AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Thirty-seven
Abel
––––––––
“Hey.” I look up fromthe notepad in my lap at the sound of Finley’s voice.
“Hey.” I smile, glad to see she’s awake. She’s been sleeping for hours, like she does most days.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her gaze going to the notebook.
“Oh nothing, just playing with a song I’ve been working on.”
“Is it any good?” Her eyes close for a long moment before reopening slowly.
Finley’s health has declined rapidly over the last couple of weeks. Most days she’s too weak to get out of bed, and when she does she can no longer walk on her own. Her legs aren’t strong enough to support her weight, even though she’s withered down to almost nothing. It’s hard to think that just a few weeks ago we were on the beach, laughing and smiling. It feels like a lifetime ago and yet like it was yesterday at the same time.
“Define good,” I say, leaning forward to touch her face. “How are you feeling?” I ask, feeling to make sure she doesn’t have a fever.
We brought hospice in three days ago at the advice of her doctor. He said it was time, and while neither Claire nor I wanted to admit it, we both knew he was right.
She’s been less and less herself as the days have gone on. Some days she seems entirely herself, sick, but still herself. Other days it’s like she can’t tell the difference between dream and reality.
That became apparent when I walked into her room the other day to find her having a conversation with someone named Joan. I tried to intervene but it was like she couldn’t see me. She just kept talking to this person that wasn’t here.
We knew from the doctor that episodes like this are very common in brain cancer patients and to not be surprised if it gets more frequent or worse at times. Though up to this point that’s as bad as it’s been.
“I’m okay.” She gives me a weak attempt at a smile. “Can I hear it?”
“Hear what?” I ask, not following.
“The song.”
“Oh.” I chuckle. “It’s not ready yet.”
“I don’t mind.” She tucks a hand under her cheek as she gets more comfortable on her side.
“You might once you hear it.” I give her a knowing look.
“You couldn’t sound bad if you tried.” Her voice is frail and breaks on the end, sending another crack through my already splintered heart.
“You sure I can’t get you something first? Something to drink maybe?”
“I just want you to play for me.”
“Okay,” I cave, reaching for the acoustic guitar that’s propped against the nightstand next to me. I brought it over a few days ago after Finley had asked me to play for her. It seems to be the one thing that settles her when she’s in a lot of pain or feeling restless.
It helps to have something that makes me feel less powerless, like I’m helping her in some small way.
Propping the notebook on the stand, I make sure it’s angled so that I can see the words, before settling the guitar in my lap. While I know most of the song off the top of my head, I’ve spent a lot of the afternoon switching up the lyrics.
I strum a few chords, making sure the guitar is in tune.
“What’s it called?” she asks when I pause to fiddle with one of the strings.
“A Place Without You,” I tell her, emotion clogging my throat when I see the understanding expression cross over her pale face.
I’ve been trying like hell to hold it together for Finley’s sake, but that task has become almost impossible. Every time I look at her I want to hit my knees and sob like a child. I want to throw my hands up and beg God to make her better.
