Abruption (22 page)

After hanging up, Maya asked, “Should I wake Maxie?”

“No, you can stay with her here.”

“I’d rather come. I’ll feel better if I can make sure he’s okay.” Whatever she wanted, I needed to get my little guy to the hospital.

I pushed his sweaty curls from his forehead and watched as his heavy lids fluttered closed. The burn behind my eyes returned and I couldn’t fight it. My vision blurred, and my cheeks dampened. Flaming hot air filtered in and out of my lungs as I struggled to catch my breath. So fucking unfair.

Fair is not getting what you think you deserve, it’s getting what you can handle.

My boy shouldn’t have to handle any of this.

Anything. That’s what I would have given to switch places, for this to have happened to me instead. That I could have handled. But this—this was unbearable. And I didn’t want to do it alone.

Fifteen.

The number of times I called her from the time I left the apartment to the moment I jogged into the ER carrying Finn’s lethargic body.

Now sixteen.

I held my cell to my ear and prayed she’d pick up.

And like the fifteen times before: No answer.

My own words coming back to bite me …
I’ve got Jules
.

I
slipped into the double bed by the air conditioner. I always picked that one, just in case. The forecast was calling for it to dip to single digits outside, but there was a good chance I’d wake drenched to the bone tonight. That was if I ever really fell asleep. I didn’t have Guy next to me. He’d been keeping the dreams at bay lately. I stared at the stupid circle on my iPhone spinning continuously …
searching,
while the battery drained by the second.

I should have charged it on the ride up, instead I silenced it and buried it in my purse to try and ignore the stream of “thinking about you” messages from my extended family. They meant well and I loved them for that. But I also hated the reminder that seven years, twenty years, or even a hundred years, would never erase the hurt.

“Let’s try and get some sleep, it’s late.”

“Easier said than done. And I don’t remember cell service being this sucky last year,” I said, reaching my phone far above my head to improve my range and my chance to speak to Guy before it was too late.

“You know that’s not really doing anything, right? There’s not a tower for miles.”

I let out a disappointed sigh and my fingers somehow fumbled, gravity sending my cell smack into my face. “Ouch!” I yelped, tapping my tender upper lip.

“You okay?” And then I heard it—soft at first then louder—laughter vibrating off our cabin walls.

“It’s not funny. I think I’m bleeding.” My tongue touched the small cut leaving a metallic taste in my mouth. “I can’t believe this.” And I started to laugh too.

“Ice?”

“Nah, who’s gonna see me tomorrow?”

“Speaking of, I think we’re going to be the only ones hiking. Weather looks like shit. Freezing rain and cold.

Were we really discussing the weather?
Frustrated over having no signal and my now swollen lip … I sighed. “Figures.”

“Bad time of year.” Did we need that reminder? “I didn’t mean that. I meant mid-March, Catskills. It’s always like this.”

“I know what you meant,” I replied.
I knew.

This time of year wasn’t ideal, but that was irrelevant. We weren’t here to see the foliage. We were here to find a semblance of peace on our darkest day. This was our time to be pensive. Together we’d hike for hours, mostly quiet with our own thoughts, but taking solace that we’d both be sharing the unimaginable pain that we try to keep buried deep within the crevices of our souls.

We promised that this would never change.

It changed.

At least for me, everything had changed.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and the empty pit in my stomach churned. I clutched my sides and curled into a ball.
Overwhelmed by the suffocating multitude of emotions, my mind drifted to my safe place. To Guy.

I missed him. I missed them. I missed our Friday night homemade saucy round pies and salt-rimmed margaritas. I missed making movies with Finn and playing house with Max. I missed being part of family time, even if it wasn’t my own. I missed his warm lips on mine. I missed his fingers in my hair. I missed feeling him rock deep inside me. But what I missed the most was falling asleep in his arms and waking up in his arms, even if it was only a few short hours so the kids didn’t realize where I slept. I missed that warmth, that comfort, those dreamless nights. My safe place.

Damn, I wished I could at least text him. He deserved so much more than a brief message. He deserved the truth. But our bubble was still floating unscathed. I couldn’t jeopardize it. There was no way I’d be the cause of the innocent snag, the accidental snip, or an unintentional tear.

I heard covers rustle, followed by, “Night, Jules.” The bedside lamp turned off, and the room filled with darkness. We were here together, but I’d never felt more alone.

I wished
he
was here.

It was wrong and selfish, but it was true.

Deep down, I knew this was the last time. We couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t do this anymore. We needed to talk, just not tonight.

“Good night,” I replied softly, glancing over at the glowing alarm clock. “I’m a little early, but Happy Birthday.”

I held my breath and waited. Silence. There was always silence. I pressed my hand over my broken heart. I wondered how much time I had before the fine stitches would give way.

Like I did
every
night, I closed my eyes and silently whispered my prayers. As sleep began to pull me under, a familiar ping forced me back. Then another. And another. Firing in rapid succession, each jarring tone intensified the sense of foreboding that accompanied middle of the night calls. I threw back the covers and grabbed for the illuminated screen.

Sixteen missed calls. All from the same sender. And a one-line text message that sucked all of the oxygen from the room.

“Jules, what’s wrong?”

I couldn’t respond. I tried to steady myself on the small desk, while my head spun like I was on one of those dreaded carnival rides as little lights flashed in front of my eyes.

My cell clunked against the wood top and my heart bottomed out.

“Jules, talk to me.”

“We have to go. Now. Right now.”