“Huh?” She studied him warily.
“Have you read the bookGreen Eggs and Ham?”
Her lower lip poked out. “Maybe.”
“Remember how he didn’t want to try the eggs, but in the end, he really liked them?”
She nodded slowly.
“Then consider that this could be a really good meal you’re missing out on because you don’t like the way it looks.”
“All right,” she whined.
Cheyenne sat down, and Erykah followed suit.
“May I say grace?” he asked.
Both of them nodded.
Chris bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for this meal. Please bless the hands that prepared it, and may the food nourish our bodies. Amen.”
“Amen,” Cheyenne said loudly. She tilted her head. “What happened to ‘God is great, God is good’? Didn’t your mom teach you that one?”
He stifled a laugh. “She did. When I got older, I started saying different prayers. Did you like this one?”
“Sure, but I don’t know whatnourishis. Sounds gross.” She scrunched up her face as if physically affronted by the word.
Erykah’s shoulders shook, and her lips twitched, but somehow she didn’t laugh. “He meant he wanted the food to give usall the good stuff we need to keep growing healthy. Sort of like taking a vitamin.”
“Oh. I eat the gummy ones. They taste like candy, but Daddy says they aren’t.” She froze, then sniffed, looking down at her plate. “Why did they leave me?”
Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and Chris felt like his heart would split. There was so much heartache here, and he couldn’t do anything to make the passage of time go any faster or to make the grief be any less. All he could do was let them cry in comfort and peace.
He moved, picking up Cheyenne as she wiped at her face. But it was no use. The tears came faster than her little hands could make them disappear.
“They’ll always be in your heart, Cheyenne. Always,” Chris murmured.
“Really?” she stuttered.
“He’s right, Cheye.” Erykah pointed to her heart. “They’ll live in our memories forever.”
“I don’t want a memory. I want them here. Now.”
Frustration and despair warred for her attention, but in the end Cheyenne settled against him and hiccupped until her tears were gone. He and Erykah said nothing. She merely got up, reheated all of their plates, and then they attempted round two of eating.
Silence filled the table, and for once, Chris couldn’t think of anything lighthearted to say. And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe you didn’t have to always fill silence with platitudes or attempt well wishes. After all, the Bible did say, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.”
So Chris would sit in silence and mourn with the two women who had lost two important people in the blink of an eye.
Seventeen
The music wasn’t working.
Normally when I came into the operating room, my classical playlist bolstered me. The soothing music reminded me that I knew how to do the current surgical procedure. But today, the sound failed to bring comfort.
The room was filled with tension, and I feared the source stemmed from my own misery. From the moment I entered the hospital, I’d received condolence after condolence. I might have even snapped at Dr. Bryner when he told me he was sorry for my loss.
Chris said I’d come to hate that phrase, and he wasn’t wrong. Relegating Ellynn’s and Asher’s deaths to a loss seemed heartless. They weren’t lost. They were dead. I couldn’t imagine the dread they must have felt when that car crossed over the median and headed straight for them. A lump formed in my throat.
