Guilty Needs(2)
“Don’t, Bree. Don’t look at me and smile. Don’t look at me and lie, tell me that I’m going to be fine. You and me, we both know I’m not. Colby knows it too, but he dances around it. Nobody can say it.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked back at Bree. Her body might be physically weak, but her determination shown in her eyes. That strength of spirit that had driven every choice in her life and it hadn’t faded a bit. “I need to say it without somebody telling me some pretty lie. I need somebody else besides the damn doctor to admit it to my face. I’m dying, Bree. Say it.”
Bree’s throat closed up. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Lyssie…”
“Say it. Lying about it doesn’t change it and it doesn’t help me. I need you to say it.”
“Why?” Bitter, Bree demanded, “Do you think I don’t know that you— Do you think I don’t know?”
“I know you know.” Her voice softened and Alyssa shifted, easing her body over a little and then patting the bed beside her.
Careful, mindful of the tubes running this way and that, Bree lay down beside Alyssa and stared at her through a veil of tears. Alyssa needed to hear it—for some reason, she needed to hear it from Bree. We’ll help each other hide the body, they’d said over the years and they’d meant it. If they’d hide a body together, then surely Bree could do this. She took a deep breath and it shuddered out of her. “You’re dying.” A hard sob almost choked her, but she battled it back down. Not now. She couldn’t break now.
Later. At home. She’d break then. But not now.
“Thank you.” Alyssa closed her eyes. “You don’t know how aggravating it gets when people keep lying to me, ‘Oh, you look wonderful. You’re going to be fine’.” She snorted. “I don’t look wonderful and I’m not going to be fine…well, at least not here.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at Bree. “I had a visitor this morning—Danny Gleason.”
“Danny Gleason…” Bree ran the name through her mind and finally came up with a face just barely remembered. High school. Major punk, into drugs, into alcohol—then a DUI had put him in the hospital and he’d ended up getting his left leg amputated. Sometime during his recovery, he’d “found God”. Shit. Narrowing her eyes, Bree shoved upright in the bed and demanded, “Was he out here bothering you?”
Alyssa laughed and patted Bree’s hand. “Calm down, Bree. He came out here because I had Colby ask him to. I…” her voice trailed off and she shrugged. “I had some questions. He’s the kind of man with the answers to those questions. I’ve been so scared, but I’m not so scared now.”
“After talking with Danny one time?” Bree winced immediately and wished she could take the words back. Hell, what did it matter if Alyssa found some sort of comfort in the life-after-death speech? What did it matter if she believed some ancient fairy tale about everlasting life, forgiveness and salvation? If it gave her comfort, what did it matter?
Sighing, she shoved a hand through her short, spiked hair and said, “I’m sorry, Alyssa.”
Alyssa shook her head. “There no reason to be sorry. And yeah, one talk. But sometimes, just one talk can make all the difference. I’m not scared now—and I’m not so angry either.”
“You haven’t been angry, but hell, don’t you think you’re entitled?”
“What good does it do me?” Alyssa countered. “And yes, I’ve been angry. I lay awake at night, cussing everything I can possibly think of. But it doesn’t make it any better and it doesn’t make it even easier. It doesn’t change anything, Bree. I hate being angry, I hate wasting what little time I’ve got left that way.”
That was so totally Alyssa. If it didn’t change things, didn’t improve things, she didn’t want to waste her time with it. Bree, on the other hand, nursed her anger, nursed her grudges, didn’t waste her time giving a smile to a stranger because she had too much on her mind.
In so many ways, Alyssa was the better person. It shouldn’t be Alyssa lying in this bed, but Bree. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re here for Alyssa right now, not a pity party. She forced herself to smile and hope it didn’t look as fake as it felt.
But one look at Alyssa assured Bree that smile definitely wasn’t fooling her. “Maybe I should give Danny a call, see if it can make me not so damn angry.”
“You like being angry,” Alyssa reminded her. Then she shifted on the bed and reached for the little gadget hooked up to her pain medication. It was narcotics, the kind that would put a grown man to sleep. The dosage was patient-controlled and Alyssa pushed the button with a sigh. “I hate needing this stuff.”
Her lids drooped low over her eyes and Bree waited, wondering if the medicine was going to knock Alyssa out, but it didn’t. She suspected the pain was just getting too bad for medication to control. “Do you need me to get some ice? A blanket?”
“No. Just that favor.”
Reaching for Alyssa’s hand, she said, “Name it.”
“It’s about Colby.”
Bree’s heart skipped then started to beat faster, faster, until it all but choked her. She schooled her features, years of practice keeping her from reacting, other than her racing heart. “What about him? He’ll be fine, Alyssa. I’ll be here if he needs me, but he’s going to be fine.”