Out of Reach (Love Hurts 2)

Emily smiled. “That’s the beauty of being a columnist. I can do it anywhere.” Her eyes clouded over. “They’ve been really understanding, actually. My boss lost her husband to cancer a few years ago. She’s been really supportive.”

“Good,” I smiled, “because if you needed me to go down and hit some heads, I’d do it.”

She laughed. “God, Seth, you’re such a dork.”

“But seriously, I’m really glad they are so understanding. I guess it helps that she’s been through it too, huh?”

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “It does, actually. She’s been helping me with what to expect in these last few weeks. I think I feel better knowing what’s coming, if that makes sense?”

It did. And I imagined it would be much more comforting coming from someone who had been through it than relying on Google, as I had been doing. The way cancer ravaged the body in those last few days . . . the idea of that being Andy terrified the hell out of me.

“I’m pretty beat. I think I might go to bed too.” I yawned, barely able to keep my eyes open.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for this, Seth.” She kissed me on the cheek, her hands trailing down my arm as she walked away. I watched her go as her touch lingered on me.

Closing my eyes, I sighed. This was going to be hard.

Chapter Six

Emily

Two hundred and forty-eight days: that was the last time we were intimate together. I lay on the bed beside him, watching his chest slowly rise and fall with each shallow breath he took. How awful was I that sex was what was on my mind right now? Thoughts like this flew through my mind on a daily basis, and each and every time I felt like complete shit. It was like I wanted to torture myself by thinking of the things we’d lost that were out of his control. And mine.

I reached out and touched his arm. His skin, clammy and so cold, hung off him. He’d lost so much weight. Even in the last few weeks the difference was noticeable, and it scared me.

Death was something that really put things into perspective, and made all our other problems seem so trivial. I hated that he was dying; I hated that he was leaving me. I hated him for not fighting this harder. And I hated myself for even thinking about how long it had been since we were last intimate—like he had any control over that.

Most of all, I hated that our relationship had shifted. I loved Andy with every fiber of my being, but preparing someone for death does something to you. It was like my mind had gone into major protection mode, determined to shield me from as much pain as possible. Maybe it had something to do with losing my parents so young? I don’t know.

I loved him so, so much, but was I still in love with him? I couldn’t even think of answering that right now.

I can’t be in here.

Creeping out of the bed, I grabbed my robe and threw it over my shoulders, lacing my arms through the sleeves. It was cold—as you’d expect at nearly five in the morning in the middle of spring. I walked out to the kitchen with my notebook and made myself a coffee. This place was huge. The kitchen was bigger than my entire apartment back home, all with the latest appliances.

I took my coffee and notebook outside onto the deck. A large daybed lay in the corner, overlooking the beach. Crawling onto it, I covered myself with blankets, trying to warm myself up.

I stared down at my notebook—my bible, as Andy called it. I’d always loved writing. When Andy got sick, my need to express myself through words became even stronger. There was something about expressing your thoughts through words on a page that was impossible to explain.

This was me nearly every night. I rarely slept, and when I did, it wasn’t well. Things had gotten worse when Andy’s mother insisted he move in with them. Part of me hated having to share him. How fucked up was that? It was only natural a mother would want to help her dying son, and yet I couldn’t help but feel resentment toward her for that. Another part of me felt like a failure, like I couldn’t look after him on my own. I guess that was because to some extent it was true.

Palliative care, as they called it, was harsh. The last few months, his health had deteriorated so much that he needed help with everything. It was hard watching him slowly die. Because that’s what I was doing. Watching. Waiting.

Only it wasn’t so slow anymore.

***

The bright morning sunlight filled my eyes as I blinked them open. I must’ve fallen asleep. My notebook lay open, clutched in my right hand. An extra blanket had been placed over me. Seth. My spine tingled. I loved how much he cared for me. Without him, I would have fallen to pieces long ago.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

I sat up, eagerly accepting the cup of coffee Seth was holding out for me. I smiled shyly. He looked like he’d just woken up. His hair was all messed in a way that made me want to wet my hands and run them through it to style it into place. His blue eyes sparkled as he sat down next to me.

“Got to hand it to the old boy. He sure knows how to go all out.” He gazed away from me, taking in our panoramic view of the sandy, white beach.

I nodded, watching the waves gently crash into the sand. “It’s a private beach?” I asked, realizing it was deserted. It was too beautiful for nobody to be enjoying it, even in this brisk, cool air.