He withdrew Amanda’s hand from beneath the quilt to keep her with him. To feel some sort of connection. As he lifted it and clasped it between both of his, the lamp illuminated her fingers. Their tips had looked as if they were smudged with ash when she’d visited with the children. Now they’d darkened to black.
Jackson held on tighter, though he knew the act was in vain. Nothing this side of heaven could save her.
He prayed, or tried to. Every time he found the words, they’d turn to sand in his mouth. He wasn't angry at God anymore. Just bewildered.
Not knowing what else to do, Jackson sat mute in the silent house, his body numb and his mind adrift. He thought about the past and the future... about the strides they’d both made, overcoming the grievous things that haunted them... the addition to the house he and Amanda had talked of building come spring... the quilt she’d never finish.
The precious children she’d never get to raise.
He’d nearly choked on the words when he told Noah and Jewel to kiss her goodnight, knowing in his heart, if not his mind, it would likely be the last time they’d see her alive.
They were still so small. He feared they’d forget her.
Worse, he feared he would, too.
Not in the sense of her existence—he would carry Amanda in his soul until his final day—but he feared his memory of her image would fade. For the next hour, at least, he studied every curve of her face, every freckle, every flutter of her lashes against her cheek. He was determined to sear Amanda’s beauty like a brand onto his mind.
Sometime in the still of the wee hours, signs of torment invaded her features, and she began to whimper in pain. Jackson caressed the side of her face and called her name. He didn’t want her to suffer, but he wanted to wake her long enough that he could tell her things he needed to say.
He smiled when she opened her eyes. “Hello, Mandy.”
She tried to return his smile, but the pain would hardly let her.
“Are you hungry?”
She gave a small shake of her head.
“Thirsty?” She had to be. Her lips were so dry they were cracked.
“No.”
“You can’t get well if you don’t eat.”
“Jackson…” She saw right through his flimsy misrepresentation, and it made his eyes sting and his throat close up.
He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “I don’t want you to leave me,” he blurted, nearly breaking down.
“I don’t want to go. But God’s ways are not our ways.”
“There are so many things I want to tell you—how beautiful you are to me, how grateful I am to have you in my life.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled, and somehow, she smiled in the midst of her agony. “You tried your best to give me your heart, but it will always beat for Caroline.”
“I–”
“Shh. It’s all right. You saved me from ruin and gave me a good life. Now it’s time for you to live yours.”
Amanda clutched her abdomen and clenched her jaw around a groan.
Jackson grabbed the bottle of medicine and measured out a dose, nearly spilling it in his haste. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She swallowed it, and, in time, her features began to smooth.
Jackson moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He leaned down and framed Amanda’s face with his hands, as if he held a fragile flower. Then he touched his lips to hers and lingered, relishing the moment and hoping she’d feel him kiss her one last time before the opium pulled her back under.
Her hand lay atop the quilt, fingers curled slightly inward and growing darker still.
He held it until it went slack. Then he just looked at it. Looked at her. He sat there, oblivious to time, as she left the world they had built together, breath by breath.
