Even dealing with so much, Ren never let me down.
We took turns bathing Jacob and putting him to bed. We’d tell stories together, finding laughter amongst so many heartaches when we relived our own tales of childhood.
John hired an out of town contractor to finish the baling and, on the days when the chemo hit Ren bad, Cassie became a godsend by babysitting Jacob while I held Ren on the bathroom floor as he shivered and vomited and apologised for ever letting me see him that way.
Like I said, that first year was the hardest I’d ever endured.
But even though our life was a sequence of tough and tougher moments, I never regretted for a moment having Jacob.
As he grew from toothless babe to inquisitive bright-eyed creature, I could see why Ren had both hated and loved me when I was young.
I hated not knowing what I was doing. Hated the lack of rest, the loud crying, the struggle to learn a language I didn’t know. But I loved, loved watching him develop a personality. I loved being responsible for his learning, growth, and the fact that he blossomed in weight, happiness, and joy even while his parents lost those things.
We’d been given the gift of life with our son, and the payment seemed to be the cost of his father’s soul. And as much as I loved Jacob, I honestly didn’t know if I could afford the price.
My heart broke on a minutely basis.
That was until Jacob’s fourth month and Ren’s oncologist announced he was happy with his results and took him off chemo.
The tumours hadn’t shrunk like last time, but they had stabilised, and he was given a positive outlook again.
It was all agreed that Ren would stay on Keytruda…for the rest of his life. And slowly, as the chemo side effects left his body, he put back the weight he’d lost and ventured outside again where the sun was no longer his enemy.
We’d walk together over the meadows with Jacob in his arms, and we’d soak in the beauty of a sunset, imprinting the memory, clutching it tight for the day when they’d be no more.
Luckily, by the time Christmas arrived, no one would guess Ren was sick.
His smile was broad, strength impressive, and attitude toward life still as vicious and possessive as before.
When summer returned, there was no argument about who would work the fields, and Ren took his place on his beloved tractor, sucking hay, tipping his hat, his skin tanned and glowing.
On our son’s first birthday, he made love to me with such passion and power, he convinced me what we’d lived through was just a nightmare.
A nightmare we’d woken from.
A nightmare we wouldn’t have again.
As his body thrust into mine and his lips cast a spell over my mind and heart, I threw myself into a better dream.
One where Ren would be around to watch his son have his own sons and daughters.
A dream where we grew old together.
And for a while…it came true.
*
2024
Jacob turned two, and we spent the day with the Wilsons in the old farmhouse.
Cassie helped me bake a cake with two Spiderman candles, and John bounced his honorary grandson on his knee while Ren shared a drink with Liam and Chip on the couch.
So far, 2024 had been the opposite of 2023.
Ren was healthy—in relative terms—and happy.
Jacob was walking and into everything.
And Cassie’s horse business—that she’d named Cherry Equestrian—had been running for six months. So far, she’d broken in three horses and entered one local show-jumping contest where she came second. The prize money was enough to buy more tack and a new saddle.
After an afternoon of birthday presents and eating cake, Jacob passed out as Ren carried him across the field to our house.
Occasionally, he’d cough, but thanks to Keytruda and painkillers, Ren was almost as content as the year when I’d been pregnant and he’d made the impossible possible by building a house, marrying me, and becoming a true Wild.
“By the way, I did what Rick suggested.”
Ren’s voice settled around our feet as the moon cast him in quicksilver shadows.
I looked up, my heart skipping a beat at the sharp lines of his jaw, slight stubble, and perfect lips. His brow was drawn and eyes dark, but his hair danced to its own beat with the slight breeze over the paddock.
“Oh?” I reached out and squeezed Jacob’s tiny foot. It was too irresistible, dangling from his father’s embrace, encased in a miniature sneaker. It constantly amazed me that manufacturers could make adult apparel in toddler sizes.
“About the lawsuit.”
“Ah, right.” I nodded.
Rick had mentioned it to me, too. He’d told me alone, actually. Mentioning the god-awful subject of after.
After Ren was gone.
After.
I hated, hated that word.
Apparently, due to having his life cut short by unnatural means, Ren was fully within his right to claim compensation. There were claimants and lawsuits toward the asbestos company numbering in the thousands, but the successful pay outs were either while the victim was still alive or the person left behind filed within one to two years.
After that, it was too late.
Letting Jacob’s foot go, I shuddered. “I don’t like the thought of benefiting from your…” I swallowed, cursing the familiar sting in my eyes.
Ren shuffled Jacob to one arm, then reached for my hand. His grip was warm and dry and strong. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a very long time.” His voice hardened. “You know I hate charity, but this…it isn’t like that. This is justice. They killed me when I was ten years old, Della. The least they can do is compensate you and Jacob.”
“I’m not taking money from those monsters.”
“But I will.” He squeezed my fingers. “I’d do anything for you. Rick’s already filed my case with a lawyer who has a few active claimants. He said there’s better success in numbers, so he’ll wait for a couple more to come forward and then take it to trial.”
I sighed heavily, kicking at weeds and pulling up the roots out of habit. “When will you know if you win a settlement?”
“Not sure.” He kissed Jacob’s downy blond head. “But hopefully not too long.”
He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to.
These days, there were conversations flying around all the time that weren’t said.
Hopefully not too long.
Hopefully before I’m dead.
*
2025
Christmas was whiter than usual with a blizzard that meant the tractor was used as a plough, fashioning a pathway between our house and the Wilsons.
Ice laced window frames, and trees were sacrificed to burn to keep the chill at bay.
This year, with Jacob three and Nina eleven, we opted to have Christmas at our place where the sparse amount of furniture meant opening presents and reaping season carnage wasn’t nearly as destructive as in John’s house with its over-packed bookcases and rooms that held more than just mementoes; it held entire lifetimes.
Ren and I had yet to create that amount of clutter, and the main point of decoration was a small pine tree Ren had cut down, potted, and taken me shopping to buy as many gaudy baubles as I wanted.
I had to admit, I’d gone a bit overboard with the tinsel.
But watching our son laugh and rip into brightly printed paper, revealing a remote-control car, books that could be read in the bath, and a set of miniature diggers to play in the dirt, it was worth it.
“I still remember our first Christmas,” Ren murmured, slotting himself beside me as I leaned against the kitchen bench after serving warm apple and cinnamon muffins. We’d had a big lunch of roasted veggies, turkey, and all the trimmings, so appetites weren’t all that hungry.
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I remember it, too.”
I remembered how Cassie had come into our room and made fun of me for sleeping in the same bed as Ren. How her tone had been weird, and I didn’t like it whenever she looked at the boy who was mine.
“You kissed me under the mistletoe.” He chuckled as Jacob fell over the plush rug by the fireplace, chasing his remote-control car as Nina careened it into things, kamikaze style. “Remember?”