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Sketch has a small cut on his right cheek. It’s deep and nasty, but there’s no blood anywhere else. It doesn’t look so bad.Why isn’t he standing up?
I catch the bottom of my skirt in my fists and tug furiously in opposite directions. I tear away a long strip of cotton and fold it in half to create a makeshift cloth. I dab it against Sketch’s cheek; it soaks up his blood and quickly changes from a beautiful blue to a dark crimson. Sketch’s eyes flutter open.
‘There you are,’ I sob. ‘You scared me for a minute.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He coughs.
‘Only you could apologise at a time like this.’
‘I… I…’ Sketch coughs again and blood hides in the corners between his lips.
I can’t tell where it’s coming from. My heart twists as I realise it’s not the bleeding on the outside of Sketch’s body that I need to worry about.
‘It’s okay. It’s okay,’ I say, not able to get the words out fast enough to reassure him. ‘Don’t talk. We don’t need to talk now.’
I continue to dab his cheek, knowing that soaking up this blood is not helping. There’s nothing else I can do. My hand trembles, and I hate that Sketch can probably sense my fear. I have no business being scared and scaring Sketch in return. I must be strong for him now. The way he is always strong for me. But it’s hard. So damn hard.
‘Don’t cry, Annie,’ Sketch whispers as he struggles to lift his arm to trace the tip of his finger under my eye to catch a single tear. The simple movement seems to zap more energy than he possesses, and his face grows paler still. ‘I told you once I would love you all my life. I lied,’ he says. ‘I won’t just love you as long as I live; I will love you as long as there are stars in the night sky. As long as there is water in the oceans and as long as my memory has a place in your heart.’
‘Stop it now,’ I scold. ‘Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay. Help is coming. You’re going to be just fine. It’s just a little cut. A small one.’
Sketch draws a reluctant breath past his lips, and I hear it rattle inside him as it fights its way past his broken chest to reach his lungs.
‘I love you. I love you so much,’ I whimper. ‘You can’t leave me. You have to stay with me. We’re married now. Together forever, right?’
‘I don’t think I’m getting a choice, Annie.’
‘Oh, Sketch, please,’ I stutter, as my body begins to shiver despite trying so very hard to stay still.
‘If your beautiful eyes are the last thing I gaze into, then I can leave this world with a smile on my face. I want you to know it’s enough for me.’ Sketch coughs roughly, and I glimpse blood smeared across his teeth. Every word strips life from his body. I try so desperately to hide my fear, but I know Sketch sees through my façade as clear as if I were made of glass.
‘Hush, hush,’ I whisper. ‘Don’t talk. Save your energy. You need all your strength now.’
‘Annie…’ Sketch breathes in with determination. ‘You have loved me more in a year than any man could wish for in a lifetime. You made my life, Annie; you made me whole. But I have to leave you now. I’m sorry.’
‘No. No. No. I cry, scooping his limp body into my arms. ‘I can’t lose you. Not again. I won’t cope.’
‘Miss me, Annie. But let me go.’ Sketch tries to reach into his pocket, but his arm is heavy and he struggles.
‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s in your pocket?’
‘The ferry,’ Sketch coughs out.
I slide my hand into his pocket, taking great care not to put any pressure against his leg in case I hurt him. I pull out a pair of tickets.
‘It’s not too late, Annie,’ Sketch pants. ‘You can still make the boat. See France. See the world… live.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t. Not without you.’
‘I’ll be right in here.’ Sketch lifts his weary arm, and I can see the pain written on his face as he presses his palm flat against my chest. ‘You can take me with you every step of the way. If I’m always in your heart, I’m always with you.’
I lower my head until my back is hunched, and I rock back and forth, cradling the man I love close to my chest, willing him to hold on a little while longer. Rain begins to fall. Gently at first but within seconds, puddles form around us on the country road.
‘Look,’ I whisper, tilting my head back so I can stare at the sky. ‘Even heaven sheds tears for us, Sketch.’
‘Sometimes it rains.’ Sketch exhales slowly, and his body suddenly grows a little heavier in my arms. ‘When it does, think of me.’
‘What about when the sky is clear, Sketch? And there are no clouds. Can’t I think of you then?’
