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The doctor motioned for the nurse to prep Palmer. Kent stayed by her head and talked to her through the setup and then the procedure. “Look at you, so strong and brave,” he told her, even though he could barely keep it together. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Palmer never took her eyes off Kent, and when the procedure was over, he sighed heavily.
“We’ll have the results in a few days,” the doctor said as they exited the room. Once the door closed, Kent helped Palmer dress. She stood and instantly collapsed to the ground. He caught her before her head hit the floor.
“Head.” Palmer could barely say the word before vomiting bile all over the floor. Kent reached for the nurses’ button and pressed it. He helped Palmer onto the bed and fought the urge to cry. In a matter of hours, she had gone from doing okay to this, and he wasn’t ready. She had just become his wife—they were supposed to have more time.
The nurse came in, saw the mess, and told Kent she’d send someone in to clean it up. She moved Kent out of the way and checked Palmer’s vitals. Her pulse was low, and she suggested that Palmer stay in bed. Kent said nothing until she left. He scooped his wife up and carried her out of the clinic. As far as he was concerned, she wasn’t a patient.
After he’d secured her in the car, he sat outside and called Dr. Hughes and explained where they were and why, and how he thought Palmer was entering her last stage of life. When she asked what the plan was, he told her he didn’t know, but he would keep her informed. Kent and Palmer hadn’t talked about the period before she died, only after. He knew what she wanted to do with her body, but what about the moments beforehand?
When he got into the Jeep, he was surprised to find her staring at him. “Hey.” He caressed her cheek and noticed how dry her lips were. She needed water or ginger ale. Kent reached into the back and grabbed a bottle of water. He held it while she sipped. She wasn’t drinking nearly enough to maintain any sort of hydration, and it showed.
“Are you hungry?” He knew the answer before he even asked.
She shook her head.
“How about some soup?”
“Okay.”
Kent searched the mapping system for a restaurant. It took him a couple of tries until he found one with chicken noodle soup. He placed a to-go order and headed there to get it. They ate in the car, mostly because Kent didn’t want people staring at Palmer. She didn’t look well, and she would be embarrassed.
Palmer surprised Kent by eating most of her soup and asking where they were going. Kent refused to look a gift horse in the mouth and took full advantage of the moment.
“The Grand Canyon,” he told her.
“Right, I remember.” She looked out the window and sighed. “Do you think I helped Courtney?”
“I hope so. We’ll know soon.” Kent wanted the call from the Mayo Clinic to come now, while Palmer had some lucidity left.
“That would be nice.”
Kent discarded their garbage and then set their GPS to head north, back to where they’d come from. As soon as they got on the road, Palmer reclined and went to sleep. He’d expected as much and hoped the food she consumed would give her some energy. Kent turned on the playlist he’d made for Palmer and let Lana Del Rey sing to her while she slept. It was the least he could do, and honestly, over the past few weeks he had become quite fond of the singer. She delivered her lyrics with grit and passion, qualities he saw in his wife.
Halfway to their next, and what Kent suspected to be their final, destination, he heard a loud pop, swerved, and signaled to pull over. He got out of the Jeep and went around to the side to inspect the blown tire. He kicked it, muttered a long string of obscenities that he was sure would make Palmer blush, and went back to the car to search through the glove box for their rental records. He made so much noise that he expected Palmer to wake up, but she continued to sleep.
Kent didn’t know whether to cry or scream at that point. This woman in the passenger seat had slowly worked her way into his heart, had become his wife, and was now dying before his eyes. Even worse, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He couldn’t pump her full of IVs or perform some lifesaving surgery on the side of the road. None of his combat training would save her. Kent was going to lose her, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
