The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(75)

Be happy.

“It’s everything.”

He stood and paced across the living room, watching the sun fall slowly. His heart beat fast, faster, faster still. He could see his pulse in his vision.

Tell her everything. Tell her about your plans for the clock. Tell her about what you’ve seen, what you think you’ve seen. Tell her about— “When Elle got sick, I was hopeful. She was young and vibrant and strong, not the kind of person to ever even get a cold,” Evan said, facing away from the couch. “I thought, she’ll beat this and it will be a courageous story to tell our grandchildren someday. But she got sicker, and sicker, and none of the treatments worked.”

He paused. “Like I told you before, I took money from my work, stole it to try some experimental treatments that weren’t covered by insurance. The experimental stuff worked better than the traditional medicine did, but barely. It was like she got a toehold while sliding down a steep mountain. Then my confidence started to slip. I caught myself wondering what it would be like raising Shaun alone, and damn me for being selfish, but I was. I suppose we all are on some level, but I kept thinking, I can’t do this alone, I won’t be able to.”

Evan laughed, a choked sound that he drowned with more wine.

“That was when the fear hadn’t fully taken over yet, when part of me believed everything would still work out all right. That’s sometimes the worst and best quality people possess, you know? To hope in the darkest times. Sometimes it pays off and faith is redeemed, and others—”

Evan swallowed. A lump was forming in his throat, and no matter how many gulps of wine he took, it wouldn’t move. He knew what it was, and knew the only way to make it go away would be to keep talking.

“Then one day, I knew. I knew she wasn’t going to get better. She’d had another round of chemo two days prior, and it was painful to look at her, to see how much less she’d become. She told me she hurt and she couldn’t take much more, and I—here’s the selfishness again—I told her she couldn’t quit, not on me and not on Shaun.”

Evan tipped the last of his wine down his throat.

“She told me to go to her bag, that there was something in there she wanted. She was too weak to get out of bed on her own. When I reached inside, there was a bottle of pain pills one of the doctors had prescribed for her when she was still able to be at home. It was almost full, and I remember how heavy that bottle felt, so heavy. She told me it was too much and she didn’t want to suffer anymore. She asked me to help her, to count out a dozen or so into her hand and then get her some water. She told me to pull the bag close to the bed, so it would look like she’d reached down and got them herself after I left.”

A vein of tears ran down the right side of his face, and he wiped it absently.

“I told her no. I walked out of the room, and she never brought it up again. I hated her at that moment, for asking me to do it, for getting sick in the first place. But you know what?”


Evan turned halfway toward Selena, who was perched on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped in front of her mouth, her eyes shining.

“I hated myself more than anything, for not being able to save her. And then when I couldn’t—for not being man enough to ease my wife’s pain, for letting her suffer.”

Evan’s jaw trembled, and he knew, if he let them, his teeth would chatter, for he was very cold at that moment—so cold. He wiped again at his face and glanced at Selena, who had a hand pressed to her mouth, her fingers long and white.

“So I carry that, and I get scared whenever someone else comes close. I want to go back and change things, change everything that’s happened, for Shaun and for Elle, for me, and when I realize I can’t, it’s just too much.”

This was as close as he could come to telling her about the clock and his dashed hopes. He turned back to the sunset, only a red smudge on the western horizon now, fading to pink and dark blue where the bruise of night began in the sky.

“I wonder if something in my mind broke a long time ago, if I’ve been crazy for a while, because sometimes it feels like the moorings are coming loose up here.”

Evan tapped his skull. He was as used and empty as a paper cup in a gutter. Any relief he might’ve had at speaking about Elle’s last request was overshadowed by the guilt of saying it out loud. It was like being condemned in front of a judge and jury.

He heard Selena rise from the sofa and begin to move across the living room toward the front door. He grimaced and waited for the sound of the knob being turned, but it didn’t come. Instead her hands gently gripped his sides, guided him around to face her. Her eyes gazed up into his, and she touched his face, traced the line of tears, and then leaned in close.

Their lips met, and heat bloomed within him. First in his stomach, and then lower. Selena moved closer to him, ran a hand down his neck, across his chest, around to his back. Evan wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into the heat between them as her tongue darted into his mouth. She pulled him close, and he let out a small moan as her stomach brushed his growing erection. He tried to draw away then, embarrassed, but she pulled him even closer, ground his bulge against her. Their kiss broke, and she looked at him.

“Take me to your room, Evan.”

His heart did a stutter step, but he nodded and took her hand, leading her across the living room and down the hall. He couldn’t help but glance into Shaun’s room, and saw his sleeping face as they turned to the left. A truckload of shame fell on his shoulders. How could he do this across the hall from his son, whom he’d made with Elle, who was watching now? He could feel her eyes on him as Selena shut the door and came to him, finding his lips with hers in the twilit room.