Save Me (16 page)

“What?” I am losing everything, including my patience.

“When in doubt, do nothing. Just hold on. Don’t make any big decisions when things are really good or really bad.”

“I already made a big decision. I married Noble. The decisions portion of this is over. Now we’re on to the happily-ever-after part.”

“Just get through this with Butch and in a few months things will be completely different.”

“Yeah, it’s cosmic. I know,” I say.

It is divine.

Does Margo give this kind of fucked-up advice to other people or just reserve it for me, her most screwed-up friend?

I
hear Sam arrive as I’m getting out of the shower. He and Noble are joking around and the sound of it fills me with relief.
Please, someone, make Noble happy because I’ve got nothing left in the tank.
I put on short black shorts and a loose white tank and find my flip-flops under the bed. I rummage through my jewelry box and find a beaded necklace with a turquoise cross pendant and put it over my head. I center the cross on my chest and consider myself in the mirror. How can I look like this while Butch is dying next door? He barely even sits up anymore.

Sean and Michelle, and Lily of course, come over for dinner, too. Once Margo and Clint and Jocelyn arrive, Noble heats up the grill. We’ve set up chairs and a table by the hammock on the side yard. I wanted it way in the back, but Noble thought we should be near the grill. I hope that’s really why because the sight of Butch’s house, and Jason’s truck at Butch’s, is enough to ruin the party for me.

Butch’s door opens and Jay comes barreling out. He runs over, tumbling halfway to us and rolling back to his feet. He finds Lily and the two of them fall easily into a familiar playtime.

“Holy shit,” Margo says, leaning into me but still loud enough for anyone to hear. “He’s Jason’s?” she asks as Jay brings over a bug to show me and climbs into my lap. Margo’s eyes almost fall out of her head and I am amazed at her inability to take it all in. Jay has become such a staple here the last few months. He’s impossible to not accept. “Of course…he loves you, too.”

I look up to the watchful eyes of Noble from behind the grill. He’s not angry or surprised. He’s pleased with my relationship with Jay as long as Jason’s not a part of it, and oddly, he isn’t. Jay stays for the barbeque and even eats some chicken I cut for him. He gobbles down watermelon and of course has two servings of strawberry shortcake.

Jason comes out at dusk and calls for Jay; his voice and his eyes quickly land on our small gathering. Sam’s easygoing demeanor is replaced by sheer shock as he puts the pieces together of Jay’s obvious family lineage.

“Can’t believe I missed that,” Sam says, and Jay turns toward his dad. “What’s he doing back?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“He’s taking care of his father.”

“I thought you stopped working to do that because he wasn’t coming home,” Sam says, and I realize how quickly things have changed here. It feels like Jason and I have been in this awful situation forever, but it’s only been a few months.

“Yeah. Now we’re doing it together,” I say, and sigh.

“How’s Nick with that?” Sam looks straight at Jason, who’s staring back at us.

“How’s Nick with what?” Noble asks as he joins our conversation.

Jay runs over and pulls on my shorts. “Bye-bye, Annie,” he says, and Noble’s face hardens.

“It’s temporary,” Noble says as I lean down to Jay’s height.

“Bye, Jay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hugs me. Stephanie Harding may be a whore, but she is doing a great job with this child. He is undeniable. Maybe he just inherited that from his father.

Michelle and Sean take Lily home and a joint is lit. I pass. I can’t function with all my faculties at this point, let alone high. When the mosquitoes begin to bite, the party moves inside and a second joint is lit. My party is mellowing and my dog hates the smoke, so I go outside with him.

Dr. Grubb’s car pulls in front of Butch’s and I run over.

“Dr. Grubb?”

“Hi, Charlotte.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to see. Marie called and said Butch is having trouble breathing.”
Oh God, no.
He grabs a bag out of his backseat and follows me into Butch’s.

I walk straight to Butch and his eyes are filled with fear. I hold his hand and lower my voice to calm us both.

“Dr. Grubb is here. He’s going to take care of everything,” I say, and hope there’s something the doctor can actually do. He listens to Butch’s heart as Jason storms in, always so gentle. Dr. Grubb moves to his lungs and then takes his pulse. Butch’s hand shakes and when I release, it he clenches his chest. How could I be sitting with my friends next door when Butch is lying here terrified? I should have been here.

Dr. Grubb asks for Jason’s help in turning Butch and I leave the room as usual, Butch’s dignity a priority for all of us.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I demand too harshly of Marie once I reach the kitchen.

“You need some time, Charlotte. This is too much for a young girl. You should be enjoying life.”

“I’ll have time when he’s gone. I want to help him,” I say, and hear my voice crack on the last words.

“I know you do. Jason had just taken Jay home. I felt bad calling him.”

I take out my phone and text Noble.

“I just gave him a sedative. It’s dyspnea,” Dr. Grubb says as he walks into the kitchen, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. I stare at him, waiting for more information. “Shortness of breath,” he offers. “It’s scaring him. Hospice will get him something to help with it but once he falls asleep, he should be out for the night.”

“I should have known,” Marie says, and I realize why.

“It’s common,” I say, again hating the process of death. Marie nods at me and turns to Dr. Grubb for more discussion on dyspnea. I take a corn bag off the counter and warm it in the microwave. I watch it turn and listen for any sounds from the family room.

When I go in there, Butch’s eyes are open and staring at the ceiling. I hold his hand and lay the corn bag against his side. His hand is bony and knobby, his skin rough, yet soft. It reminds me of Butch. This has to be close to the end. How long?
How long goddammit?

My turquoise cross catches my eye and I take it in my free hand and close my eyes and lower my head.

Dear God,

Thank you for Dr. Grubb, and Marie, and Jason, and BJ. I don’t know what to say but I don’t want Butch, or anyone else, to suffer any longer. Please have mercy on us.

I don’t want him to go either. I want him to say something.

I want, I want, I want. I don’t even know what I’m saying, but I know it’s all wrong. What am I even praying for…

Butch’s eyes close and he slips into the deep sleep I recognize from the last few days. He’s calm. Marie goes to bed in Butch’s room where she stays now, and Jason and I stand by his side.

Jason touches my cross. He holds it in his hand and turns it toward him to examine. An evil little grin crosses his face.

“What do you pray for, Annie?” he asks, and I want him to be out of this. Out of this house and out of this hell.

“Are you okay?” It is the stupidest question ever.

Jason runs his thumb over the cross. “No. I’m not okay.” His eyes meet mine and I’m sure I would sell my soul to leave with him right now. The knowledge of what I’m capable of, the frank understanding of my depravity scares me. Not for myself, but for Noble. I knew he should never have wanted me, should never have taken a chance on me.

Butch’s hand is cold. His fingers are like icicles in my own. I let go to bury his hand under the blanket. I tuck Butch in, one of the few minor things I can do here.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I whisper to Jason.

“No. A cup of tea is not what I need,” Jason answers, his mood switching from caring for his father to torturing me. The look in his dark eyes is one of hunger. He follows me into the kitchen and I turn on the stove and move the kettle to the lit burner.

“I don’t want to fight,” I say, and turn toward him. “But have you considered the fact that you only want me because you’re here, being tortured by your father’s health, and you need something else to focus on? Something that, in your head, you can cure?”

Jason just stares at me from a few feet down the counter. I find a cup in the cabinet and a tea bag from a basket Marie has left out.

“Your life is suspended in death. You haven’t been able to rodeo; you’re in a place that’s housed nothing but bad memories for years. I’m sure you would focus on just about anything to escape it in your mind.”

Jason stays silent as the kettle whistles. I pull it from the burner before it wakes anyone. The house is deathly quiet, Butch’s heavy breathing audible in the kitchen. An outside light shines through the window, but otherwise it is dark and silent throughout. Death’s perfect party.

“Because I think this is a lot, a lot to handle. I don’t even realize how much until I get out of here for a few hours. And even though I love Butch, he’s not my dad and that’s got to make this a completely different kind of hell.” Jason stares out the back window at my house and guilt stabs at me.
Shut up, Charlotte. What do you know about his hell?
But I think I know plenty.

I hold the cup in both hands and blow on the tea to cool it. My eyes never leave Jason. They roam around his chest and his neck and finally settle on his hair and the side of his face that is visible in the dim light.

“When I decided to move home, I wasn’t sure exactly why I was coming,” he says, and I stop drinking. “I’m still not sure, but I’m where I should be.” Jason’s eyes find mine in the dim light.

“Marie says it’s an honor,” I offer. It’s what I hold on to when I curse the fact that I ever met Butch, ever found myself here every day.

“I can’t begin to consider what this would be like without you, and without Marie,” he says, his words hinting at his gratitude. “Your presence makes every moan, every cough, every sigh bearable.” My heart breaks for him. “But you leave and your absence, your return to that house, makes me sick.”

I swallow hard. There’s nothing I can do about where I return to. It’s where I live…with my husband.

“I think you’re creating a competition to somehow protect any shred of sanity still left in your mind. You’re avoiding the present by jeopardizing our futures.”

I listen to Jason’s breath, and I watch his chest rise in his shirt, and I think he’s considering what I’ve said. Surely if he steps back, if he can actually listen, he’ll find some truth in my words.

Jason stands in front of me and looks at me with silence in his eyes. There’s no sign of misbehavior, or defiance, or anger, and the quiet scares me.

“Annie, don’t fight me,” he says, and I don’t understand. “For the next few minutes don’t fight me, don’t think, don’t remember, don’t be angry,” he pleads, and I nod in agreement, needing to know what he’s thinking.

Jason leans down and places his lips on mine. My eyes are open and I watch without moving as he moves back and assesses my reaction. Certain I’m listening and not going to stab him, he returns his lips to mine and I do as I’m told and let him. They are soft and round, and so incredibly a part of my existence. I part my lips to breathe and he moves his over mine, caressing them with his own.

Jason kisses me, torturously slow, making me want to rip off my own clothes. His tongue in my mouth, my nipples rising to rub against him, my hands weaving in his hair, and my mind empty of every last thought except how he feels against me.

He takes a breath and opens his eyes. He takes my bottom lip in his teeth and licks it. He raises my head up with his chin and grazes my neck with his lips and the chill caves my chest in and weakens my knees. Jason’s arm wraps around my back and holds me to him, wherever he wants me.

Jason’s body presses against mine and I begin to throb, everywhere. His lips find my ear and he whispers, “Does that feel like a competition?”

I shiver and his hand on the center of my back pulls me toward him. The guilt retaliates and I lower my head, my eyes.
How can I do this?

“Don’t feel guilty,” Jason says as he leans down and picks up my eyes with his own.

“You wouldn’t love me if this didn’t make me feel guilty,” I say, and move him back with both hands on his stomach. I walk back to my perch by Butch, shaking.

“She’s been sitting like that all night,” Marie says, but I can’t open my eyes.

“My God. She’s not going to be able to walk.” It’s Noble. In Butch’s house?

“I know. I’m worried about her. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders. It’s too much.”

“I’m taking her home,” Noble says right before lifting me into his arms and walking out into the fresh morning air. He carries me all the way across the yard and I raise my arm to rest around his shoulder and lean into his chest. I should walk, but I can’t. I can’t even find the strength to tell him I should walk. Noble lays me on the bed, and my pillow under my head immediately sedates me. Sleeping sitting up, leaning over a hospital bed railing, has left me exhausted and enthralled with my bed.

I open my eyes and Noble is reading in the leather chair in the corner of our room. He looks up at me, but his face is wrought with concern.

“It won’t be long,” I say. “This is all coming to an end soon.” I roll over and fall back to sleep, unable to face consciousness yet.

When I do open my eyes, it’s to the sound of Jay playing below my bedroom window. He yells, “Daddy” over and over again, calling to his dad to throw him a ball. The only pause in his cheers must signify Jason finally throwing it. I pull myself out of bed and walk toward the window, hoping to watch them undetected, but when I pull back the sheers, Jason is staring right at me.

There’s little left in me that knows the right thing to do. Actually, that’s not fair. I know exactly the right thing; there’s little left in me that cares what is right.

Noble deserves better than this.

I stare out the window, wishing I could fly through it. Away from here.