“Welcome home.”
I laugh. “Thank you. It’s a little weird that you’re welcoming me to my home in Colorado while you’re at home in California.”
“I know. It wasn’t what I wanted. I’m coming out next week. Just for a few days, because I need to see my girl. How was Coachella?”
“You really don’t know? Dad didn’t call you?”
“Fine.” She sighs. “He may have mentioned a certain boy crush.”
“Bodhi is not a boy crush. He’s every love song I’ve ever heard. He’s all the colors of the rainbow. He’s—”
“Temporary.”
I squirt blue paint onto my palette. “Yes. I get it. I really, finally get it. Everything is temporary. We are nothing but now. Everyone and everything changes. And maybe Bodhi dies tomorrow. Maybe I go on and love again. But I don’t think feelings are temporary. Even when we’re no longer in love, or angry, or deliriously happy, we remember what that felt like. This feeling I have for Bodhi will linger inside of my soul long after we are no longer us. I will never forget what loving him feels like.”
“Wow. You’re not the same girl who got on the plane over two years ago.”
“Nope. It’s still me with a bit more clarity.” I cock my head at my canvas before adding more colors to my palette. “The thing is … Bodhi’s family is a complicated situation. You know I told you about his dad having cancer? Well, he’s also been suicidal.”
“Henna …”
“I’m fine. Really. I was in a bad place then. I’m not in that place anymore. Not even close. But because I was there, I understand Bodhi’s dad. He’s miserable, but not like I was miserable and frustrated that my pain wasn’t getting better fast enough. He’s miserable because his pain is getting worse; the cancer is spreading. I think he just wants …” I draw in a shaky breath.
I remember wanting it. The look he has in his eyes … I saw that reflection in my own mirror after the accident.
“To be done.” My mom knows too, but I don’t know if she can really understand it from Barrett’s point of view. I think she might only be able to see it from Bodhi’s point of view.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a reason they say fighting cancer. Or rehab is the hardest work you’ll ever do in your life.”
Just as I thought.
“I know.”
“His dad is what … maybe ten years older than I am? Isn’t he close to Zach’s age? I can’t imagine Zach having cancer and just letting him give up on life. We get one chance at life. You don’t go down voluntarily.”
Spoken like someone who has never had chronic pain. My mom gets weekly massages. Chiropractic adjustments. Acupuncture. And has a personal trainer. I love her, but she really has no clue.
“Well, I’m not him. I won’t judge him. Everyone has to make their own decisions.”
Juni hums like she’s pondering my statement. “I suppose. Though, if you really love Bodhi, you’ll try to help his dad in any way possible. Do they need money for treatment?”
“I don’t think it’s the money as much as it’s his dad not wanting anymore chemo, and Bodhi and his sister don’t agree with his decision.”
“Well, maybe you could be an outside influence. Sometimes we value stranger’s opinions more than those of our family.”
“Maybe.” I twist my lips at the painting. I find my brushstrokes turning into a picture of Barrett, but he’s not in a wheelchair. Maybe it’s a premonition, or maybe it’s him in an afterlife.
*
After I get off the phone with my mom, I wash out my brushes and walk to Bodhi’s house. He shouldn’t be home for another hour.
“He’s asleep.” Etta greets me with a warm smile.
“Mind if I sit and wait for Bodhi?”
She shrugs. “Help yourself. Henna? Right?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I head home to make dinner early if you’re going to be here?”
“Yeah. Sure. That’s totally fine.” I slip off my sweatshirt and retie my hair into a ponytail.
“Barrett talks about you.” Etta slips on her shoes and jacket. “He told me this morning that you are here to save Bodhi.”
“Oh?”
She nods.
“Save him how?” My eyes narrow a fraction.
“I’m not sure. But he hasn’t napped this soundly in months. Something has given him a sense of peace. It’s you.” She shrugs.
I nod once but not really understanding at all.
“Thank you. Goodnight, Henna.”
“Goodnight.”
After the door closes, I curl up on the sofa with a Denver Bronco’s fleece blanket and watch Barrett sleep in his brown leather recliner. I gave him cookies yesterday. Maybe he ate the rest of them today, and that’s why he’s sleeping so soundly. The longer I watch him, the more I question if he’s sleeping. Doubt creeps into my head.
Am I just staring at a dead man? Does Etta check his pulse?
With that unsettling thought, I toss the covers aside and jump off the sofa.
“Please don’t be dead.” I check his wrist. I don’t feel anything. But I’m not sure where I should feel something, so I press two fingers to his neck, moving them up, down, and side to side. Nothing? “Oh my God …” I step back with one hand over my mouth and my other hand over my chest. “When did you die?” I whisper.
One of his eyes pops open, followed by the other.
“Oh my God! You’re not dead.” I drop to my knees and rest my forehead on the arm of his chair, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.
“Not today, young lady. But Christ … I hope the mortician does a better job of checking my pulse than you did. I don’t relish the idea of being burned or buried alive.” Barrett rests his hand on my head and gives it a few gentle pats.
After my heart finds a normal rhythm again, I lift my head.
“I’m not going to live forever.” He squeezes my hand back.
“No one lives forever. It’s just not your time.”
“True.” His lips pull into a tiny grin. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Friday? No. You can’t die on a Friday. No one who knew you will ever be able to say TGIF again.”
“Saturday?” He scratches his chin.
I give him a “really” look. “The weekend? You can’t be serious.”
“So Sunday is out. Monday seems to be a crappy day. Nobody likes Mondays anyway. I should die on Monday.”
“A Monday. Not Monday as in this Monday. You’re not ready to die.”
“Oh?” He chuckles, but it fades quickly as he presses his hand to his side and grimaces. “And why the hell not?” he asks in a strained voice.
Because my mom has guilted me into keeping you alive.
“On a scale of one to ten, where is your pain level?”
“One hundred.” He sighs as if the pain has let up.
“Barrett …”
“Eight. But who the fuck wants to be alive to experience a ten?”
I stand, taking two steps back to the sofa where I sit and wrap up in the blanket again.
“When you’re not high, where’s your pain level?” Barrett asks.
I shrug. “Depends on the day.”
“On your worst day.”
I haven’t had a worst day in a long time. I’ve learned to manage my pain through various means. “Five.”
“Five I could live with.”
“Then we need to figure out how to get you to a five and keep you there.”
“Henna …” He shakes his head. “A six is a rare good day. An eight is my bad day. Seven is my average. If you had to live every day with an average of seven, what would you do?”
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I shrug and give him three words that may not seem like an answer to his question, but they acknowledge what he’s getting at and why I can’t go there with him. “I love Bodhi.”
He nods several times with a content smile. “You’re his savior.”
“I’m no one’s savior, but I love him. And I want a life with him. Babies … Barrett I want to give you grandbabies someday. If you’re dead, how are you supposed to enjoy them?”
“Grandbabies?” He coughs a laugh. “Did that boy propose to you?”
I frown. “No.”
“Good. I don’t want you planning a wedding with me in the way. I don’t want to be something to fit into your future with Bodhi. My days of being a burden are numbered. That boy of mine would go to his own grave without ever having anything that truly meant something. You …” He points at me. “You mean something, and he sure as hell knows it. But I’m in the way. I want to get out of the way, and I want you to help me do it.”
“Ha!” I huff, shooting off the sofa and pacing the room with my fingers laced behind my neck. “If by in the way you’re suggesting that the chair you’re sitting in is Bodhi’s chair, then I’ll help you to your wheelchair or to bed. I’ll make you dinner. Bake you cookies. Share a joint with you. But if you’re suggesting—”