Pitcher's Baby (22 page)

My mother is sitting in the bed, her legs
dangling over the side. She hears me enter the room, glances over at me, and
looks straight through me with her flat gray, dead eyes. Her mouth is moving,
opening and closing, and with each pass, more vile brown bile leaks past her
lips.

“I'm ready to go, Charlee. Can you let me
go, Charlee?”

I scream, dropping the clipboard to the
floor. The papers fly everywhere on the way down, covering the ground at my
feet. I look down at them to keep from having to look at her and see the bold
print across each one.

WITHDRAWAL OF LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS

I back out of the room then, shaking my
head back and forth.

No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO.

I keep backing away, farther and farther
and farther, and then I bump into something, and someone is shaking my shoulder,
and then I'm sitting straight up in bed.

My bed.

My room.

It was all a dream. A horribly vivid
nightmare, to be more accurate. I cling to whoever woke me, pulling them down,
tearing at the material in my hand.

“Shh . . . Charlee, it’s ok. It was just a
dream, baby. I’ve got you,” Lucas says, lifting me and setting me in his lap.
He sits back on my bed, leaning against the headboard, and rocks me back and
forth while whispering sweet words in my ear. My heart rate finally slows and I
am able to release the death grip I have on his shirt.

“It was horrible, Lucas.” I mumble into
his chest. My words are muffled, but he manages to hear me just fine.

“I know, baby. It's okay. I’ve got you. It
was just a dream. I’ve got you, baby.”

The gentle timber of his voice as it
vibrates through his chest comforts me. I don't know how long I stay there,
wrapped in the safety of his arms, before I finally doze back off. It could
have been hours or twenty minutes, but he never leaves me. He never once
complains about being uncomfortable or tries to push me away. He just holds me
and protects me, offering exactly what I need right when I need it.

This man is a godsend. I honestly don't
know how I would have survived the last few days without him by my side. I am
just selfish enough to keep him there, using him when I need him the most as my
shield. My protector.

I realize suddenly that I haven't made as
much of an improvement as I thought I had. I have just traded one crutch for
another. I used to depend on my monster to shelter me from all the bad things
in the world, all the people who wanted to hurt me. She hid all the emotions I
didn't want to feel away.

Hell, I even managed to hide away memories
from half of my childhood, and now, instead of using her and the dark
depression to hide myself away, I just hide behind Lucas. He is my new crutch, there
for me to hide behind when life gets too hard, to support me when I need him,
but it's not supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to be all one person
giving everything one hundred percent of the time, while the other just sucks
up their energy and love. We are supposed to be in this together, equally
dependent upon each other when we are not strong enough to handle something on
our own. Right now, I'm just a leech, sucking him dry. Using him. I can't let
it continue, but I can't let him go either.

Not yet.

I need him.

And maybe, in some small, miraculous way,
he needs me too. At least, that is what I’m going to tell myself until I gather
the strength to really examine our relationship. For now, I'm just going to
stay right here, wrapped in his arms, sheltered from the world.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Charlee

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

The shrill call of my cell wakes me,
slowly pulling me from the deep recesses of the dream I’m trapped in. Lucas’s
arm tightens around me as I roll to grab the noisy devil from my night stand.

Wait.

Lucas’s arm? Oh shit. Lucas is still in my
bed. Asleep. All of last night's events come rushing back in a raging torrent.
The phone call, Mom . . . awake, yet not. My cell chirps, letting me know I
have a voicemail, and I sigh in relief. I don't think I could actually answer
it right now while reliving the horror from my nightmare last night. I swipe it
off the table by my bed and pull the comforter off the bed, wrapping it tight
around my shoulders.

“Lucas. Wake up.” I shake his shoulders,
jarring him from his peaceful sleep. His eyes peep open, and then a smile
lights his face when he sees me sitting on the bed beside him.

“Mmm. Good morning, beautiful.”

“Lucas.” I laugh when he pulls me down on
top of him, kissing along the side of my neck.
What? It tickles.
I pull
away from him, using his bare shoulders for a brace to raise off his chest. He
lays there gazing at me like he doesn't have a care in the world before sitting
up and slipping from the bed. My jaw drops open at the perfection etched into
this one amazing man. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips, showcasing the
perfect V leading down to one hell of a morning wood. I don't realize I’m
gawking until I hear his loud, rough laugh fill the air. My eyes snap up to his
as a heated blush spreads up my neck and coats my face. I bury my face in my
hands, too embarrassed to look up at him, which only causes him to laugh more.
Luckily, my phone rings again and draws both of our attention away from my
gawking session.

I glance down at it and see it's the
hospital calling. I stored their number last night just in case. Now, instead
of a heated blush on my cheeks, all color drains away. Last night’s dream comes
rushing back to me, and I fight to slide the answer button to the left and put
the phone up to my ear. Lucas notices the change in me right away and sits on
the bed next to me and takes my hand in his. He rubs the inside of my wrist
with his rough thumb as I lift the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Miss Cooper? This is Nurse Jessica, your
mom’s charge nurse.”

“Oh yea. Hey.” I sound dumb to my own
ears, like a two-year-old fumbling with their parent’s cellphone, but what the
hell am I supposed to say?

“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I
have Dr. Neece here. She’s the neurologist who has been taking care of your mom,
and she has asked to speak with you. Do you have a few moments?”

“Yes. Yes, that's fine. Of course.”

“Great. Just one minute, and I'll transfer
you over.” My mind is running in a gazillion different directions wondering
what the neurologist has to say. Maybe my mother is waking up like my dream
predicted, and I'll get that second chance to make things right. I can't sit
still a moment longer. Standing, I pace around the room, marking my path in the
lush carpet with each turn. Someone knocks on the door, and before I can
answer, Aaron peeps his head in. I don't stop walking in circles. I don't
acknowledge him in any way other than to glance up when he sits on my bed next
to Lucas, who is still in his bright orange boxer briefs. Neither of them seems
to notice.

“Miss Cooper?”

“Yes?” I ask hesitantly. I don't want to
hear what she has to say, but I can't run away from this, so I take a deep breath
and wait. It doesn't take long. I nod along to the things I hear her saying on
the other end. A few words stick out to me.

Coma.

Brain dead.

Test.

She asks for my permission to perform it.
A test called Apnea testing. They will remove her from the ventilator and wait
for her body’s oxygen levels to decline to around sixty percent. She says that
if there is any functionality left in the brain, that it will jump in and force
her to take a breath. If it doesn't, then she will be pronounced dead. It takes
around twenty minutes total. I give my permission. What else am I supposed to
do at this point? I can’t keep her locked up on life support machines for the
rest of her life. She is dying regardless. Her kidneys have already shut down.
The rest of the organs are following closely behind them. Keeping her hooked up
to a machine wouldn't be the moral thing to do. Dr. Neece asks if we want to
come say goodbye before the test starts. I tell her we will be there in half an
hour.

Dropping the phone on the bed, I take a
steadying breath before turning to Aaron and Lucas and relaying the news with
focused, numb logic. With every word the doctor uttered, I felt another brick
stacking up along the wall around my heart, shutting me off from the world. Now
I’m numb, lethargic. I understand perfectly well what’s happening. The doctor
made it clear that she didn't expect my mother to wake up or to take a breath
of air. This is my last chance to say goodbye, my last chance to tell her how I
felt, that I loved her, despite our jacked up past. I doubt she will even be
able to hear me. If what the doctor said is true, then my mother is already
gone, but I’m going to at least try. I have to.

Shoving Lucas and Aaron from the room, I
offer a sad smile to them before shutting the door to get dressed for my visit
to the ICU. I can see the worry on both of their faces, but I can't focus on
that right now. One step in front of the other. The walls of my conscience are
closing in around me, making it hard to focus on the task in front of me.
Everything in me wants to crumble, but I refuse to let it. Pulling in a deep,
satisfying breath, I mentally slap myself.
Get it together, Charlee. You can
break later.

********

No one is in the room when we enter the
hospital thirty-one minutes later. I leave Aaron to go in and talk to Mom
alone. I check my phone again to see if Matt has replied yet. I texted him when
I was getting ready and told him what was going on. Nothing. Aaron emerges five
minutes later. His eyes are red-rimmed and I can tell he is choked up. He pulls
me into a tight hug and kisses the side of my head. I squeeze him, not wanting
to let go, not wanting to walk back into that room alone. I wrap my fingers in his
shirt and lay my head against his chest, begging him without words to make an
excuse for me to stay. Tell me she is already gone. Anything. He doesn't.

She’s still hooked to every machine when I
walk in. Her blood pressure has finally lowered to an almost normal level. I
stand at the foot of her bed, watching her pulse beep on the screen behind her
head, watching the ventilator rise and fall, watching the line across the
screen as it rises and falls with the beats of her heart. I focus on anything
and everything to keep from having to look down at her, scared—no, terrified—that
when I do, I will see the same lifeless gray eyes staring back at me, begging
me to take her home like they were in my dream. Pinching my own eyes shut, I
force the images away and then peel them back open.

Her head is turned to the left a little. The
angle it's laying looks uncomfortable. Her face is yellow. Not a natural
yellow, but more an ancient, weathered yellow. It reminds me of the color of
pus. Everything about her screams death, from her listless hair to the chapped,
dry lips. Her hands are laying limp by her side. Her arms are purple from the
IVs and drawing of blood. I sit in the chair next to her and cross my hands in
my lap, unwilling to reach out and touch her. I'm starting to wonder if this
was a mistake, coming here, seeing her like this, knowing she is moments away
from taking her final breath. I don't know what to say to her. I thought
naively that the words would come once I was here, but I was mistaken.

I sit there staring at her until the
nurses come in and let me know she’s going to be moved in fewer than five
minutes. I take that as my cue to go. Standing to leave, I make it to the door
before I'm overcome with the burning desire to say something . . . anything. I
turn back to her, taking her in one more time.

“Goodbye, Mom. Thank you for . . .
everything.” I walk from the room, turning before closing the curtain once
again.

“I love you,” I choke out, barely above a
whisper, but I believe she hears me. I believe her presence is here in this
room right now and that she is watching us come and tell her goodbye. I have to
believe that. It’s the only way I am able to walk away and let her go, because
I know in my heart this is last time I will see her.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Charlee

Three days ago, my mother was pronounced
dead. The doctor removed the ventilator from her throat, and just as predicted,
she didn't take a breath. She was gone. I waited, huddled in the tiny mauve
chair in the waiting room, for the doctor to come in and tell us the results. A
part of me held out hope that she would recover, even when everything before me
told me otherwise.

Matt walked in moments before the doctor arrived.
He looks better today. He’s showered and dressed in clean clothes, thank God,
but something else is different about him. I wrap my arms around him and let
the first tears fall. He holds me close, rubbing circles along my back while
waiting for my sobs to subside. I can feel his own chest shaking as he works to
hold in his own anguish. Neither of us had been close to her, but she was still
our mother, and it hurts like hell to know that this is it. There is no
tomorrow for her anymore. I lean back and look up at him, seeing the tears
stream down his own cheeks. I finally realize what’s different about him. He isn’t
wearing sunglasses and his eyes are clear, focused. He’s sober.

“I'm so sorry, Sis,” he mumbles.

I break apart.

It seems from that moment forth, something
inside of me breaks open. I can't stop crying. Every time I shut my eyes, I see
her again, lying there helpless and alone. When I go to sleep at night, I dream
of her in the room and me standing over her, afraid to touch her, unable to
console her. I wake every night with tears running down my face and lie there
in the bed until I can get my breathing under control again. Even my sleeping
pills aren’t helping me anymore. I take one every night, hoping and praying it
will send me to oblivion and I will finally get some rest. It never works.

Today is the memorial. We decided against
having a funeral, since most of the people here in Phoenix didn't even know
her. Aaron had found her will, along with some other papers in her possessions,
that stated she wanted to be cremated. So I signed the consent and released the
body to the funeral home an hour after she was pronounced dead. We planned on
gathering together and taking her ashes up to the Grand Canyon and spreading
them out over the giant hole in the earth, letting them fly through the air to
settle back into the ground. It seemed fitting to me. She was a lost soul,
always wandering. I would release her, to fly out into the world. Her final
flight. But first, I have something I need to do here.

In the papers Aaron found, he also found
four letters—one for me, Matt, Aaron, and oddly, one for Lucas. I planned to
read mine before we left on our trip up the mountain. I have put it off long
enough already. It rests inside my nightstand drawer, calling to me. I pull it
from its hiding place and brace myself for the words I know will be there,
cutting straight through me like a knife through butter.