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I’ve never felt like this. Not when my mom was diagnosed. Not when we thought Everly might have relapsed. Not when my ex cheated on me. Nothing can compare to the bone-deep fear of losing Milo or him losing his mobility. I can’t stand it. We’re supposed to be resting, but that’s not going to happen.
I sit up in bed, listening to Austin’s deep voice as he talks to Everly and his parents. They offered to take her on an outing so we can get some sleep, but we want her with us.
Austin comes into the bedroom with her in his arms.
“Rie,” she says.
“Come see me, Pooh.”
Austin puts her on the bed, and she crawls into my arms, as much my child now as his. I love her so, so much, and the sweet scent of her clean hair comforts me.
“I sorry about your brudder,” she says in a tiny voice.
“Thank you, love.”
“Is he okay?”
“We hope he will be, but we don’t know yet.”
We told her only that Uncle Milo got hurt. We didn’t tell her how bad it is, although she must be able to tell from the way everyone is behaving.
Austin stretches out on the bed, turns on his side and puts an arm around us.
Rarely will Everly stay still and silent for long, but she seems to sense that’s what I need right now. Wrapped up in the two of them, I finally doze for a bit. When I awake sometime later, I’m alone in the bed. I wonder if Austin got any rest at all.
He comes into the room with a tray and closes the door. “Mom made what she calls comfort food. Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
“That sounds good.” The sleep helped, and I’m not as nauseated as I was during the endless night when the thought of eating anything made me want to vomit. I push myself up in bed and gather my hair in a ponytail that I twist into a bun secured by a clip I grab from the bedside table. “Is there any news?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
I reach for my phone, looking for texts from my parents or Jason in a sea of texts from friends and extended family expressing their concern for Milo and the rest of us. There’s nothing from the people I most want to hear from.
Austin puts the tray on my lap.
“Tell your mom thanks for me.”
“I will.”
I take a tentative bite of the sandwich and then another when the first one goes down easy.
“You look a little better,” Austin says.
“I won’t feel better until I know he’s going to be all right. I keep thinking about how he could be a quadriplegic.”
“I can’t let my mind go there. It’s unfathomable.”
“But it’s very possible. A bullet that close to his spine…” I shudder, and my stomach starts to ache like it did all night, during the dreadfully long hours he was in surgery.
“We have to keep praying and never stop hoping for the best,” Austin says. “It’s not the same, but that’s how I got through the days when Ev was sick. I just prayed as much as I possibly could for her to get well and took every day one minute at time, trying not to get too far ahead of myself. That’s how I stayed sane.”
“It’s a good strategy. Thanks for sharing that with me. Do you think we should cancel our plans?”
“Not yet. Let’s wait and see what happens. My brothers are still planning to come, so…” He shrugs. “One minute at a time.”
“Right. Thanks for the reminder.”
“I wish there was more I could do for you and your parents.”
