This Is Not How It Ends(80)

When I opened my eyes that morning, I was scared to look at him. My fingers found his throat, his wrist, searching for the beats that meant life. He was still here, though the beats were slow-paced, weak in measure. I was a combination of feelings. Rolling over, I spotted Ben sleeping in a chair beside us.

Judith entered and fixed Philip before she said anything to me. She wiped beads of sweat from his face and toweled the railing that kept him from falling out of bed. “It’s soon,” she whispered. “Prepare yourselves.”

And right before slipping out the doorway, she nodded in Ben’s direction. “He sat there all night. I’m not sure who he loves more. You or Philip.”



We’d been preparing for the end for months, though nothing cushioned the blow of death, eased its razorlike tear. I clung to the burst of energy, but it disappeared as quickly as it emerged.

Judith prided herself in seeing Philip through to the end. She continued to prop him up and wipe invisible stains from his face. She trimmed his facial hair and saw to it that he smelled clean and fresh despite the evil lurking in his veins.

Philip was in and out of consciousness. When he opened his mouth, we understood few words, but we knew. He was telling us with his eyes—and the way he’d clutch our fingers—that he loved us. That he would miss us. That he was grateful for our being there, even when he fought us.

Ben and Judith left us alone, and I slid in beside him, kissing his forehead.

“I love you, Philip. You’re the biggest and the best thing to ever happen to me. I didn’t think I had room in my heart for someone like you, but you changed my life. You changed everything about me. I’m going to miss you so much,” I said, crying. “I’m not sure how to live without you. I thought I knew. I don’t.”

His breathing was steady, and I knew he heard me. He squeezed my hand harder.

“I love you, Charley,” he whispered, as flimsy as the air. “You would have made the most beautiful bride.”

I was insanely desperate for him to live, clinging on to foolish notions. Fumbling in the bedside drawer, I found the license and dropped it in his hand. “Now. Let’s do it now.” I heard myself calling out for Ben and Judith. They came rushing in, and I could tell by their faces my screams signaled something else.

“I’m going to marry Philip,” I cried. “He can’t give me a future, but he can make me a wife. His wife.”

Pity hung from their faces. They knew I’d gone crazy; the sorrow washed their eyes.

“I’m serious. Judith,” I shouted. Frantic. “You said you would do it. You said you’re a notary.” I sounded pathetic but didn’t care. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Philip’s lucid moments were fleeting, and any justice of the peace would say he wasn’t of sound mind to make decisions. I didn’t care. I loved Philip. I would always love Philip. What better way to honor his memory than to take his last name? To be his lawful wife?

Judith relented, giving in to my charade. “You hear that, Thomas?” she said. “You still got it.”

I was half crying, half shaking; Ben blinked back tears.

Judith preached, then pointed out the absence of rings. There was an urgency in her voice, and I raced to the bathroom for something round. What I found would have to do—I was about to marry him with elastic hair bands. Philip opened and closed his eyes, and when she asked if we do, we spoke in unison. And I swear, Philip was smiling. He was. He was smiling at me. And the words I do meant we were connected for life. He was with me. Always.

When we became husband and wife, I joined him in the bed and kissed his lips. They were rough, no longer soft, but I kissed them hard. I kissed life into him. I kissed my love into him, making it so every memory of us stayed alive. So that he embraced the darkness with a full heart, without fear.

Ben watched, a stream sliding down his cheeks. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. Judith was doing what she always did: fixing, primping, making Philip as comfortable as she could. Ben approached the other side of the bed and dropped to his knees. His hands covered his friend’s and he cried.

Philip had barely uttered any words that day, but I do were two that I’d hold on to for the rest of my life. If he never said another word to me, I knew what those words meant. They meant his promise to me, his love, and I would take them with me wherever I went. I would honor him, and our love. I would keep him alive so the world would never forget.

For the first time in weeks, Philip’s face was peaceful and calm. I rested my head atop his chest to remind him I was close. That I’d be there with him. He’d never be alone.

Eighteen minutes after saying I do, and eighteen minutes after becoming a wife, I became a widow.





CHAPTER 38

November 2018

“He’s gone,” Judith whispered.

I forced myself to look up. “No.”

I had anticipated this moment for some time, even wished for it while Philip was suffering a senseless misery, though nothing, nothing prepared me for that instant when his soul left his body and he was gone from me. At first, I was afraid to touch him. My limbs froze, and I jerked away from the bed. My head filled with a resounding denial—this isn’t real—but the tears that sprang forth told me otherwise. I vaguely remembered Ben backing away, sobbing into his hands. Philip would never look at me again. His eyes would never open. I would never hear his voice. I would never feel his breath against my cheek. He was gone, and the pain released a foreign sound from my throat.