This Is Not How It Ends(70)

My eyes closed, and my neck stretched back, allowing the warm water to slide down my face, erasing my tears and our sins. There was nothing left for us to say. Ben dropped the question of what I wanted because what I wanted, or what he wanted, really didn’t make a bit of difference anymore. We were Philip’s family. And we would put aside our feelings to mend what we couldn’t fix. And we would try. For Philip, we would set aside our feelings and try.

When we’d hung up, the distress in his voice was unmistakable. There was so much more he’d wanted to say. I could hear it, though he held it inside. I’d wanted to tell him what that night meant to me, but I couldn’t. And I’d already known what it meant to him, which made having to hang up that much harder.

Too exhausted to dry my hair, I let the humid Miami air turn it into big, bouncy curls. I packed for the hospital and dressed in jeans and a light sweater. Philip didn’t want me spending the night in an uncomfortable cot beside his bed. “There’s no sense in the two of us being miserable.” But I’d refused him, and I returned to his room as promised.

Meghan was there by his bedside, holding his thin fingers. “Without him, I’m an orphan,” she solemnly stated.

I placed an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into me. I’d been an orphan for years and was about to lose another anchor. This notion clung to me as my father’s reappearance took on new meaning. I reminded Meghan she had me and Myka and her work, though I knew nothing ever replaced the people we’d lost. I urged her to go to the hotel and get some rest. She hugged me, and it filled me with sadness to be connected in this battle.

“You’re so strong, Charley,” she said before slipping out of the room.

I didn’t feel strong. I felt angry and broken.

Philip was asleep, and I kissed his forehead. A nurse changed his IV. It was Josie, the one who’d stitched me up. “I showered with the bandage,” I told her. “Did I screw everything up?” She checked underneath, eyeing me with newfound compassion. “It’s fine. Next time cover it in plastic.”

The battered arm was the least of my worries. She explained that there was inflammation in Philip’s belly and they were pumping him with high dosages of meds to control the pain. I spent time on his face, remembering the morning he’d left town. It felt like months ago. The wrinkles on his skin were drawn and pronounced. His cheeks sagged; he appeared older than his age, and he’d hate it.

His hand was cold, and I tried to warm it with my fingers. His eyes fluttered open. “You come here often?”

I managed a smile. Josie let us know to push the call button if we needed anything throughout the night. “We’ll be returning every few hours. I’ll try to be quiet.”

I thanked her, and Philip and I were left alone. “Can I get in?” I asked, raising the sheet to claim my spot beside him.

I curled into him, and his weightlessness made me want to cry. I swallowed the tears and pretended we were back home in the Keys in our much more comfortable bed with the view that spanned for miles. I knew I’d never look at that ocean again without feeling his absence, and though much had changed, my love for him had not. Philip leaving, for good, was inconceivable, but I believed I could make it right. I was given a second chance. When you’re faced with losing someone, the battlefield changes. I had fallen into one of my students’ thesis papers. I wanted what I couldn’t have, and I wanted Philip to live.

“Please agree to treatment, Philip. You owe me this much. You owe yourself. I’ve asked you for so little. You’ll have more time. We’ll have more time.” I paused. “We’ve never had enough time.”

“My God, you’ll have lovely children, Charley. I’m sorry I couldn’t give them to you. I should’ve slowed down. We should’ve eaten a hell of a lot more ice cream.” His eyes welled up. “You know I love you. My issues were never about my love for you.” And then he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and tears streamed down his face. “I thought we had forever.”

I’d been holding in the emotions, but Philip—lying there in that bed hooked up to machines with a devil quietly killing him—broke me. The horror of what we faced released a fresh set of tears. My entire body shook.

“Come here, Charley,” he said, pulling me tighter.

“I can’t, Philip. I can’t watch you die.”

“Charley,” he said again, “I know how strong you are. It’s why I chose you.” He was crying, too, and it was one of our saddest moments. The kind that engraved itself in our souls.

“Next time choose vanilla,” he said with a tinge of sadness. “Impulsive, successful in close relationships. Choose vanilla.”

I wiped my nose, my eyes, and took a deep breath. I had no right to such cowardice, but seeing Philip this way hurt. I couldn’t grasp the enormity of what I was about to lose. Or I did, and it was too much to manage.

“Perhaps we should plan that wedding,” he said. “Then I don’t have to worry about you trying to make a living at that ridiculous clinic.”

“You’re always so romantic.”

He smiled. It was bittersweet, a meager turn of his lips that felt wrong.

“You’re a clever girl, Charley. Until you, I never thought about a second run at this game.”

I forgot the ache inside and enjoyed our nearness. “You clearly have intimacy issues. It only took cancer to get you to discuss the wedding.”