A Thousand Letters(25)

I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready.

She held my gaze for a long moment, and I wished I could give her what she wanted.

But she was in the back of my mind as I checked tasks off my list. After all these years, I was still so affected by her. I'd convinced myself I was fine, made a new life for myself, but the old dreams never died, the imprints I'd made in my mind of what our lives would be together never fading. Her refusal was the moment that split my life into two paths — what was, and what could have been.

And now I would endure what would be the most trying time of my life with the woman I'd tried to banish from my heart by my side.

It was an impossible situation with no solution.

I glanced at the clock, wondering when they'd get here, when he'd be home. Like I'd been holding up the levee, but the pressure was too great, too much, and the second he arrived, it would fall and sweep us all away.

The doorbell rang.

My heart stopped.

Dad.

I walked out of my room with my heart thumping, meeting my sisters and Elliot in the hallway, all of us wide-eyed as I opened the door to a paramedic. I showed him through the house and to the library where they'd bring Dad, and he headed back out to the ambulance at the curb.

Elliot stood in the entry with her arm around Sadie and Sophie at her side — fear colored their faces, fear that I felt whispering in my ear, knocking at that door to my heart, but when I caught a glance of my reflection, my face was calm, stoic. A mask. A lie.

We waited for a few long, silent minutes before they carried him in on a gurney. He turned his head to find us as soon as he was able, eyes searching, body relaxing with relief at the sight of us. And his eyes stayed on us as we followed them into the library. He already seemed so much thinner, so much smaller even than he'd been when I'd seen him last night, his skin pallid and slack. I wondered if I imagined it, but when he squeezed my hand and I could feel his bones, delicate and hollow, I knew it was real. He was already leaving us.

The nurse showed up in the middle of the shuffle, and when the doorbell rang, Elliot let her in, a gesture I was grateful for. Dad was home, and I didn't want to leave his side.

The nurse bustled around, chatting pleasantly as she worked on getting him hooked up, explaining what we could expect, how to administer his oral medication and what times, discussing what we could feed him, providing the list of numbers to call should anything happen. Most of it had already been covered, but it was nice all the same, something to listen to, to focus on. And my father watched me silently with his hand in mine, as if he were trying to memorize my face.

The nurse left a little while later — an aide would be by later that evening to check on him again. And with that, we were all finally alone.

Elliot turned on Dad's wireless speaker and played Chopin as he looked around the room at his things. I'd brought in a dresser for his clothes, lined with photos — my grandparents, he and my mother on their wedding day, all of us as a family, baby pictures — his life chronicled in moments.

Sophie pulled an extra throw over his legs. "I'm glad you're home, Dad."

He smiled. "Me too." His speech had improved over the last couple of days, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

No one seemed to know what to say, all of us quiet for a few minutes, standing mutely as we soaked it all in.

Dad chuckled. "So quiet. Not contagious, you know."

The girls chuckled, and I smiled, just the slightest pull of my lips. I couldn't find any humor, though. I wondered for a moment if I'd ever feel joy again.

Sadie sat on the edge of his bed, smiling at him. "What would you like to do?"

"Talk. Nap. Ice cream."

"In that order?" Sophie asked as she took a seat on the couch, and Elliot followed.

"Yes, please."

Sadie stayed where she was at the edge of his bed holding his hand, and I sat in an armchair next to Sophie and Elliot, keeping my eyes on Dad.

He asked us questions, prompting us, guiding us even when we should be caring for him, knowing we didn't know what to say, what to do. There was too much in the air, too much between us, too many things we weren't ready to talk about, and I felt the pressure, the need to make every second count, every question, every breath and heartbeat. I wanted to tell him all my fears. I wanted to take away his. I wanted to scream and cry and fight for him. I wanted to laugh with him. But I found myself unable to say much of anything as we talked about the mundane, the meaningless, the nothings of our lives. All that in a moment we should have spent in the truth, not hiding behind cordiality.

The falsity of it all sank into my heart and twisted.

Elliot stayed mostly quiet during the light conversation, listening attentively without interrupting. And when he touched upon my life, I felt Elliot's presence as if she were tethered to me, so aware of her that I struggled to form the words to answer his questions. Because the words all held hidden meaning, underscored by the loss of her.

"Germany's beautiful."

I wish I could have taken you there.

"Ben and I went to Neuschwanstein Castle last month — it was like something out of a fairy tale."

I imagined you standing in the throne room with me, reverently reciting Byron.

"Skiing the Alps was a religious experience."

Would you have loved it as much as I did? Would it have stolen your breath like it stole mine?