I shake my head, open my mouth to protest, but she covers my mouth.
"No, babe.Youhaveto.It's what I want.It'll take time, I know.You won't want to."She sighs.“It won't be a betrayal.You won't forget me.Honoring me, our marriage, our love, our lives together—honoring my wishes is gonna mean letting someone else in, someday."
"Taylor, Jesus, I—"
She blinks hard."Ihaveto say all this now, honey.It's gonna happen fast, and I need you to understand what I want and neednow, while I can still articulate it."She squeezes my hand."I won't prolong it, and I don't want you to, either.Say you understand."
I shake my head."I can't."
"You have to, baby.I know you can't think about the future or about someone else right now.Just…remember what I'm saying.Okay?In a few years, at some point, someone is going to come along.Let it happen.If she fills that hole in your life, if she makes you smile again, know that it's with my blessing.Just tuck that away for someday, okay?"
I nod—it's all I can do.
One of the cranes chatters noisily.A fish splashes out of the river.A red-tailed hawk swoops low and soars over the field beyond the river, winging out of sight over the tree line.
"I love you, Noah."She whispers it, leans her head on my shoulder.
I kiss her crown."Love you more, Tay."
"…Shockwaves are rippling through the NHL this week as Noel Austin, the league's top scoring center, announces his retirement.He was plagued by a nagging knee injury all last season, and according to sources close to him, he spent the off-season aggressively rehabbing it, hoping to make a comeback this season.The early weeks of the season looked promising as the phenom roared to the top of the leaderboard with thirty-seven goals.All that came to a screeching halt last week when legendary Tampa enforcer Ihor Kucherov leveled him with a vicious crosscheck that left him bleeding on the ice with a concussion and a shattered right wrist.Despite early hopes that he'd be able to return this season, Seattle has been tight-lipped about Austin's recovery progress.And then, just yesterday, Lon Roberts, the head coach, announced a surprise press conference with Austin.The buzz was immediate—everyone thought he was announcing his return to the ice.Instead, he stunned the sports world by announcing that he was hanging up his skates for good.Personal reasons, he stated, along with the unfortunate reality that his wrist injury was worse than previously thought.That plus his knee injury from last season, along with a family situation requiring his immediate, personal attention, equals the loss of one of the NHL's true greats, well before his time…"
The ESPN talking head continues in that vein, playing some of Noel's best highlights from his thirteen-year career…of which there are many.
"I didn't want him toretire," Taylor says, her voice faint and tired but clearly annoyed.
"Noel makes his own decisions," I answer."He always has."
"I thought his wrist was better."
"So did I."
"When does he get in?"she asks.
"Today, I think."
She moans as a wave of pain rocks her, and I mute the TV as the talking head moves on to another story from the world of sports.I squeeze her hand, hating that I can't do anything.
"I need my boy," she whispers."I need my boy."
She drifts into a fitful sleep, sweating and pale, moaning occasionally.
Having been awake with her most of the night, I take the opportunity to close my eyes as well.I'm woken by the sound of tires on gravel.Moving quietly so as not to wake Taylor, I step outside onto the front porch.A dark gray pickup halts in the driveway—Noel's Ram TRX, an utterly absurd vehicle, but what else is a single thirty-year-old going to spend his millions on?He’s already paid off our mortgage and both of our cars.
The rumbling engine cuts off, and the driver's door swings open.Noel emerges, all six-six and two-forty of him.He's wearing a Skyhawks ball cap backward, a pair of faded blue jeans, the same ratty New Balance sneakers he's owned since his senior year, a plain white v-neck tee, and the leather bomber jacket that my father gave him for his graduation—the same jacket my father wore as a combat pilot in WW2.
His dark blond hair is too long, curling at his neck under the brim of the hat, and when he pulls off his sunglasses, I can see the emotion written on his face.Noel has never had a good poker face.
He trudges heavily up the steps to the porch, halts a couple of feet away from me, swallowing hard."Dad."
I cross the space between us in a long stride, yank him to me, and embrace him roughly."Noel.You made it."
He clings to me, gripping the shoulder of my shirt as he heaves a ragged sigh."How is she?"he asks, pulling away.
I shrug, swallowing hard and shaking my head."As well as one can expect from a dying woman, son."
He shudders at this, a viciously suppressed and violently aborted sob."Fuck.FUCK!"he clings to me even harder, the sobs silently wracking him."Mom."
"I know, son.Trust me, I know."I pull away enough to hold his eyes."I gotta warn you, Noel, when you see her, she's…" I trail off, trying to swallow the hot lump in my throat."It's gonna be hard."
