The Keeping Score Box Set

by Tawdra Kandle

  I finally decided to keep it simple.

  Leo: If she needs me, or if you think I need to be there for either of them, tell me please. I don’t know the right thing to do anymore.

  There wasn’t any answer. After waiting a few minutes, I put the car in gear and pulled away from the Iversons’ house, heading into the pitch dark of the country roads that wound between where they lived and my own gated townhouse community.

  I’d just climbed out of my car in my own garage when the phone buzzed again.

  Zelda: I will. I promise.

  I blew out a breath and stretched my neck. This was all I could ask Zelda to do, and I couldn’t bring myself to put yet another burden on Gia, not when she was still struggling to stay upright with her own issues. I was about to slide my phone back into my pocket when the second part of Zelda’s message came through.

  Zelda: She’s doing fine, Leo. Try not to worry about her too much. Quinn is strong, and she’s holding up. Be there for her after. She’s going to need us all then.

  As if any power in heaven or on earth could keep me away.

  Life Is Eternal by Carly Simon

  Winter used to be my favorite time at the shore. Ocean City was nearly a ghost town during December, compared to how it was in the middle of summer; the locals were there, but thanks to the biting cold and damp air, most of us stayed indoors unless it was absolutely necessary. I loved having the beach to myself, or just about, when my parents and I would come down before Christmas. The ocean seemed wilder, loud and forbidding, the sand was blown into peaks and valleys, and I often found shells I didn’t at other times of the year.

  But this year, the creeping gray of each new dawn felt threatening instead of comforting. It seemed that death drew nearer every hour, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I’d fought against the sense of impending doom by going absolutely crazy with my Christmas decorating; we had a huge tree in the great room, and then I’d also bought a smaller artificial one for Nate’s room. He didn’t venture beyond his bed anymore, but he’d smiled faintly when I’d plugged in the lights for the first time.

  Sheri had hauled down all their family ornaments and special decorations. She and I had made a big show of hanging the ornaments on Nate’s tree as she’d told the story behind each one. She was determined to include her son, but although she ended every sentence by saying, “Right, Nate?” or “Remember that, sweetie?” he rarely responded beyond a slight nod or a wisp of a smile.

  With each day, as Nate began to retreat and fade, Sheri stepped up her frantic gaiety. She played Christmas music around the clock, baked cookies, made candy and addressed Christmas cards as though this were just another holiday season. If I hadn’t seen the bleak desperation behind her eyes, I might have been angry, but I’d realized early on that Sheri was dealing with everything in her own way. So I was patient with her as much as I could be. I helped with the cookies, and I hummed along to the carols until I was fairly sure we’d listened to every damn version of Jingle Bells that existed.

  Mark was down with us as often as he could be. I’d overheard the two of them arguing one night when I couldn’t sleep; they were on the deck, but the walls were thin, and their voices carried. Sheri wanted Mark to take a leave of absence from work and spend these weeks with us, down in Ocean City. Mark wasn’t ready to do that yet.

  “Maybe it makes me a coward, Sher, but sometimes the only thing that gets me through being here is the thought that I get to leave.” I’d heard the anguish and guilt in his tone, and my eyes had filled with tears. “I know you have to be with Nate as much as you can. But God, God, watching him die is fucking tearing me apart. So you do what you have to do to cope, to get through it, and I’ll do what I have to do. And we’ll be here for each other. Okay? Right now, you don’t need me here. When you do, you tell me, and I promise I’ll come running. But until then, please, Sher. Don’t make me sit and watch.”

  I’d crept back to bed, unwilling to hear them debate anymore. When Mark left the next morning, it was clear to me who’d won for now.

  But as much as Sheri jealously guarded each second with her son, I’d noticed that she always found a way to be out when the hospice nurse came by. At first, the nurse was only there two or three times a week, but as the days began to shorten the further into December we drifted, one or another of the nurses visited daily. They’d offered us the services of a certified nurse’s aide as well, to stay during the day or night in case we needed help with any of Nate’s medication or comfort care, but between Sheri and me, we were able to handle everything. At this point, it was only a matter of keeping him calm and comfortable, and since he slept most of the time, that wasn’t difficult.

  About a week before Christmas, Sheri had conveniently run out to the post office when Jacey, the hospice nurse who managed Nate’s case, made her visit. I sat in the room as she examined Nate, and we kept up our regular banter, with both of us teasing Nate and talking to him, even when he didn’t really respond.

  When she’d finished, Jacey caught my eye and jerked her head toward the doorway. “Nate, my dear, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to steal your beautiful bride for a few minutes. I need her to look at some of the dreaded paperwork.” She made a face. We’d often joked about how much she loved her job but hated the attendant reports.

  Nate gave a slight nod, catching my hand as I passed. I paused, smiling into his barely-open eyes, and kissed his forehead. “Be right back.”

  Jacey closed the door behind us and followed me into the kitchen, where she sat down at the table. “Quinn, sweetie, we need to talk a little. I think . . . I think we’re getting close, hon. And you need to know what to expect.”

  A lump rose in my throat as I leaned on the back of the chair across from the nurse. “When you say close, what do you mean?”

  She tilted her head. “Two weeks, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Now remember, this is just my hunch. I’ve had patients go faster than I’d ever anticipated, and I’ve had others live much longer than I’d hoped. But there are signs. Did you read the booklet I gave you a few weeks back?”

  I glanced at the manila folder that sat on the nearby shelf. All the hospice information was in there, but I’d left most of that for Sheri to deal with; I figured since her insurance was covering this service, she was better equipped to handle it.

  “I glanced at it, but I didn’t exactly read it cover to cover.” One thing Jacey had asked of me the first time we met was complete honesty, so I wasn’t going to fib about this.

  “That’s normal. No one wants to read about what to look for at the end when they first come onto hospice. But you might want to check it out now. There’re parts of it that will be helpful.” She paused a beat. “How’s Nate mother handling this? I haven’t seen her in a while, but you said she’s still living here?”

  I nodded. “She’s doing okay. I mean, under the circumstances.”

  “All right.” Jacey gnawed the side of her lip. “The most important thing I want you to remember is that things could get scary toward the end. But it’ll only be alarming for you and for Nate’s parents, not for him. He might begin seeing people or things that aren’t there—or at least that we can see. He may begin saying things that don’t make sense—to you. Just go with it. Don’t argue with him, and try not to let it freak you out. Realize that this is part of the process.”

  I inhaled deeply and pulled out the chair to sit down. I so didn’t want to be having this conversation. I wanted to be at home in Eatonboro, lying in my own bed, listening to music and reading, without a care in the world. But this was where I had to be. This was where I was meant to be. I could be strong enough.

  “If anything happens that upsets you too much, you call me. Someone will come. Sometimes it’s enough just to have another person present, someone who’s been through this before and can tell you it’s all right. Never hesitate, okay? That’s why I’m here. It’s my job.”

  I managed a shaky laugh. “You have a su
cky job, you know that, Jacey?”

  She considered that for a moment and then shook her head. “Most people think that, but it’s actually not true. Being with people when they’re dying, when they’re transitioning from this world to the next, being with the families . . . it’s a privilege. I know that lots of folks are afraid of death and hate to think about dying, but I count myself fortunate. When death is imminent, it’s a thin place. All the petty, trivial things lose their meaning in these times. No matter what your spiritual beliefs are, I’ve yet to find the person who’s been present at a passing who isn’t affected by it.”

  I hadn’t thought about it like that at all. “So it doesn’t make you sad?”

  Jacey flipped up one hand. “Oh, sure it does. Seeing a family lose someone they love is terribly sad. My heart breaks for them every time. But I know that if I’m doing my job, the fact that I’m there eases the grief just a little. I hope I can help them make the most of the time they do have, and I hope I can help them process their sorrow. It isn’t easy, trust me, but it’s worth it.”

  I rested my chin on my hand. “I’m scared about what’s going to happen . . . when Nate goes. I’m afraid I won’t be able to be strong up to the end. I don’t know how Sheri’s going to keep on going, and I’m worried that I won’t be able to hold her up.”

  “Right now, you can’t imagine it, and that’s okay. But you’re going to do fine, kiddo.” She patted my hand. “Did you know that before I worked for hospice, I was a labor and delivery nurse?”

  “No.” I was surprised. The two jobs seemed like opposite ends of the spectrum.

  “True story. See, there’s not that much difference between birth and death. That’s what most people don’t realize. They’re both unpredictable. A doctor can say when a baby might be born, but in the end, it’s up to the mom and baby and nature. Same with death. I can see the signs, but I can’t give you a date or time. And both are a matter of surrendering. The mom has to give into the process of birthing, just like a dying person—Nate—has to surrender to the process of dying.”

  “I never looked at it like that.” I played with the sleeve of my sweater, pulling it down over my hand. “That’s . . . that’s helpful, Jacey.”

  “Lots of times, moms would come in and tell me that they were too scared, that they didn’t think they could be strong enough to get through what they knew was coming. But each and every one was strong enough and did get through. And so will you.” She squeezed my hand. “Thinking about it ahead of time won’t help. But being prepared might. Read the booklet, and let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and make Sheri read it, too. If it helps, tell her I said she had to.” Jacey’s voice was dry. She hadn’t made any secret of her exasperation about Nate’s mother.

  “I will.”

  “And call me if you need anything at all. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stood up and drew me into a hug. “Hang in there, sweetie pie. You can do this.”

  After that, we began to measure time in days and hours rather than weeks. This season of the year particularly, there were landmarks: when we made it through first Christmas Eve and then Christmas, those were two milestones. Sheri was pathetically grateful to have one more holiday with her son, even if he was asleep most of it, and I didn’t begrudge her that sentiment in the least.

  My mother came down to the shore on Christmas Eve and stayed until the day after Christmas. She asked me if I needed her to hang around longer, but I shook my head. This was not her journey, not the way it was mine.

  Leo called two days after Christmas. He was at home in Eatonboro, and he wanted to know if he should come down.

  I hesitated. “You can if you want, Leo,” I replied carefully. “But Nate . . . he might not wake up while you’re here. I hate for you to drive down and not get to talk to him.”

  “It wouldn’t be for Nate.” His voice was rough with emotion. “I already said good-bye to him.”

  “You did?” I frowned. “When?” I’d been surprised when Leo hadn’t come to see us at Thanksgiving, even though I knew he was only home for hours, on his way to a Sunday game in New England. I’d been tempted to text and remind him of his promise to see Nate one more time, but I hadn’t wanted to push the issue.

  “Back last summer. I flew up and came to see him while you were at work one day. We . . . we said our good-byes then. If I came down now, it would be for you.”

  That settled it, then. “It’s better you don’t. I’m all right, but if I see you, I might not be. I’m holding it together, and I owe Nate that much.”

  There was a sound like snorting on the other end of the phone. “Sorry, Mia, but I don’t think you owe Nate any more than what you’ve already given him, which is everything.”

  “I owe him the privilege of a peaceful passing,” I whispered. “And I don’t want him to think . . . even if he’s not fully aware . . . that you and I . . . that anything is going on. I want him to be at peace, Leo. He deserves that.”

  Leo was quiet for a minute. “Okay. I suppose I can understand that. But if you need anything, you call me, you got that? I can be there fast.”

  “I appreciate that. Thanks, Leo.” I paused. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Yeah. Happy New Year, Mia.”

  Zelda and Gia called me frequently, and they both offered to visit or at least to come sit with Nate and Sheri so that I could get out of the house for a while, but the truth was that I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to miss one precious second with Nate while he was still here; I didn’t want to stop holding his hand any longer than was absolutely necessary. Jacey was right, I’d realized. This was a privilege.

  When my dad had died, it had happened so suddenly, so much in the midst of life, that we hadn’t been able to say good-bye. The last time I’d spoken to him, it had been about Chinese food and my graduation the day before and other inconsequential things that had been raised to importance only later, when I’d realized that those trivial things had made up our final conversation. There hadn’t been time for handholding or one final kiss or a word I’d needed to say.

  But with Nate, I could treasure these moments. I’d read the booklet that Jacey had given me, and I watched for signs. I traced the bluish veins on the back of his hands and forearms. And when three days after Christmas, he began to mumble conversations with people I couldn’t see, I knew we were nearer.

  Sitting across the room from me, Sheri gave a half-sob, half-laugh. “I think . . . he sounds like he’s talking to my dad. He died when Nate was about seven. But I could’ve sworn Nate just said PopPop.”

  I smiled. “It sounded like that to me, too.” I paused. “Does it make you feel better to think that Nate can see him? Or worse because . . . it’s closer?”

  Sheri sucked in a deep breath and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’ve been losing this boy by centimeters since he was born, Quinn. You know that. We’ve talked about it. How many times were we told this was the end? He defied the odds so many times. I’ve been preparing myself for saying good-bye for twenty-three years. Now that it’s here . . . if my daddy’s on the other side, talking to my son about taking him over the river, I can only feel comfort.”

  Mark was with us all the time now, or at least, he was at the house. He came to sit with Nate for about an hour every morning, and by tacit agreement, Sheri and I left the room and gave him that time alone with his son. He didn’t seem to want more than that, and he rarely came in while Sheri and I kept vigil, unless it was to bring us food or make us come out to eat.

  By the thirtieth of December, Sheri had begun sleeping in the room with Nate and me. We’d rigged up a recliner, piled it with pillows and blankets, and joked with Nate and each other that we were having a giant slumber party. Nate didn’t open his eyes, but I swore I saw the edge of his lips twitch.

  The last day of the year dawned clear, sunny and crisply cold. I curled under the blankets, listening to the gentle snores coming from Sheri’s chair and the slow breath sounds f
rom Nate. I’d become so attuned to those, to counting them as I fell asleep or as I read. They were slower this morning, I realized. Significantly so.

  Turning in my bed, I sat up and reached for his hand. It was cool to my touch, and there were purplish blotches on the back. My heartbeat sped up as I recognized another sign. We were getting closer to the end.

  Jacey stopped by mid-morning. Sheri’s face was drawn and anxious as she watched the nurse listen to Nate’s chest and take his pulse.

  “I think . . . I think today.” She draped an arm around Sheri’s shoulders, drawing the older woman into a hug. “He’s nearing the end. He’s very peaceful, and he’s not in any discomfort.”

  Sheri nodded, her head jerking against Jacey’s white coat as tears flowed down her cheeks.

  I could only sit there numbly. Today. I tried to remember what to do. I needed to text my mom and Leo and Gia and Zelda. And Dawn, my boss at the magazine—I should let her know, because I wouldn’t be able to work for the next little bit, not even the minimal proofreading I’d been doing up to now.

  “Try not to think too far ahead, Quinn.” Jacey smiled at me. “Be in the moment today. Be present with him as long as you can.”

  “Will he wake up again?” Sheri wiped at her face. “He opened his eyes yesterday and seemed to know me. He said something to Quinn the day before.”

  “He might.” Jacey touched Nate’s foot, covered with a light blanket. “Sometimes people tend to have a brief period of alertness before the end. If it happens, talk to him, treasure it, but understand it for what it is. If you need me, call me.”

  She came around the bed to hug me, whispering in my ear as she did. “Be strong, sweetie. You can do this.”

  Mark came in after he’d seen Jacey to the door. I could tell by his expression that she’d spoken with him, too. He glanced at Sheri, and the two of them fell into each other’s arms.

  I slipped from the room, giving the three of them a last chance to be together as a family. Moving woodenly around the house, I texted everyone who needed to know, and then I dressed for the day in sweatpants, an oversized hoodie and warm woolen socks, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail.