Page 54 of Hell Bent
I said, “Look. I get that you don’t understand any of this. How your mom can want you to leave. How she maybe …” I glanced at Alix. “Doesn’t want you to see her like that. Doesn’t want you to have to do things for her that you shouldn’t have to do.”
“I’d do things for her!” Ben practically shouted it. “How is it fair not to let me?” There might be some tears in his eyes now, but at least the emotion was out in the open.
Alix said, “You know what happens at the end of somebody’s life?”
“Yes,”Ben said. “Because I already saw.”
“No,” Alix said. “I don’t think you did. They stop being able to get out of bed by themselves, and then they stop beingable to get out of bed at all. You have to help them to the bathroom and hold them while they go, because they’re too weak to hold themselves up. You have to help them wipe. And later on, once they can’t even get to the toilet, you have to change their adult diapers and wash them. You have to put the morphine under their tongue, and you have to hear the horrible rattle in their throat that means they’re on their way out, knowing this is the end. You have to comfort them when they’re past being comforted, when they’re moaning and thrashing and you don’t know if they hurt, if they’re scared, how to make it better. You have to watch them breathe their last breath, and know they’ve left you. That they’re gone forever. That’s a hard, hard moment.”
Ben gaped at her, and she said, “It’s an act of love, but it’s mighty hard to do. Hard to accept, too, from your child. A spot you don’t want to put him in.”
Ben swallowed, but said, “I’d do it.”
Now, she had one hand on his. And the other hand in mine. Equal opportunity comfort. “I believe you would,” she said. “But I can see why she doesn’t want you to. Or to have you around once the cancer’s really working on her brain. That may be what scares her most of all. Losing control. Losing her self, the person she’s been. Losing any ability to help you through this.”
“How do you know?” Ben asked.
She smiled, but it was sad. “I told you that my grandfather died. The last year was rough. He had some dementia. In his case, he was still sweet, but so confused. He didn’t know where he was, and at the end, he didn’t know who we were, either. My grandmother had been with him for seventy-five years. Can you imagine that? Seventy-five years with one person?”
“No,” Ben said, which was honest.
“Neither can I,” she said. “They were both independentpeople. Private. I don’t know how much they shared, and how much their separate selves were … separate, but I saw my grandmother’s face when he’d look at her without recognizing her. When she’d hold his hand and he’d shove it away. When he tried to get out of bed and fell, and she had to come get me to help him up again. When she couldn’t comfort him anymore. It just about killed her. After all those years of loving him, of being there for him, that still almost killed her. I found her weeding his garden and crying one day, when the hospice nurse was there. When she didn’t have to be strong anymore and could afford to fall apart. Just … weeding and crying. Helpless, but when the nurse left, she went back in again. She sucked it up because he needed her, but it was so hard.”
She paused, but Ben didn’t say anything, was still just staring at her, looking defiant, so she went on. “I don’t think your mother can stand thinking you’ll see her like that, that you’d be trying to care for her when she’s in that state. She wants to protect you, and this is the only way she can still do it. I know you don’t agree. I know it hurts. But let her protect you anyway. Be there for her now, when it’s hardest. Be there in the way she can stand. Video call her. Tell her you’re all right. Tell her you’re keeping up with school so she doesn’t worry, for as long as she’s able to comprehend that. Let her see your face. Even when you’re not sure she recognizes it, let her see your face. Let her hear your voice. Let her die knowing you’re safe.” Her grip on his hand tightened, and he was staring at her, appalled, as she said, “If you love her, open your hands and let her go. Let her find her wings. You’ll never do anything harder, and you’ll never do anything that matters more. If you love her, please. Let her go.”
22
STORMING LIKE MAD
Alix
How was it that, after weeks spent telling myself that I didn’t want to sleep with Sebastian, that I needed to be alone now to figure out my life, all I wanted to do now, when I couldn’t, was sleep with Sebastian?
My fickle mind, probably. Or that scene at dinner. He cared, that was what got me in the heart. He thought he wasn’t a loyal person, I had a feeling, because he’d had to leave too many times, but what I saw was loyalty all the way. Loyalty, and kindness. And, of course, thighs.
You know the problem with condos, though? There’s one place to hang out in them, the living room. If a teenager is sprawled on the couch watching a movie in that one place—a movie with plenty of explosions and car chases—you don’t have much chance to see how it would feel if that controlled, disciplined man lost some control and started putting his hands all over you.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want Ben to watch his movie. He’d called his mom when we’d got back, and that was more than something. Now, he clearly needed to escape. I stayed forabout half an hour of that, then got up and said, “I’d better get home.”
Sebastian stood up fast and said, “I’ll walk you out.” Which wasn’t what I most wanted to hear, but there you go. New Year’s Eve, and I’d had a date. A date that was ending at nine o’clock.
He didn’t say goodbye at the door, though. Well, he did, butoutsidethe condo door, not inside it. Where he ran his hand through his hair, looked harassed, and said, “This isn’t going to work.”
It was a gut punch. I actually took a step back. “OK,” I said, because I couldn’t think what else to say. “I get that. I’ll just—I’ll go.”
Confusion in the wolf-eyes now. “What?”
“I agree,” I said, pulling my dignity around me as best I could. “You have a lot on your plate. And it’s not like you’ve promised me anything.” I turned to leave, because this was a conversation I did not want to drag out.
A hand around my upper arm stopped me. “Alix. Wait. What do you think I’m saying? That I don’t want to see you? When have I made you think that?”
“Oh,” I said, and tried not to let it matter too much. “Then what?—”
“I meant with Ben. And you. How am I supposed to see you and still be there for him?”
“We could take a break,” I said. Again, not something I especially wanted to say. “Let you get him settled.”
“Hell with that,” he said. “I’m not taking a break.”
