The Empty Jar(72)

A piece of me.

The best piece of me.

Thoughts of her bring perspective. Calm. Resolve. I exhale, my sigh sounding like her name.

Grace.

“No, she wouldn’t. And she is worth it, isn’t she? Worth all of this.”

I imagine that the sheen in Nate’s eyes matches the sheen in my own. There’s so much love between us, and because of that love and the love we have for our baby, I know that we could never fully regret my decision. It was either my life or Grace’s, and I know I’d make the same choice again if I could give Nate that little girl over and over and over.

“Thank you,” I murmur, brushing my lips over his.

“For what?”

“For forgiving me. And for reminding me. This is the only way it could’ve happened. God’s will.”

Nate says nothing at first, only watches me silently as he processes my words, words so unlike the woman he’s known for so long. I know it must seem foreign, but to me, it seems like a truth I’ve known all my life.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is a God, and this is His will.”

“I’m right, Nate. He gave me the choice between my own life and yours, hers. I made the right choice. I would choose you two every time. Again and again. I guess I just…I guess I just lost sight of that for a few minutes. I…sometimes I don’t feel quite myself.”

Oftentimes, I don’t. I feel like some strange amalgamation of the old Lena and a strange new Lena, of her old memories and her wildest dreams. Reality, for me, is an odd mixture of elaborate fantasy and unspeakable horror.

“I love you. All the different yous.”

“And I love you for loving me that way. I know it’s been hard. But it’s almost over.”

I hadn’t intended to drop that bomb on him in such a casual way, but here it is, out in the open.

Nate tucks his cheek against mine, and I feel his sharp intake of breath. I know he’s fighting back a surge of emotion. I recognize the signs.

“I will always love you. Every part of you. There will never be another one like you. Never. Not for me. And just so you know, I would do this all again, fall in love with you over and over, no matter how long we’d have together. You’re worth it, Lena. You’re worth everything.”

His voice cracks at the last, and he pulls me tighter against his chest and slides his face down into the curve of my neck.

This time together, here alone, near the end... It feels poignant and powerful and somehow significant, like we are communicating more deeply than our words. Sentiment swirls around us, weaving in between the spoken things, tying them together with truth and honesty.

His heart is as raw and open as mine. We are naked to each other, nothing between us but truth. And I don’t want this moment to end. Not yet. I can’t bear to break the magic of it.

“Can you help me in the shower?” I ask tentatively.

I don’t want us to spend my last hours mourning this way. I want to give my husband good memories, especially now.

I feel him nod.

Silently, he crosses to the shower and sets me on my feet as he reaches in to turn the spigots. As the water heats and steam begins to fill the room, Nate starts to undress.

There is a sense of finality in his every movement, as though he knows that this will be the last time he will remove his clothes for me, the last time he will touch me in the shower, the last night we will spend together.

I feel the same way, only I know.

I know.

Moving his hands out of the way, I set my fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly divesting Nate of his clothes. I cherish the feel of the soft cotton against my skin as I shift against him. I relish the smell of his cologne tickling my nose. I revel in the warmth of his closeness, searing me all the way to my bones.

If I’d had a last wish other than to see my daughter safely into the world, it would’ve been this: To spend these minutes alone with my husband, even if I’d never have thought to ask for it.

Finally, we stand bare, staring into each other’s eyes. We stay this way for several heartbeats before we both turn at the same time and step into the shower.

Together.

One last time.

Every moment seems especially significant. Every look, every touch, every whisper of breath into the stillness is the last of its kind.

The last we will share.

With excruciating tenderness, Nate bathes me. He massages my skin with his soapy hands, making small circles that ease the tension in my muscles. He kneads my thin arms, rubs my swollen belly. He even gently cleans the irritated tip of my nose where it’s been taped up for so long.

And when I’m too tired to stand, he helps me to sit on the tile bench and finishes, even washing the sensitive space between my toes. He worships every inch of me, kissing the arch of my foot, the bend of my knee, the curve of my hip. With every stroke, he tells my skin goodbye. He misses nothing.

Quite simply, Nate loves me. With his whispered words, with his careful hands, with his broken heart, he loves me. He tells me I’m beautiful, even now, without saying a word. And he tells me goodbye, too.

With every stroke, he tells me goodbye.

Afterward, as he carries me out of the stall to dry me off, I breathe into his ear, “I will love you forever. Dead or alive, I will be yours, wherever I am.”

“And I’ll be yours. Always.”