Sweet Fate Page 18

  Losing her now would hurt, yes, but not like it could. Not like the possibility of losing Aaron hurt. Not like it would hurt if I let myself love her—really love her—and then lost her.

  So I wouldn’t love her. Not really love her. Or anyone, ever again.

  Sure, it was a cruel, cynical way to live, but as far as I was concerned, it was the only way to survive.

  Seventeen

  The rest of the night crept by slowly. I parked myself in a steel-framed upholstered chair while Ellen curled up in a lounger that converted to a bed. The room was dim, only a small light shone from a lamp next to the bed, but neither of us bothered to try to sleep. We knew it would be impossible.

  For much of the time, we sat silently, listening to the chirps of the automated equipment hooked up to our son. I was thankful for the quiet, too weighed down with the enormity of the situation to manage an abundance of conversation. Even my thoughts were sparse and scattered. I thought about the milk container I left on the kitchen worktop and the Christmas gifts I had for my mother that I hadn’t bothered to send off and impressed myself by remembering the song order of all the Metallica CDs I’d listened to in high school. Trivial things. Things that didn’t have an emotional residue. Things that didn’t make me want to find the nearest stairwell and scream until my voice gave out.

  I imagined Ellen was in a similar fog. When she did make the effort to engage, her statements were just as random. “The green in that painting reminds me of the shag carpet in your flat in Southampton,” she said once. And another time, “I still haven’t finished reading the Outlander series. I should get on that.”

  Each instance, I murmured something appropriate and meaningless and soon we’d fall back into taciturnity. The long stretches of silence were familiar and comfortable. We’d done this before—existed in separate cocoons of shared grief. This was something we knew how to do well.

  “I have to remember to cancel my appointment with the internet company later today,” she said just a little past four in the morning.

  I blinked a couple of times, processing the simple statement. It was the kind of thing that didn’t require a response, but I was beginning to bore of the stupor and this felt like a safe, mindless conversation to embark on. “Do you have a problem with your service?”

  “I’ve had a terrible time with our old provider. Aaron complains every day when he tries to do his homework that he can’t get the sites he needs to load.”

  I hmphed. “Sites he needs? Or YouTube videos?”

  “I know, right? Though, it’s both, I’m sure. So much of the education at his school is provided in other learning formats such as video and podcasts. I like it. I just swear the internet company is throttling download speeds. It’s gotten progressively worse over this year. The irritating part is that it will be another three weeks before I can get a new appointment, even on a wait list.”

  I scowled at the annoyance she must feel. “Don’t you have someone who can meet them for you? Aaron is always telling me that you’re dating. Is there no one?”

  “No one significant. No one who would meet the cable guy for me, anyway. No one who would come sit at the hospital with me while my son is in surgery.”

  We’d been conversing without eye contact, but now I turned my head toward her. “I’m here.”

  “For Aaron.”

  “And for you.” I was grateful that I wasn’t sitting at his bedside alone, and assumed she’d felt the same. It was a typical problem from our past—I assumed too much when I should have tried harder to really communicate.

  I assumed too much about people in general.

  I decided to make the effort now. “I mean that, Ellen. You’re the only person who gets what I feel about him.”

  She looked at me while she considered. “No one can love your creation as much as you do except a co-creator, I suppose.”

  I started to nod in agreement, then thought about it more. “Although...I really loved Amanda.”

  Her eyes widened, surprised, perhaps, by the declaration. When she turned away, she wrapped her arms tighter around herself, and I knew I’d taken a wrong turn.

  “I’ll ring Donovan later,” I said, steering us back to safer topics. “He can get someone over to your apartment to meet the technician.”

  “Thank you.” She stared at an unidentifiable spot before her, and I figured she’d slipped back into a daze. Then, abruptly, she asked, “How about you? Do you have anyone you’re dating?”

  The question felt shocking, like a bucket of ice cold water thrown over my head. It was too close to talking about Audrey—thinking about Audrey—and I didn’t want to do that.

  But not answering all together would only draw more attention to the topic, so I responded with succinct honesty. “Not really. I don’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

  Ellen shifted again to study me. “You don’t do what? Have sex? Spend time in other people’s company?”

  I glanced quickly at Aaron. He was still sleeping, but I lowered my voice anyway. “My bed isn’t cold. But I’ve found it’s...easier...to live without any unnecessary attachments.”

  She let out a sigh laced with pity. “Oh, Dylan. When did you become so bitter? Did I do that? That’s an awful lot of power to give me.”

  I frowned. I didn’t like how it felt like she was turning the tables on what really happened. As though it were my fault that I’d loved her enough to be affected by her infidelity. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable discussing this with you,” I said, hopefully putting an end to the matter.

  “That’s too bad. There was a time you’d tell me anything. I don’t expect you to anymore, of course, not after...well. It’s just sad to hear that you don’t have someone in your life now. I always saw you as a man who needed to love to be alive. I never imagined you’d become so hard-hearted.”

  “I was also very young when we met. Now I’ve grown up.”

  We fell back into silence then for the bulk of the next hour, until the commotion of shift change stirred us again. A nurse came in, turning on the overhead before he introduced himself.

  At the light and the sound of the new, louder voice, Aaron shifted in his bed. “Dad? You’re here. It’s not Christmas already, is it?”

  I took the two steps to his side and leaned down over him, taking his hand in mine. “Hi, kid. Not Christmas yet. I came early. Flew all night. Boy are my arms tired.”

  He smiled then let out a groan. “Ow. It hurts to smile.”

  “It was a terrible joke anyway.”

  “A dad joke for sure.”

  My grip on his hand tightened. He was hurting, and there was nothing I could do about it. Parental helplessness: one of the worst feelings in the world. I would carry all his burdens for him if I could. I’d suffer all his pain.

  “I’m okay, Dad,” he said, as though I were the one who needed soothing. “I mean, I feel like I’m dying, but I’m okay.”

  My heart pinched. He was a far cry from death, but the possibility lurked too close for comfort, and if I continued to stand there and think about it, I was going to lose it in front of him.

  Thank God the nurse stepped in to take his vitals, giving me a reason to step away. And then it was time to prepare for surgery. A slew of doctors and nurses came through in turns, discussing anesthesia and Aaron’s allergies, administering new IV’s and inspecting the extent of his swelling.

  Another hour of this and then his entire bed was wheeled away, leaving Ellen and me alone to wait.

  “Do you want any coffee?” I asked, needing something to do besides worry.

  “I’m good. The machine out there is terrible.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t really want coffee anyway. I only wanted this whole nightmare to be over.

  “Remember the last time he had anesthesia?” Ellen said when I didn’t get up to leave. “After his adenoid surgery. He took forever to wake up.”

  “I remember. And those faces he made while we were trying to rouse him. Those were th
e funniest expressions I’ve ever seen on a human.”

  “He’s always made those faces in his sleep. Since he was born.”

  I chuckled. “And the sounds he makes. He snores like he’s an old man.”

  “At least that improved after the adenoid removal. It was nearly impossible to be in a room with him while he slept before that.”

  We exchanged a smile. This was better than waiting in silence or sitting in the dark with our thoughts.

  “Remember how he always moved the s’s at the front of words to the end of the word?” Ellen asked. “Like stop. He always said tops. And he loved riding on the leds instead of sled.”

  I’d forgotten that he’d done that. It used to delight us to no end.

  “That stupid stuffed pig he had. What was its name?”

  “Stumpy,” I said, the name coming easily despite not having said it in years.

  “That’s right. He called it Tumpys.”

  “He loved the twinkle, twinkle tars.” I smiled as it came back to me.

  “He always said you were so marts. ‘Daddy is so marts. You’re only a little bit marts, Mommy.’”

  I chuckled. “Marts. I forgot that one.” God, I loved the kid. “He’s grown up to be very marts himself.”

  “Very,” Ellen said with pride. “And sweet. A very sweet boy.”

  “Don’t you mean a weets boy?”

  She laughed, but it quickly faded. “Sweet, but never cuddly. I thought I’d done something wrong with him in the beginning because he never wanted me to hold him the way Amanda did.”

  I was taken aback. She’d never mentioned this fear when we’d been together. “That’s just his personality. He’s still not very touchy. How is that your fault?”

  “I don’t know. I wondered if it was because I wasn’t as clingy to him as I had been with Amanda. He was a second child, and that is what it is, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty about it. Aaron always slept in his crib, from the minute he came into the world, but Amanda was always in my bed. I remember the day she was born, holding her in my arms, wrapped up like a little burrito, and I just didn’t want to let her go, even as I fell asleep. The nurse came in and asked if she could take her for me, put her in her bassinet at least, and I said no. I didn’t want to let her go. I loved holding her.”

  “She was always an affectionate girl.” It hurt to remember that, how warm Amanda had been. She had been nearly a teenager when I’d met her, but her biological father had never been in the picture, except to write a child support check every month. I’d quickly filled the spot of patriarch, even though I’d only been a dozen years older than her. Maybe she accepted me so easily because we were so close in age. I’d understood the girl better than the men her mother had dated that were closer to her own age. Ellen had always joked it was one of the perks of marrying a younger man, saying I bridged the culture gap between her and her teen.

  Thinking about that made me think of Audrey and how she’d been so good at communicating with Aaron the couple of times they’d interacted.

  But I didn’t want to think about Audrey.

  I wasn’t so sure I wanted to keep thinking about Amanda, either. It was too painful. Yet, it was cathartic talking about her with Ellen. We’d waited too long to reminisce together about her, and it felt like progress between us, despite the emotions it drudged up.

  “Remember how she always begged us to let her sleep with Aaron?” I asked. “I always felt so bad for saying no.”

  “He was a baby,” Ellen laughed. “It was because she never liked to sleep alone. Remember how often she snuck in our bed? When she was really little, she used to sleep so close to me that I’d wake up and her head would be on my head. Like I was her pillow. I couldn’t imagine how she found that comfortable.”

  “She was still doing that when I met her. We’d watch telly together, and she’d be fused into my side. She had zero personal boundaries. Anytime I had any food or drink, she’d take it without even asking. She truly believed in the ‘mine is yours, yours is mine’ philosophy of co-living.”

  “It was annoying sometimes.”

  “It was annoying a lot of the time,” I agreed. “And also...also not.” It was hard to look back at the nuisances, things she’d done that had been exasperating at the time when I’d give everything in my bank account to have her back and bothering me just one more time. Losing a child was the true definition of hell. The worst part was that it never went away. It burned and burned forever. Eternal damnation.

  It was such serious pain that it made a person want to do anything to avoid feeling ever again.

  “She looked up to you. So very much.” Ellen’s voice caught, and when I glanced over at her, I saw a tear rolling down her cheek.

  I wiped at my own eyes. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t continue with this excruciating flood of emotions, remembering my dead stepdaughter, worrying about my ill son. “You know what? This isn’t helping. Trips down memory lane are supposed to be bittersweet, but this feels more like a haunting. Like a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

  Ellen sat up and peered sharply in my direction. “If this is a haunting, I think I’m actually the Ghost of Christmas Future. Look at me. I’ve lost everything I’ve ever loved in this world. My parents. My daughter. Then you—the love of my life. And I’ll never get those things back.”

  I was speechless. I’d been the love of her life? I’d believed that once upon a time, but she still felt that way?

  “I’m alone now,” she went on. “And lonely, with nothing and no one in my life but Aaron, and even if he does pull through this—”

  “He’s going to pull through this, Ellen,” I interjected forcefully.

  “If and when he pulls through this, I’ve got...what? Another handful of years before he goes off to college. What will I have in my life then?”

  My scowl deepened. “Stop it. It’s not too late for...I don’t know, for anything you want. You’re fifty-three. Not one hundred. You have a lot of life to look forward to.” As much as I’d hated her at times, I’d also loved her. I’d hated her because I’d loved her so much. I still loved her in a way, and I sincerely wanted nothing but good things for her.

  “A lot of life to look forward to alone, if I can’t turn myself around.” She settled back into her chair. “I know my issues, what I have to work through, but it’s unbearable to me that you, of all people, might be following in my footsteps. Especially if I had anything to do with it, which I’m sure I did. Don’t be me, Dylan. Don’t stop getting attached. Let people into your heart. Cherish the love you have while you have it. Otherwise, what’s the point in even living?”

  It was a bloody conundrum. A catch twenty-two. Live a life with love and risk being destroyed. Live a life without and never really live. I thought I’d worked it out—earlier tonight, earlier in my life—but Ellen sparked something in me when she referred to me as the love of her life. I’d felt that way about her once, too. I certainly didn’t feel that way anymore. I’d grown out of her. Grown past her.

  And it struck me then that the loneliness that she talked about, familiar as it was, didn’t accurately describe my current state of living. Sure, I’d been as miserable as she was now, living the same old bland routine with no color in my world. I’d walked through my life in a bubble, sealed off from any contamination of sorrow or happiness and joy and hope, and there had been no point.

  But then Audrey had walked into my life and changed everything. She’d made me a better person. She’d made me happy and hopeful and now, without any promise of her in my future, I was back to being a wretched curmudgeon, and if I was honest with myself, I didn’t feel safer from sorrow than I had with her at my side. In fact, she made me feel more protected from heartbreak.

  She made the risks seem worth it. And selfishly, I wanted her here with me now, comforting me. Reassuring me. Sitting by my side while my son went through surgery.

  I wanted her with me after that too. I wanted her with me for
always. And when I tried to think the phrase “love of my life,” it was her face that popped up. Her eyes. Her laugh. Her everything. Why would I let her slip away? Why would I, as Ellen had said, give that much power to a miserable, lamentable past? Why would I not take every chance to avoid the future that she presented, a future that was sure to be my fate if I didn’t make a change now?

  I stood up suddenly and looked at the clock on the wall. It was just past seven in the morning. That meant afternoon in London. Audrey probably already told Jana she didn’t want the job, but if I got to her in time, she could change her mind. I had to change her mind.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellen asked.

  I pulled out my phone from my pocket and tried to turn it on before remembering it was dead. I kicked myself for not asking around earlier for a charger. “I need to make a call. Can I borrow your mobile?”

  “Sure.” She stood up and crossed to the small table where her mobile was charging. After tapping in the password, she handed it over. “Zero, seven, two, nine is the code if it locks up again.”

  The numbers were familiar. “Our anniversary?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “It’s memorable, that’s all.”

  For the second time since I’d arrived, I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tight. So much had passed between us, so much good and so much bad, and I didn’t regret any of it. I didn’t even regret having loved her as deeply as I had. As I still did.

  But it was finally time to move on. It was time to let go of her and Amanda and all the hurts of the past that I’d held so tightly for so long. It was time to stop living so bloody scared.

  I kissed her head before I pulled away. “I’m still here with you, don’t doubt that for a second,” I reassured her. “I’m just going to be out in the waiting room, making this call.”