Page 89 of In Your Wake

Someone says, “Only one of you can ride with us.”

Once Robyn is in the ambulance, Mitch steps back and I reach for his arm.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” I offer, forcing the words out so I don’t drift off into this weird force that’s trying to drag me away.

The ambulance backs out of the driveway, and Mitch’s arm shakes. When I look up, I blink and snap out of my daze. Mitch isn’t shaking; he’s crying. Red rims his green eyes as the tears fall down his cheek and disappears into his scruff.

I reach up and press my hand to the back of his neck, guiding him until he bends, lowering his head to my shoulder.

I grip him tightly, my lips at his temple, and whisper, “I’ve got you,” knowing I’ve never spoken words that have been so raw and so true before.

“Mrs. Adams?” The doctor steps forward, her lips pale, her blue eyes drawn. Robyn lifts her head. “Your husband suffered a stroke. He’s all right now, but we’ll need to monitor him closely.”

“When can he come home?” Robyn asks.

The doctor’s mouth presses into a thin line as her gaze volleys between us, then back to Robyn. “Because of his current health condition, I’m sorry, but he’ll likely need to stay here.”

“For good?” Mitch asks, a sharp edge to his tone.

The doctor glances at him with sympathy in her eyes. “I’m afraid so.”

It’s strange what emotional stress will do in situations like these, but when the doctor takes Robyn’s hand and speaks words of comfort, all I hear in my head are the opening notes of my favorite song, The Grace. The soft, whooshing sound, the guitar strings, the aching melancholy. Almost as if I’m swimming in it.

Mitch’s sad, confused eyes search mine for an explanation, but all I can do is palm his cheek. “I’m really sorry, Mitch.” No sooner are the words out that I realize I don’t just mean about Bill. I mean about everything.

His brow furrows, his eyes fill with tears, but he blinks them away with a tight nod. “I’m sorry, too.”

I’m not sure, but there’s a release in his words, something that tells me we’re on the same page. It might not be the biggest, most elaborate apology, and we deserve far better from each other, but in this moment, surrounded by the nearness of death, it’s the best we can do. And for us, it works.

Robyn drops her head to his chest, and he hugs her, caressing her hair.

“He wouldn’t want to stay here, Chi-Chi,” she says, her voice breaking.

“I know he wouldn’t.”

She glances up, and for the first time since I’ve known her, Robyn looks like the tiniest, weakest woman. “What are we going to do?”

Mitch holds her tighter. “I’ll take care of it.”

I take his free hand, gripping it tightly. “We both will.”

While we wait for permission to go see Bill, the white neon lights cast a harsh, unnatural glow on everything around us. They keep away the darkness leaking in from my periphery, but they also help me realize that I’m surrounded by two people who mean the world to me. And the loneliness I’ve been carrying for so long finally lifts.

18

Roy vs Brodeur

Mitch

The house is quiet, but for all the wrong reasons. It’s claustrophobic, causing my skin to itch, so I step out onto the back porch.

This past week has been a complete shift at home, but as Mom predicted, Dad refused to stay at the hospital. Two days after his stroke, following some serious conversations with the doctor, who helped us get the equipment we needed, as well as organize regular visits from a nurse, we all agreed that Bill shouldn’t be forced to spend his last days stuck in a shitty hospital bed.

Mom took Dad to his makeshift bedroom in the main floor den about twenty minutes ago, and Maxine headed home after coming over to ask my opinion on paint colors for the inn’s dining room. Now, all that’s keeping me company is the steady evening rain tapping against the porch roof.

I’m halfway through a beer when my phone buzzes on the table. TREMBLAZE flashes across the screen. I stare at it, letting it ring, unsure if I’m up to answering. But I owe this guy a lot, so I pick up.

“Hey, Logan.”