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Kent chose to scream. He chose to let it all out on the side of the road, with traffic whizzing past him. He let out the deepest, most gut-pulling scream he could muster, and then he flipped the sky off. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you,” he said in a low, guttural voice. Kent was angry, mostly at himself for opening his heart in a way he’d never recover from. He was in love with Palmer. He had fallen in love knowing he shouldn’t, knowing her outcome. Her prognosis wasn’t going to change because he loved her, and yet he’d allowed himself to feel, when he knew the damage it was going to do to him.
Kent sat against the Jersey barrier meant to keep traffic from driving down the ravine. He called for AAA to come change his tire for him. He could do it, but he needed time alone with his thoughts, and what a better place to think than the side of a busy highway.
By the time the wrecker arrived to swap his tire, Kent had sweated through his clothes and his body was screaming in agony from sitting on the ground. He swore that businesses took full advantage of the “We’ll be there within forty-five minutes” promise and showed up right on the forty-five-minute mark. God forbid they show up early.
Kent was thankful that the spare tire for the Jeep was a full-size tire. They wouldn’t have to go to a tire store to wait for a new one before getting back on the road. As soon as he got into the car, he made the decision to turn around and head back toward Phoenix. The Grand Canyon would have to wait for another lifetime. It wasn’t happening today, and something deep inside told him it wasn’t happening tomorrow either. Not once, during the entire stop, not even when he’d fought the universe and lost, had Palmer woken up.
He found a hotel and pulled into the parking lot. Everything was automatic and played on repeat in his mind. “Hi, we don’t have a reservation”—it was the same tired conversation he’d had at every stop. The clerk gave him his room keys and went through the usual spiel about breakfast, the pool, and checkout, and Kent was on his way. But this time, he drove around to the rear entrance. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind they had cameras, but he hoped no one was watching when he brought his sleeping wife in through the back door.
Kent spoke to her the entire time he moved her from the front seat to her wheelchair. He asked her to please show him her pretty eyes so he could see them. He needed to see them one last time. Was this it for them? Was she going to die in some random hotel?
Palmer startled awake and looked around wildly as Kent pushed her down the hall. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “We just stopped for the night.”
“Where are we?”
“Still in Phoenix.”
She looked at him from over her shoulder, and he groaned. “Long story, but while you slept, we got a flat tire. I decided to turn around.” He opened the hotel room door, and they went into the room.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I missed it.”
He wasn’t. He needed the moments alone so he could have his meltdown. Kent didn’t want her to witness him going through that. He didn’t want to tell her he thought her time was near. Kent wasn’t ready to say goodbye, even though he could hear death knocking on the door.
The hotel had a garden tub, and Kent asked his wife if she wanted to take a bath with him. He was elated when she said yes, and he drew the water, trying not to think that this could be the last time.
Kent helped Palmer undress. He desperately wanted to kiss her, to touch her, but he held back. She tried to help him, and when she finally got his shirt off, she kissed his chest and whispered that she loved him.
They got into the tub, and Kent held her against his chest. He never wanted to let go. He brought up their wedding and how it had been the second-happiest day of his life, with meeting her being his first. She concurred and started telling him about their night together, only to stop talking. Kent sensed what would happen next. The only thing he could do was hold her head up, to keep her from drowning while her body convulsed in the water, and cry.
FORTY-ONE
In the early hours of the morning, Kent watched Palmer as she slowly woke up. She reached for him, with tears in her eyes, and said, “I’m ready to go home.”
Kent nodded and asked, “What do you want to wear?” To some, it would seem like a normal question, but to him, he’d asked his wife what she wanted to wear when she took her last breath. And while it may not have been an important question to many, it was to him.
