Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
“I’m a nurse. It’s what we do. I’ll be thinking of her all night.” She heads to the door and then pulls it open. “Have a good night.”
“You, too,” I say, closing it behind her. I take Julia’s hand and lead her to the couch. I sit and pull her down beside me, and she curls up, her head on my lap. I brush her hair away from her face.
“What are we gonna do?” she asks finally. She sounds exactly like she looks. Broken.
I fight the lump in my throat before I can speak. “We’re going to take this one day at a time.”
“What happens when the days run out?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
She stares off into space. I wonder what she’s thinking about, but I don’t ask. I let her have her thoughts. I just brush her hair and try to wrangle my own demons.
“I’m really scared,” she whispers. “I’m really, really scared.”
“I know.” I bend and kiss her on the head.
“Nothing will ever be ‘normal’ again, you know? I mean, even if she—”
“When she,” I correct.
She swallows. “When she gets well, things will never be the way they were before all of this.”
She twists in my lap and faces me. She’s so beautiful, more beautiful than the girl I loved before. I’d give anything to go back and do things differently, to know then what I know now. That people are more important than things. That sometimes the boring things are the best things. That nothing, nothing, is better than having someone to share your life with.
“If another person tells me to take care of myself,” she says, “I’m going to cut someone.”
“People worry about you.”
“I wish they’d spend all of that energy worrying about me on my daughter! Who gives a shit if I’ve lost weight or had a haircut?”
“I do,” I whisper. “You’re the one that keeps this whole thing together.”
She smiles vaguely but I lose her to an empty space again. She gazes into thin air, in another time and place. I watch her face, her long eyelashes fluttering, her dark hair catching the moonlight coming through the windows. She looks at me again, her face solemn.
“I haven’t let myself consider the worst-case scenarios. But on days like today, I think I’m stupid for not. But I can’t make myself go there . . .”
“There’s no reason for you to go there.”
“How do you know that? You can’t promise me that.”
“I can promise you that Ever isn’t done fighting. I can promise you that she’s going to get the therapy and that will—”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do.” I stare into her eyes, searching for her soul. “I promise you she’ll get the treatment. Trust me.”
“I’m afraid to trust anything.” She yawns and snuggles down into my lap.
“Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay up and check on Ever.”
She shakes her head, her locks falling into her face. “I can’t sleep. I’m afraid if I doze off, I’ll miss something. Every time she smiles, I try to commit it to memory. Every time she laughs, I try to record it in my brain. I’ve caught myself taking notes during the day, just so I remember the things she says. I just feel like I’m living in an hourglass and the sand is slipping.”
A flurry of goose bumps ripples across my skin, a dream I had months before coming back in vivid color.
“Get your shit together, little brother. You’ve had enough time to fuck around and play games. It’s time you man the fuck up. I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to. I’m counting on you.”
“I just go through my days,” she continues, “like a crazed robot, programmed to keep track of everything she does. I don’t remember who I am or what’s going on with you or if we’ve paid the bills . . .”
I reach under her and pull her all the way onto my lap. She lies across me like a baby.
“I feel like I’m losing it, Crew. I’m feeling my hope slip. I’m so angry . . . bitter, even. I just feel so much fear.”
I kiss her temple. “Feel me love you. Feel me here with you.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she whispers, grabbing both sides of my face. “I wish things were different. I wish Ever wasn’t sick and you and I were here under different circumstances.”
“One day,” I say, feeling her thumbs brush against my cheeks. “One day Ever will be better and we’ll take her to the beach. I’ll show her how to surf. Then we’ll come home and you can make dinner while she watches baseball with me. I just hope Gage didn’t breed some Red Sox fandom in her.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t speak. She seems to have attached herself to my words, so I keep them coming.