“I definitely remember your mom’s friend, the one who got very drunk and cornered us on the dance floor.”
“She kept telling us to ‘have babies, have babies right away!’” Diana laughed. “She was willing to explain how to make those babies if we wanted.”
“We didn’t need her help, did we?” Tom asked.
She looked up to find him staring at her, as if he were memorizing her angles, her skin, the way her hair fell around her shoulders. She responded by kissing him tentatively, and then with more urgency. She slid her arms around him, and the kiss was both endless and not enough.
“Diana, this life we have ... It’s fantastic, extraordinary. I—”
“Shhh, Tom.”
“Let me say this.” He swallowed, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I could have been a better person. I’ve let down so many people, including you. Forgive me. I never meant for it to happen. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I promise it’s all okay.” Diana wondered if it was normal for those who were dying to worry their loved ones were angry at them for getting sick and leaving. She poured a glass of water from a carafe on the table and helped him drink, his profile outlined by the light shining through the French doors.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Diana took the glass from his hands and kissed him. “I love you, too.”
They lay together on the chaise, Diana dozing off next to him. When she woke, Tom was staring overhead at the Milky Way. “I need help getting up.”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a jerk of awareness.
Once, helping him—his broad, strong body—would have crushed her, his weight pushing her down. That night, he was light, barely there, stumbling at the door, needing Diana to catch him.
“I’ll sleep here.” Tom gestured to the hospital bed the hospice nurse had arranged in the office. Before, he had refused to stay there, painfully climbing the stairs to their bedroom every night with Diana by his side.
This was different. Final.
She helped him into the bed, taking off his shoes and baseball cap and tucking a blanket around his chest. She gave him another sip of water and a painkiller, and he put his hand on her arm.
“Stay with me.”
“Give me a minute to get ready.”
Tom closed his eyes, falling asleep before she left the room.
Diana staggered into the kitchen and leaned against the wall. She bit her fist and slid to the floor. She heard a moan.
Is it Tom? Does he need me?
No, she understood—the moan had come from her; she was making that noise.
She grabbed her phone from the counter and texted Andrea.I think this is it, she typed, her fingers hovering over the keys.
She looked at the message for an agonizing moment before deleting it, her finger hesitantly pressing the backspace until the screen was blank.
She made herself return to the office and climb into bed next to Tom. He didn’t stir.
Diana cradled him in her arms, listening to his slow heartbeat and feeling the all-consuming reach of grief surround her.
Sometime in the dark of the night, when even the stars disappeared, the silence in between each of Tom’s breaths extended an impossibly long time. Diana pressed her cheek against his and counted each of his inhales and exhales, until they stopped, and she was alone.
I could have been a better person. I’ve let down so many people, including you. Forgive me. I never meant for it to happen. I’m so sorry.
Even at the end, he’d tried to tell her. Hehadwanted her to know.
She thinks of that list she started on the drive back from Vermont:What Would I Say to Tom?Some revisions are needed, she decides.
