"The sharp knife of a short life… oh well, I've had just enough time," I crooned. "'And I'll be wearing white…'"
Sergio grabbed the microphone when I couldn't finish and started singing with me. I was breathless, maybe from my cancer, maybe from the fact that it was so true, so close to home — being buried in white, leaving the boy from town.
"'So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls,'" I sang "'A penny for my thoughts…'" Sergio countered in a low voice that was smooth, effortlessly beautiful.
Nixon and Trace came back and immediately held up their cell phones.
It was like a tribute concert.
The end of something great.
A ballad of beauty.
I closed my eyes and cherished the moment — where I had family, where I had love, where I had in that night everything I could have ever hoped or dreamed for.
It was short.
But it was beautiful.
And it was enough.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sergio
"ANDI?" I'D NEVER TIRE OF KISSING her mouth, of pressing my lips against hers, of tasting her, of exploring. My tongue met hers. She was tired. I wouldn't pressure her or anything. I just wanted — needed — to be close.
"Hmm?" It was early morning; the sun had just started to rise over the horizon. "Everything okay?"
"Yup." My hands found her hips as I pulled her against me. "It is now."
Her eyes were still closed as she nestled her head under my chin. "You smell sexy."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yup." She sighed happily. "I've always thought so, like expensive cologne."
I laughed.
Andi was quiet. I'd assumed she'd fallen back asleep when suddenly she let out a tiny whimper.
"Hey…" I tilted her chin toward me. "…you okay?"
Her eyes blinked and then rolled up in the back of her head.
"Andi!" I gripped her by the arms and set her on her back. "Come on, sweetheart. Talk to me. Stay awake."
She jolted and then blinked. "Sorry, sorry… I just… sorry."
My eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"
She licked her lips. "My face just felt… funny and…" Her eyes kept blinking wildly at me.
"Andi?" I hated to ask. "Double vision?"
"Yeah…" She frowned. "…and a bit of a headache."
Shit. I'd read every brochure, researched until I felt like I was going to go blind from the glare of the computer.
I knew it was possible.
I just hadn't thought it would happen.
She'd had a stroke. I looked closer as part of the right side of her face sagged just a bit; only noticeable to someone who was obsessed with every angle of her.
"Maybe…" I swallowed the lump in my throat. "…we should call the hospice nurse, just in case."
Typically, our nurse only checked in once a day.
I dreaded the time I'd have to call her to stay more than an hour.
The time was upon us.
Andi shook her head and reached for my hand. She gripped it tight, which wasn't tight; it was weak, again making me feel sick to my stomach.
"Please, wait, just… just until the sunrise."
I licked my lips, not sure if I should wait. I mean, what if?
"Please," she begged. "Things always look better in the morning, right? And it's not morning yet. Technically, it's still night. So wait until morning, wait until the sun shines on a new day, and we'll call."
I nodded. "Okay."
She sighed and pressed a kiss to my lips. "Good, now let's put a chair in front of the window and watch. Let's watch life together."
It was the last good day we had.
That was cancer for you. It had no schedule, no timetable — it just was. One day she was laughing and joking with me.
The next…
She was a shell of her former self.
A week had gone by since her stroke.
A week where I watched my wife, the love of my life, fade before my very eyes. The weight continued to fall off; her appetite was nonexistent; muscle deteriorated. It was almost like I was watching the cancer actually eat her.
I tried to cheer her up.
We watched movies in bed. I sang to her even — though I sang like shit.
And when she was too tired to read…
I read to her.
Her stupid historical romance books.
About dukes and London and far away kingdoms that no longer existed in society.
She loved it.
So I loved it.
"Shergio…" Andi slurred, her speech had started to go, especially at night. "Promise me another sunset."
"I promise." I kissed her forehead. "Sleep."
She fell asleep within seconds.
I set the book down and left the room, not because I wanted to be away from her, but because I hadn't eaten anything all day. I'd been too consumed by her.
Too sad.
It was around eight at night when I made it down to the kitchen.
Chase was pulling something out of the oven. Frank was pouring wine, and the rest of the group paused.
It wasn't awkward, just… depressing.
"My other bitch made food," Tex finally blurted.
And suddenly everything was right again.
I cracked a smile. "He better have buttered my bread.
"You slut, butter your own bread!" Chase snapped.
I laughed.
Probably for the first time in a week.