do with you and your heart?”
“Unexplainable phenomena and unprovable ideologies.” His eyes searched mine. For what? I didn’t know, maybe a flinch of disbelief or a glimmer of understanding.
I neither understood nor disbelieved. But unexplainable phenomena was a pretty weighty thing to throw out there—and an unacceptable answer to my question. What did it have to do with his heart?
I shook my head. “Stop spoon-feeding this to me, Ronin. Just say it. Your ambiguity scares me.”
“I had a near-death experience.”
That qualified as an unexplainable phenomenon. It also earned us a few minutes of silence, a few more minutes for him to gauge my reaction.
I didn’t give him anything. It explained his resistance to tell me, but not its impact on his heart. “So … like going toward the light?”
“I don’t recall a light. Just a voice.”
“Maybe it was one of the paramedics or the doctors at the hospital.”
“No.” He shook his head without a blink of hesitation.
“Okay. What did the voice say?”
“It said I was safe. I said I didn’t want to be safe.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve always dreamed of being a superhero.” Ronin grinned, eyes trained to his hand rubbing slow strokes along his leg.
It wasn’t his best grin. I could tell he wasn’t feeling his best. Still, it was something, and I needed something. “You have?” When I thought I couldn’t possibly love him more … there I was, loving him more. “How did I not know this about you?”
He lifted a single shoulder. “It stops sounding cool once you’re an adult.”
“What did the voice reply?”
“It asked why? I said I wanted to save lives.”
“You’re my superhero. And you’re definitely Lila’s.”
“Maybe.” He frowned. “But it comes with a price.”
“Your heart issues?”
“Not exactly. More like extreme empathy. The voice restored my heartbeat, but only after I agreed.”
“Agreed to what?”
“It’s hard to explain. Not necessarily a proverb, more like an unspoken law of nature. Honestly, it feels more like a curse. I was twelve. The words meant nothing. The choice to live meant everything. So I agreed.”
“Do you remember it? The proverb or curse?”
“Yeah. It said, ‘Hinder not the soul’s intended path unto the light, lest shards of darkness shed upon thee.’”
The kitchen faucet dripped. I hadn’t noticed it before. A lot of sounds came to life between Ronin’s proverb and my inability to respond. The tarp covering the woodpile whipped in the wind, clapping against the side of the house.
Creaks from the logs bending like the joints of a ninety-year-old.
The howl of the wind carrying smoke out of the chimney.
“You think I’m crazy?”
That wasn’t the word. Not crazy. We’d spent five years together. I’d seen his crazy, and he had seen mine.
“No. Science doesn’t know a lot about near-death experiences. And when they think they have an explanation for one near-death experience, there are ten other cases defying that explanation. Clearly, it’s not something that can easily be studied. It’s frowned upon to purposely take a human to the edge of death, push them over, and then try to resuscitate them to test their out-of-body perception.” When all else failed, I wore my geek hat and droned on like the world’s most boring professor.
“That didn’t answer my question.” Ronin frowned.
“I did answer it. No. I don’t think you’re crazy. I just don’t understand what this means.” I closed my eyes, rubbing them with my fingers while forcing a breath through my nose.
“It means I’m not supposed to bring the dead back to life.”
I paused my fidgeting, letting my hands slide down my face. “You know this for a fact?”
“It’s what I’ve been told. And it’s been my experience.”
“Told by whom? And what experience?”
“Look!” Franz ran out of his room, holding up two colorings. “Shh …” I held my finger to my mouth, but it was too late. Anya’s fussy cries filled the air.
I stood, backing up a slow step at a time, focusing on everything about my husband—his forced smile, his strained voice, his pale face, and his drowsy eyes. Before I could say another word or make eye contact with him, Anya let out a louder cry. After that, everything fell into an unstoppable chain of events.
Anya.
Poopy diaper.
Franz needing a snack.
Graham calling to give us an update.
My parents arriving.
Ronin’s parents arriving.
He left me with a mind-blowing confession, a revelation too unreal to sort out and make sense of it. I had so many questions, but life took center stage, allowing us no time for more answers.
On autopilot, I tossed together ingredients for a pot of chili, threw in a load of laundry, and absentmindedly nodded when someone spoke to me. Yes, I knew Lila was doing better, but at the same time, she was in more pain because they were weaning her off the stronger pain medications. Everything my mom and dad shared from hours earlier at the hospital, I already knew because Graham texted me several times an hour.
I watched Ronin, slumped into the corner of the sofa, pretending to engage with the kids while my dad rubbed his hands together over the wood stove, sharing his thoughts on the Denver Nuggets with … I wasn’t sure. Victor had drifted off to sleep in one of the recliners, probably not a fan of the Nuggets or basketball in general. Sometimes Ronin and I would make eye contact. He knew I saw his pain. I knew he saw all the unanswered questions running rampant in my head.
“Would you like me to get Franz ready for bed?” Ling asked as I put away the last dinner dish and tossed the towel on the countertop.
It took me a few seconds to respond. Everything felt heavy: my limbs, my eyelids, and my thoughts—sluggish and unfocused. I needed sleep. But yes, my kids needed to get to sleep as well.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”