“But if some are civilian, where are the others?” Jillie’s aunt asks but gets no answer.
The men turn to Jillie.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Miss Fox. The chaplain will be stopping by…”
I tone him out now, too.
Jillie’s gasping for breath.
“Breathe, Jillie,” her aunt instructs, bending down and rubbing her back while I hold her and rock her...
“Can’t,” she gasps again. Then, my sweet girl turns to me with such anguish in her eyes. “No. Please… no. Not my daddy,” she cries.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the other one says.
“No,” Jillie tells him.
He may be sorry, but I doubt he’s sorry enough.
“What… what am I going to do without my dad, Leo?”
“Oh, sweet baby, I’m so sorry. Let’s go inside.” I guide her into the house and sit next to her on the sofa. She’s crying so hard, it’s making me want to cry, and I’m a hard dude to sell on a cry.
“There’s… there’s so much to do,” she says on a wheeze.
I look at her aunt. She’s got some sort of bag.
“Hi, Leo. I’m Jillie’s Aunt Ruthie. So you don’t worry, I’m a psychiatrist, and Jillie needs a little something or she’s going to end up in the hospital,” she tells me.
I just nod. She can do what she’s got to do to help Jillie calm down.
“Are you… are you going to… sedate me? Because I… I can’t…” Jillie questions, her eyes pleading.
Her aunt nods. “I am. Just a little something to calm you down. I’ll find out what’s going on. I’ll call your Aunt Leah and notify her. We’ll talk more about things after you have a good rest, okay?”
Jillie gives a jerky nod then looks at me. “Are you leaving?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Not unless she tells me to go.
“I guess I’m going to sleep. If you don’t want to stay…”
“Baby, I’ll stay. I’ll call your friends if you want?”
She nods again, this time drowsily. Damn, that stuff works fast.
I lift her into my arms. She’s so light. She needs to eat more.
“Where?” I ask her aunt.
“Down the hall. The second door on the right,” she answers.
“My daddy…” Jillie cries, tucking her face into my neck.
“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.” After laying her on the bed, I climb in next to her, holding her, soothing her, wishing like hell I could do more.
“I…”
“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”
I just hold on tightly to her.
She gives up the fight against the medication with a whispered, “No,” and it tears me in half.
