Page 51 of The Art of Loving Ellie
Turning to leave, I get on the elevator and I’m face to face with myself in a giant mirror that takes up the back wall. I’ve become pale, and my face lacks its normal healthy glow. My eyes are bloodshot from hot, salty tears, and I stare at my helpless reflection wondering to myself why I ever thought seeing him again was a good idea.
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Days bleed into one another seamlessly until a week has already passed. I will be surprised if he can hang on for even a few more days. The doctors weren’t able to completely rid his lungs of pneumonia, but they were able to lessen the fluid residing in his chest cavity to less than fifty percent.
Every day that passes he becomes weaker and weaker, and most days, he doesn’t speak to me at all. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, it’s just that he physically can’t handle the amount of stress that talking puts on his body.
I went to the hospital to see him earlier today, just like I do every day since I’ve been here, and I was lucky that we were able to hold a conversation for a little while. I brought one of Aunt Jane’s books up to read to him. It’s a romance, but he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, the lovey-dovey scenes between the couple tended to make him laugh a little.
“What are you laughing at?” I ask him, pretending to be insulted that he would dare be amused by this couple’s love story.
“Don’t you think proposing in front of the Eiffel Tower is a little corny?” He shakes his head, bringing his hand up to his mouth to cover his cough, and the rattling sound of his lungs makes my own chest ache.
I laugh at his forwardness. “Well, of course it's corny! But that’s the whole point. You’re supposed to submerge yourself in a story that is unrealistic so that you don’t have to face the sad reality that a relationship like this isn’t truly attainable.” I’m joking with him, but my words make him sad, and his smile begins to fade away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him, concerned that I may have said something I shouldn’t have. Navigating our new relationship has been equally awkward as it has been rewarding.
He takes a moment to think to himself before responding, “You like this boy that you told me you’ve been seeing, right?” I nod my head. “Then tell me. Why would you feel like the two of you couldn’t have the same love that this couple has?”
I’m taken aback by his question for a moment. Do I tell him the truth behind my fears? “Well, to be honest…I am terrified to end up like you and Mom.”
I keep my eyes trained on the ground for fear that he may get upset with me. He extends his withered hand over the side of his hospital bed and I place mine in his. “Some people are in our lives for just a season, and others get the opportunity to stay with us forever. But it’s your choice, Ellie girl, to decide who stays to weather the storms.”
I stand to grab some water for him, and he shoos me away, bothered by all of my fussing. “Promise me that if happiness finds you, and you’re lucky enough to find love, you won’t let it go.”
I roll my eyes teasing him, “Well, well. Look who's being corny now?”
“I’m serious, Ellie. Promise me.” He looks so desperate, lying there, wasting his energy preaching to me about a love he has never known. I want so badly to tell him what he wants to hear, so I slowly nod my head and do just that. “I promise.”
I stand in the stables now with Rusty glued to my side, relaxing and grooming Verna. It’s dark out, and the crickets are singing me a sad song which darkens my mood. The mare whinnies uneasily, and I glance around the stable trying to find the source of her anxiety. Rusty perks his ears up, but when I step out of the stall I don’t find anything suspicious.
Walking my way back to Verna, I continue to brush her thick brown and white fur. “That’s a good girl, Vern. Nice and easy.” I drop my voice low and whisper to her soothingly. She allows me to lean over the round side of her belly and place the side of my face against her warm body. I breathe in deep trying to match my breaths to hers as the crickets switch their tune to a sweet lullaby.
The sun has long since sunk beyond the horizon and the temperature drops significantly, making me shiver. “Alright girl, time for me to turn in.” Suddenly, she starts lifting her head up and down repeatedly, almost knocking me over.
“Whoa, whoa. What’s wrong?” I gently grab her nose and pat the side of her cheek, but I’m startled when Aunt Jane bursts through the doors to the stable. Rusty barks loudly at the sudden entry.
“Ellie.” Her chest heaves, trying to get air to her lungs, and her eyes are wide with fear. I know by the look on her face that this is the moment I have feared ever since I landed in Texas one week ago.
We quickly lock Verna up next to Eddie’s stall, and race to the car where Richard is waiting for us. I climb inside, so overcome with shock that I barely register how strange it is that I can’t feel the heat coming from the vents against my skin. Come to think of it, I feel absolutely nothing as we zip through traffic and merge across lanes on the highway, rushing to the hospital.
When we reach the sliding glass doors opening up to the main lobby, I feel as though I’m going to come out of my skin. The unwelcome scent of the heavy cleaner I’ve smelled over and over with each day that I’ve visited begins to make me nauseous. Aunt Jane tries her best to keep her cool with the receptionist, but I see her restraint slipping with each passing word.
“Ma’am, please calm down,” the woman says, lacking empathy, and I grit my teeth, wanting to march over there and handle things myself. Lucky for me, Aunt Jane is pretty good at standing her ground.
I’ve never seen this side of her as she slams her hand down on the counter, and points at the young brunette. “I want to know what thefuckis going on in that room, and I want to know now. That man is the only family we have left, and I will not be kept in the dark!” She’s clenching her jaw and the anger simmering in her gaze is so unlike her.
Richard steps up, gently placing his hands over her shoulders, and I expect her to recoil, but she surprises me by visibly relaxing into his touch. He doesn’t attempt to take the situation over, but instead offers her the support of his presence.
“Please, can you just speak to someone who can help us?” She’s brought her voice down, pleading with the woman for any answers we can get.
“Give me one moment,” she says with a bite to each word, but she picks up the phone on her desk and presses several numbers. After a pause, she tells whoever is on the other end of the line that we are waiting downstairs.
Aunt Jane’s eyes are filled with tears as she hooks her arm through mine for comfort. I glance around the lobby we are standing in, and I see so many families huddled together. Some of them are excited about a new baby, and some of them nervously bounce their knees as they wait for results for loved ones. There are several families just like us, who sit with tear-filled eyes and hope for the relief that only a doctor’s words can bring.
The sound of the receptionist hanging up the phone brings my attention back toward the desk, and she asks us to take the elevator to the third floor. At that point, a nurse is to meet us and take us to a private holding room.
When we exit the elevator, my skin begins to itch with anxiousness, and we turn to see a young woman in purple scrubs waiting for us.
