The Four Winds(132)

Loreda wiped her tears, but more kept falling. She couldn’t even be strong for Ant. She prayed for the first time in years. Please, God, save her.

I can’t live without my mom.



WHITE.

Lights too bright.

Stinging.

Pain.

Elsa opened her eyes again, squinted at the intensity of the light overhead.

She was in bed.

She turned her head slowly. Every breath hurt.

Jack sat in a chair beside her, holding Ant on his lap. Her son’s eyes were red, bloodshot. Tears streaked his freckled cheeks.

“Elsa,” Jack said softly.

“She’s awake,” Ant said.

Loreda rushed in, almost pushed Jack and her brother aside. “Mommy,” she said.

Mommy.

That one word brought everything back: Elsa rocking Loreda to sleep, reading her stories, teaching her to make fettuccine, whispering Be brave, into her ear.

“Where . . .”

Jack touched her face. “You’re in the hospital.”

“And?”

She saw the answer in her loved ones’ eyes. They were already grieving.

“They couldn’t repair the damage,” Jack said. “Too much internal bleeding, and your heart . . . they say there’s something wrong with it. Can’t keep up or some damn thing. They’ve given you pain medication . . . there’s nothing else they can do.”

“But they’re wrong,” Loreda said. “Everyone’s always been wrong about you, Mom. Haven’t they? Like me.” Loreda started to cry. “You’ll be fine. You’re strong.”

Elsa didn’t need them to tell her she was dying. She could feel her body shutting down.

But not her heart. Her heart was so full it couldn’t hold all of the love she felt when she looked at these three who had shown her the world. She’d thought she had a lifetime to show them her love.

Time.

Hers had gone too fast. She’d only just discovered who she was.

She had counted on a lifetime to teach her children what they needed to know, but she didn’t have that gift of grace and time. Still, she had given them what mattered: they were loved and they knew it. Everything else was decoration.

Love remains.

“Ant,” she said, opening her arms.

He climbed like a monkey from Jack’s arms to hers. His weight pressed down on her, caused an agonizing pain. She kissed his wet cheek.

“Don’t die, Mommy.”

That hurt worse than her gunshot. “I’ll . . . watch over you . . . all your life. Like . . . the Shadow. At night . . . while you sleep.”

“How will I know?”

“You’ll . . . remember me.”

He cried. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I know, baby.” She wiped his tears, felt the start of her own.

Jack saw her pain and pulled Ant into his arms. It broke her heart to see him holding her son. Here was a flash . . . a glimpse of the future that was slowly being lost. The family they could have become.

She stared up at Jack. “God, what a life we could have had.”

He leaned closer, still holding Ant, and kissed her on the lips, stayed there long enough that she tasted his tears.

She lifted a hand, pressed her palm to his cheek so he could feel her touch one last time. “Take them home for me,” she whispered against his lips.

He nodded. “Elsa . . . God, I love you . . .”

Loreda slipped in beside Jack, who stepped aside, soothed Ant, stroked his back.

“Hey, Mom,” Loreda said in a thready voice.

Elsa stared up at her brash, beautiful, impetuous daughter. “I wanted to watch you take on the world, baby girl.”

“I can’t do it without you.”

“You can . . . and you will.”

“It’s not fair,” Loreda said. “No one will ever love me like you do.”

Elsa had trouble breathing. It felt as if she were drowning from the inside out. She reached up slowly, every movement hurting, and untied the necklace at her throat. She took the velvet pouch in shaking hands and placed it in her daughter’s palm. “Keep . . . believing in . . . us.” Elsa paused to catch her breath. Every second hurt more than the last.

Loreda took the pouch in her hand, held it as her tears fell. “What do I do without you?”

Elsa tried to smile but couldn’t. She was too tired. Too weak. “You live, Loreda,” she whispered. “And know . . . every single second . . . how much I loved you.” Find your voice and use it . . . take chances . . . never give up.

Elsa couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. There was so much more to say, a lifetime’s worth of love and advice to bestow on her children, but there was no more time . . .

Be brave, she might have said, or maybe she only thought it.





THIRTY-SIX





She wants us to go home,” Loreda said. The unexpected word—home—gave her a bit of steadiness; something to hold on to. Grandma and Grandpa. She needed them now.

“That’s what she said.”

Jack held Ant, who had cried himself to sleep.

“Good. I won’t bury her here,” Loreda said. “And Ant and I can’t stay. Even if they are still having dust storms in Texas. We can’t stay here. I won’t stay here.”