Page 120 of When the Smoke Clears

“Hey, Mom,” I whisper in her ear, lifting her body before she wakes with a stiff back.

Her groggy eyes open, and she lets me help her stand. I hug her, eyeing my dad over her shoulder. He’s so thin and frail. Unrecognizable in many ways. It’s hard to believe he carried me on his shoulders up and down steep trails when I was a young boy. Now he can’t stand on his own or carry his body weight.

“I prayed for him to take his last breath,” she whispers before silently shaking with sobs.

I don’t hold back my tears. How fucking awful is this? Wishing for the man you love to die. When did months turn into days? What happened to weeks? We should still have weeks with him. Now we’re counting breaths.

I stare at his blurry image through my tears.

“Well,” I sniffle, sitting in the chair and pulling her onto my lap, “he’s always been a stubborn man. He’s holding on because you want him to go.”

She laughs through her tears. “I know.”

“You need sleep,” I say.

“I need to be here.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I know she wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I sent her home.

Over the next four hours, we wait, taking turns standing to stretch and walking the hall or using the restroom. Mom texts Leah, but she’s not rushing back. She said her goodbyes and made peace with knowing she might not see him again.

Maybe I should say mine and head back to Missoula. The second that thought pops into my head, I feel a pang of regret. No. I feel like a terrible, weak human being, and an even worse son. Leah has a baby and another child. I have nothing but grief waiting for me to drown it in as much alcohol as possible.

“William.”

I glance at the door. It’s my parents’ pastor. He smiles at Vincent on the other side of the curtain before stepping toward me, so I stand and shake his proffered hand.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m stopping by.”

I nod. “Of course. My mom went for coffee. I actually wouldn’t mind taking a walk.”

“Please.” He nods toward my dad while unbuttoning his black wool coat. “I’d be happy to sit with him. If you and your mom would like me to pray with you, I can do that too.”

I’m not sure what I would pray for because I’m not much of a prayer guy, even though I like the idea of something greater and more powerful than humans. That the end is not really the end, just a “for now,” is comforting.

“I’ll check with her. Thanks.”

“Of course,” he says, sitting in my dad’s chair.

I find my mom outside, sipping her coffee while staring at the pond behind the courtyard. “Pastor Gibbs is here.”

She turns toward me. “Sorry. I should get back. He’ll think I’m ignoring my husband.”

I shake my head. “He thinks you’re taking a breather. Dad’s respirations haven’t dropped in the last hour. I guess that means he’s still got time.” I shrug.

She hands me her coffee, and I take a sip.

“I can’t believe I prayed for him to die.”

“Mom.” I frown. “I don’t think mercy is a bad thing.”

She presses her hand to her stomach and grimaces.

“Hungry?”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Come on. Let’s grab some food. I know you skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning.”