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Mom gave a rattling cough. “You didn't grow up with a father,” she reminded me when her coughing had subsided. “And I think you turned out pretty great.”
“But Mom, that was different,” I protested. “You were you.” It didn't make much sense to say that, I knew. Just like I knew things must have been difficult for her, and scary. But somewhere, I still clung to that childish innocence, that naïveté that insisted that my mom and I were different breeds of people. She had raised me by herself because of course she had raised me by herself. I had always viewed her as much stronger than I could ever be.
Our situations weren't all that different, though. She had to know what I was going through, so why was it so easy for her to refuse treatment, and refuse to be around to help me out? Again, that feeling of betrayal came back. But I couldn't be angry with her now. She had made her peace, that was what she had said. I had to make my own peace and accept that this was the decision that she had made.
It was too late for regrets now, anyway. It was no longer possible to operate on her. I had already asked Dr. Halsey about that. There was nothing more that we could do for her.
“I see more of myself in you every day,” Mom said quietly. “I have faith in you; you're stronger than you realize. I have no doubt that you'll survive this and raise a beautiful daughter to carry on our family's legacy.”
Her eyes closed, and she forced them back open again, smiling one last time at me. This time, when her eyes slid closed, they didn't open again, and it wasn't long after that that her breathing slowed and then stopped.
“Nurse!” I screamed, frantically pressing the call button on the side of the bed even though I knew that there was nothing they could do.
When the door opened, though, it wasn't one of the nurses that hurried in, at least not initially. Instead, it was Eric who
came into the room, pausing for only a moment to take in the everything. I was still clinging to Mom's hand like if I held it tightly enough, she wouldn't be able to leave me.
He gently pried my hand away, pulling me into his arms, and I clung to him as though he were my lifeline. I couldn't spare a moment to wonder what he was doing there or to think about how inappropriate this was, my clutching onto him like this. All I knew was that Mom was gone and that Eric was the only person who could possibly understand the pain that was ripping my heart to shreds at the moment.
Eric scooped me up into his arms and carried me out of the room, down the hallway. Initially, I fought against him, not wanting to be taken away from Mom. Once that happened, I knew it was done and that I was never going to see her again. But Eric held me tightly and maneuvered me carefully, not setting me down until we were in an empty room, the door closed tightly behind us.
He set me down on the bed, still holding me, stroking my hair and holding my hand.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, as though there was no bitterness or anger between us.
“I should have done more,” I couldn't help sobbing. “You told it to me again and again, and I didn't listen. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be here.”
“Or maybe we would still be here,” Eric said quietly. “Cancer is fickle, and it never acts the same, from one patient to the next. We don't know that the surgery would have been effective. We don't know that she would have been responsive to the chemo. For all we know, she lived longer like this than she would have otherwise.”
I sniffled and shook my head. “I feel like I failed her,” I admitted. “I know you probably don't understand that, but I really feel like I should have done more for her.”
Eric sighed tiredly. “I felt that with Emily,” he said softly. “By the time I realized that she had cancer, it was too late to do anything about it. That's part of why I was so insistent that you convince your mother to have the treatments that she needed. I've always felt guilty that I didn't realize something was wrong with Emily while it could still have helped her, while we could have saved her. I honestly just thought her back hurt from picking up Emma so much or something like that, even though I knew Emma didn't weigh that much.”
“I didn't know Emily died of cancer,” I said, shocked enough that I quit crying as I peered up at him. That explained so much about his frustration toward me, about the way that he had tried to distance himself from my mom and me over the past weeks. It didn't explain his reaction to the news of the pregnancy, but it highlighted again how little I knew about him.
Unfortunately, I couldn't dwell on it at the moment. “I can't believe that I'm never going to see her again,” I whispered, starting to cry again.
Eric pulled me into a tight hug, his hand returning to stroke my hair. He didn't have any words to say in response to that one, though. Instead, he just let me cry it out against his shirt until I was utterly exhausted.
“Let me take you home,” he said finally, pulling slightly away. “You need to rest, and maybe you'll feel better when you're out of this place.”
I nodded and let him lead me out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Outside, I took a deep breath of the night's fresh air, but I could still feel the sterile air of the hospital lingering in my lungs. Just like the tumors had lingered in Mom's.
I looked uncertainly toward my car, not sure that I was fit to drive myself home. But Eric steered me over toward his car instead. “I'll arrange to have your car brought back to your place tomorrow,” he promised, and I nodded, trusting him. There was nothing else that I could do.
Chapter Thirty-One
Eric
I kept glancing over at Olivia on the ride home, but she didn't dissolve into tears again. Instead, she stared numbly out the window, her eyes barely registering anything. I knew she was exhausted after that bout of crying, but I couldn't help feeling worried about her, wishing that she would show a little more life.
The first flicker of response that I got from her was when we arrived at her house. She looked surprised when I got out of the car with her. But I definitely wasn't going to leave her alone like this.
Instead, I guided her inside the house, letting her cling to me as we went. I led her upstairs to the bathroom and sat her down on the toilet lid as I started a bath for her, making sure that it was warm but not scalding. Then, I turned toward her, starting to remove her clothing. She moved mechanically, to the point where it was almost like undressing a doll, or a robot, rather than a human being. But at least she didn't stop me.
When the tub was full, I dumped in a bath bomb that was sitting along the back wall, nodding a little as a soft, peachy scent rose in the steamy air. The name of the game that evening was 'soothing.' I only hoped that it would work and that she would be able to relax enough to sleep eventually. I could tell that she needed it; those tears at the hospital had worn her out.
I got her settled in the tub and put some soft classical music on my phone. It wasn't very loud, but I hoped it would work. “I'll be right back,” I told her gently. “You just relax. Cry if you need to. Or give me a holler if you need me.”
