Page 25 of Absolution

So, I kneel beside her and take the shirt from her hands. My fingers brush her cold ones. It’s like all the warmth has been sucked out of her.

“You haven’t cried,” I say.

She blinks fast. “Don’t have time to.”

“Jackie…” I say it gently, but she pulls her hand away.

“I’m fine, Kyle.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay.”

She finally looks at me, eyes red but dry. “If I fall apart, who’s gonna pick it up? The girls need normal. Levi needs his meds on time. There are masks to wash, groceries to wipe down. My mom is alone, my dad is gone, Cory can’t come near us, and we can’t evenbewith her. So no, Kyle. I’m not okay. But I don’t get to not be okay.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

I step in close, both hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not,” she says automatically.

“No. I meanletme carry it with you. You’re not alone,” I whisper. “I know I let you down the last time things got hard, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

Tears gather in her eyes, spilling over in silence. I can see her trying to hold it together, the way she always does. Like breakingwould somehow make her weaker, when really, I’ve never seen someone fight so hard just to stay upright.

“Let me carry you for once, Jackie. Please.”

She finally let’s go. Her shoulders cave in, her whole-body crumpling into mine. I sit down on the floor, pull her into my lap, and hold her as she sobs, not like she’s breaking, but like she’s finally safe enough to fall apart.

Her fists clutch my shirt. Tears soaking through the cotton. And I rock her gently, slowly.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to her hair. “Every step. Every loss. Every breath. I’ve got you.”

We don’t move. Not for a long time. I hold her like it’s the only thing that matters.

Because maybe it is.

Chapter Nine

Jackie ~February 2021

My mom beat COVID.

She actually beat it.

But it left scars. Long ones. On her lungs, her energy, her memory. We thought we had more time. We thought recovery meant something. But after Winter Storm Uri ended, Cory went to check on her house. The power had come back, but she wasn’t answering her phone.

He found her in bed. Peaceful. Still.

Gone.

She had asked me to come visit her. Said she missed the kids.

I told her it was too risky with Levi’s immune system, made up some excuse about fevers going around at preschool, even though schools were closed. She said I could come alone. I said I was too tired.

I wasn’t too tired. I was scared.

Scared of bringing something in. Scared of seeing her without my dad. Scared of adding one more thing to the pile I was barely balancing.

The woman who held me through every heartbreak. The woman who stayed in the hospital the entire time after I delivered my babies. The woman who whispered “You’re doing amazing” even when I didn’t believe her. I didn’t go see her.

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