Evelyn shook her head slowly, eyes narrowed into a palpable concern as she held up the keys and opened the passenger door. “Get in. You’re not fine.”
I didn’t argue. In fact, I didn’t say a single word because as soon as I climbed into the Jeep and fastened my seatbelt, I fell asleep. When we got home, Evelyn nudged my arm. The inside of my eyelids felt like sandpaper rubbing over my eyeballs as I forced them open. She climbed out and carried Anya inside. It took that superhuman strength I so desperately wanted just to drag my own ass inside the house. My parents were asleep on the Murphy bed, so we kept the lights off and made our way to the bedroom, depositing Anya in her bed on our way.
My wife looked the way I felt. We moved through an abbreviated bedtime routine in slow motion.
No showers.
Ten seconds of running toothbrushes over our teeth.
I managed to peel off my shirt and jeans. Evelyn pulled off her leggings and climbed into bed in her panties and a long-sleeved tee. There wasn’t much strength left in my body. It took what little strength I had left to step up after Madeline’s seizure. Still … this woman—who gave me two beautiful children, who was the ultimate game changer in my life, who personified the truest meaning of life—needed my arms. She didn’t have to say it. I felt it.
Amid my superhuman curse, the incurable pain of another human’s physical suffering, and the anguish of explaining it to my wife, I could still feel her, like somewhere along the way she’d woven a piece of her heart—a fragment of her soul—into me. I knew from those two perfect children on the other side of the wall that Evelyn and I were destined to come together in this life and make something beautiful that would let our love live on forever.
As weak and pain-ridden as I felt, nothing could have kept me from reaching for my lifeline and pulling her into my arms. Her body shook as I buried my face in her hair, kissing her neck.
“I…” her voice cracked “…had to…” more silent sobs “…tell myself we’d be okay without you.”
That cut so fucking deep I feared my heart would stop just from the pain of reality. I was supposed to be the rock, the one person she could count on no matter what. I promised to carry her.
Her breathing slowed as the sobs subsided. “Roe … I don’t want to be okay without you.”
“Then don’t. Be okay with me.”
She turned in my arms to face me. After gazing up at me for several silent seconds, she sat up and shrugged off her shirt. I didn’t know how to tell her that I honestly wasn’t sure if I could make love to her. Everything hurt and my level of exhaustion was not like anything I had ever felt. Before I could say anything, she wrapped her body around mine, wearing nothing but a pair of white panties—her bare chest pressed to mine.
“My heart wants to beat with yours,” she whispered in a sleepy voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ronin – Age 27
After six hospitalizations in five years, zero diagnoses, and weekly visits to a psychiatrist—that bore no fruit—my father sat idle with his tongue planted in his teeth while my mom showed me a website.
“Don’t judge the content by the design.” She smiled at me before pinning Dad with a scowl.
I grimaced. “That’s hard not to do. What content? It’s … a black page with a tiny light, like a pinpoint in the middle of the screen, and an email in the upper right corner. No navigation bar. A light? Have I mentioned at least a million times that I didn’t see a light?”
“Athelinda is in California … Berkeley. I think you should go talk to her.” Mom rested her hand on my back.
“Athelinda, huh? Well, I’m in France … Chamonix. I don’t think I need to fly to California just to visit another psychiatrist.” I plopped down into the desk chair.
“Her name means one who guards and is immortal. She’s a parapsychologist.”
My dad coughed, earning himself another scowl from my mom.
Dad was a smart man, which made him cautiously skeptical. He was also a loving husband and father, which made him supportive and loyal. I couldn’t blame him for his skepticism, but god, I loved him for being there.
Mom demanded more, seeing his skepticism as judgment. I never saw it like that. When I focused on his eyes, I saw the pain—his pain for me and my pain, the pain of not understanding it or being able to solve it. He could have voiced his judgment, but he didn’t. My mom advocated for me with a loud voice. Dad supported me with a silent presence.
Sometimes being there was everything.