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The doctor continues giving us information. “He will be on life support until you decide what you want to do. We are taking him to a room now, a nurse will show you there when you are ready. I am so sorry to give you this news."
"Thank you, Doctor." Nathan stands and shakes his hand, but it must be just muscle memory, he looks like a ghost standing next to me.
"Nathan..." I gasp, grabbing his hand. "Is this really happening?"
He just shakes his head, his eyes looking right through me.
"Oh, my god. What are we going to do?"
"I don’t know, Kiara. I just... I don’t know."
A shiver feels like it's about to pass me but it lodges in my heart instead.
The last words I said to him play over and over in my head, the look on his face, the way he'd clutched his head.
"Oh, my god." Every single part of my body feels like it's suffocating. "Oh, god, Dad!" I shout. "No! Don’t leave me!”
"Kiara." I hear someone say. And then someone screams again. I think. I don't know. Maybe it's me. It's definitely me. My throat feels raw as my chest tries to force air into my lungs.
"Nooooooooooooo!" I scream again. This time it feels like I'm inside the scream. Every decibel swirling around me in an audible drawing of my loss.
Tears cake my eyes, painting everything in a watery, dreamlike landscape.
Maybe it is a dream.
Maybe this is all a dream.
"Kiara," Nathan says. and he reaches out to touch me. His hand on my shoulder. It feels like he’s pressing a banding iron into my skin.
"Dad!" I yell, pushing him away, as I run out of the room, calling for Dad. "Dad!! Where are you?" Maybe if I call him, he’ll come back. Maybe he just needs a reason to come back.
"Miss."
I spin around; through my tears, I can see face, kind, sad. "Come with me, he's over here."
She takes me by the hand and leads me into a private room.
He's lying there, sleeping, oxygen mask covering his face, arms by his side.
"Dad?" I say picking at his sleeve, as if he'll lift up his arms and say "boo!" But he doesn’t move. "Dad? It's me. Your little Kirabella. Your little rainbow. Your bossy britches." The nicknames he gave me choking me as I realize I'm never going to hear him call me those names again. Although I used to hate each and every one. "It's me, your little strawbaby. Remember how you called me that after you took me strawberry picking in London and I kept calling everyone a ‘strawbaby’ for the longest time?"
I slide my hand into his. It's warm. He can't be gone. His hand is still warm. "Daddy? Are you just sleeping? Do you need me to let you keep sleeping?" I run a finger along his face. He didn't shave this morning. Why didn't he shave?
It's because he woke up to the news that you've been lying to him.
I shake my head. That’s not why. He was sick. He was sick, that’s all. Not because I lied to him.
But somehow that thought makes it worse.
"Why didn’t you tell me were sick, Dad? We could've spent so much more time with you. So much more time. We could’ve done all the things we talked about. We could’ve made more batches of the worst wine I've ever tasted. And I would have something to remind me of you when you left. Why didn't you tell us? Why did you suffer alone? We could've helped you. I... I could’ve had a chance to make you proud of me. You robbed me!! You robbed me of a chance to tell you all the things I wanted to tell you! You robbed me of the chance to ask you why... ask you if you knew."
"You knew what?" Nathan says.
I hadn't seen him come into the room. "None of your business. Go away. I'm talking to Dad."
"I want to talk to him, too."
"Go away! Please! Just please, leave me alone with him for a few more minutes.
