Page 109 of Bitter Heat

“I’m not hungry.” She looked away from her lifeless reflection with puffy, bloodshot eyes.

“You should eat something.”

She shook her head. “I just want to sleep.”

“All you ate was a salad and French fries hours ago.”

She examined him in the mirror as he wrapped a towel around his waist. “Don’t you have better things to do than watch me eat a salad?”

“It was a long flight.”

After she brushed her teeth, she slipped into bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest and stared out the window at the starry sky. The only source of light was the silver glow from the city and moon.

When the mattress dipped, she stiffened. A massive arm dragged her back against him. Her curves fit into the hard planes of his body. Minutes passed, but neither of them spoke. She found herself subconsciously trying to copy his steady breathing. The moon highlighted clouds as they drifted lazily past.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

He said nothing.

As her mind inevitably circled back to her father, she tried to hide her sniffle. The arm around her waist tightened.

“It’ll pass,” she whispered.

She buried her face in the pillow, closed her eyes, and gave into her heartache.

She clasped her father’s hand in both of hers. She silently begged him to wake up as the doctor coached her on what was about to happen. Her father looked like he was sleeping. He was still warm, he was still here, but they told her it was suspended animation and not really him. Dad didn’t want this half-life, but selfishly, she had held onto him for several days as she grappled with this decision. This felt so wrong.

Her heart raced as the doctor approached the ventilator. She had to stop herself from attacking him. She was lightheaded with panic as the doctor flipped the switch on the machine. Her mind floated out of her body as she tried to distance herself from what was happening. She stared at her father as his breathing paused. She stopped too, but then his chest began to move again, and she almost lost it.

The nurses said something to her, but she didn’t look at them. She couldn’t. Her eyes were locked on her father. When they left her alone, she sank onto the chair beside the bed.

“I’m here, Dad. Can you hear me?” She pressed her cheek against his warm skin. “Can you feel me?”

He collected tears in the palm of his hand as she began to tell him a story. It was a game they had developed. She would begin a story, and he would try to guess the sequence of events. She had to throw in as many misdirects as possible so he couldn’t guess the ending. This time, there were no interruptions, predictions, or critiques at the end, only the sound of his rapid breathing. She finished the story and launched into another, convinced that he could hear her and just maybe, he would shock them all and make a miraculous comeback.

She was in the middle of the third story when she noticed that his skin had changed color, and his lips had a bluish tinge. Her voice faltered. She desperately tried to control her wavering voice so he could hear the end, but she never made it.

“He’s gone.”

She didn’t react other than to rub his cold hand between both of hers.

“Ms. Hennessy, he’s gone.”

She stopped her ministrations and nodded, acknowledging the doctor. He backed off. She should say something meaningful and poignant, but nothing came to mind. More time passed. She didn’t move.

“We have to take him, ma’am,” someone said.

She nodded but didn’t release him.

“You need to let him go,” the nurse said gently.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

The nurse put her hand over theirs. “Honey, is there anyone I can call?”

“No,” she whispered.

She counted to ten, taking deep, shaky breaths as she did so. On the tenth, she released his hand and placed it on the bed. She got to her feet and kissed his forehead before she stepped back with tears slipping down her face.

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