“YOU CAN’T GIVE him a knife for his birthday, Ren.”
I looked up from wrapping the Swiss Army tool that I’d bought from the local hunting and fishing store. I’d also bought a kid’s size backpack, collapsible pots, mugs, water containers, a cosy sleeping bag, and everything else I wished I’d had when I was Jacob’s age.
“He’s ten, Little Ribbon. He’s not a kid.”
“Ten is exactly a kid.” Della sat beside me, snapping the scissors I’d used to cut the sticky tape to keep the Star Wars wrapping paper in place. “I love you, you know this. And I love that you never let having nine fingers slow you down, but, Ren, I rather like our son with ten.”
She laughed quietly as I dragged her chair closer to mine, obscuring my face as I coughed. Once I had my breath back, I smirked. “He’s not going to cut a finger off.”
“How do you know? He’s a menace to himself. He needed stitches last year from falling off Cassie’s pony. He broke his wrist a few weeks after that from back flipping into the pond and hitting dirt instead.” She clucked her tongue. “I worry about him.”
“Don’t. He’s only testing his boundaries and capabilities.”
Just like I’d tested mine and knew the god-awful conclusion.
My battle was slowly coming to an end.
Della knew.
I knew.
John, Cassie, Liam, and Jacob knew.
I’d had a check-up and treatment last week, and the look Rick Mackenzie gave me was as grave as the image in the mirror. Keytruda had been hailed as the miracle drug. It had given me an extra eight years than the normal prognosis.
But sometimes, it just stopped working.
No one knew why, and no doctor could explain it.
And as much as I would never admit it, my body didn’t feel right anymore.
There was no denying that I had a cancerous passenger inside me and it was finally winning. My hair no longer shone; my eyes no longer sparkled. My skin was stretched over bones that ached more by the day, and the breathlessness that had been cured for so long, thanks to surgery, was back in full force.
I was a ticking clock, and Della hadn’t left my side for longer than an hour or two, both of us so terribly aware that we didn’t have many hours left to waste.
We’d done our best to protect my disease from Jacob, but he was just as smart as Della, and the kids at school had done their best to tell him what was wrong with me—just like they’d tried to explain to Della about sex when she was young.
Their explanations did more harm than good with terminology that was terrifying. They’d given Jacob nightmares of me being buried and eaten alive by worms because that’s what their dad said happened to great-grandma. Another had promised I’d die but would come back as a zombie and eat him in his sleep.
Turned out, keeping facts from loved ones—no matter how young they were—was never a good idea.
It’d taken a few dinners with Della holding his hand and me talking to him, man to man, for him to calm down and not flinch when I hugged him.
He knew that I wouldn’t be around for as long as other dads.
He knew he couldn’t beg or argue to make that change.
And he also knew he could be angry with me but never at Della because none of this was her fault.
It’d been a depressing week, but finally, either his brain numbed him to the reality of our future, or his upcoming birthday had pushed his worries aside because he was the same happy kid as before.
He had the choice of a party with all his friends for his birthday or a camping trip just him, me, and Della. He’d chosen camping, and that was exactly what I was going to do. Regardless if the thought of hiking miles into the forest no longer filled me with excitement but worry on how I’d do it without passing out.
Della watched my nine fingers as I finished wrapping the boxed knife and smoothed the neat package.
“He doesn’t even realise that that will be his greatest treasure when he’s older.” Tears glossed her eyes, overflowing as she kept staring at my hands. “His first knife from his dad. A dad I hope to God he remembers.”
“Hey…” Pulling her into my arms, I kissed her hair. “Don’t do that. Please. I can’t stand it.”
She clutched me tight, her arms squeezing until I coughed again. She allowed a couple of sobs before shutting the hatch and smiling with salt-wet cheeks. “Sorry. Moment of weakness, that’s all.”
I kept holding her, not letting go.
She thought I didn’t know, but a few times a year, she’d unload her broken heart to Cassie, talk about me, miss me, then bottle it all back up again to be strong for me.
I never asked what Cassie said to her.
I never pried and begged to know what fears Della shared.
I knew enough not to need to.
Living with a dying man was not easy.
Especially when that dying man had loved you since you were born.
I hated that making love to my wife made me pant as if I’d run two lengths of the paddock at full tilt.
I hated that I couldn’t stop the light-headedness and abhorrent sensation of having no control over my body.
I hated everything about this.
Letting Della go, I kissed the soft skin beside her mouth. “It’s important he knows I don’t think of him as a kid. I was eight when I first used tools and farming equipment—”
“I know he idolizes you, but he’s not you, Ren. He hasn’t been thrust into survival mode and forced to grow up far before his time. He doesn’t know hardship like you do.” Her fingers landed on my cheek, tracing the sharper cheekbone and stroking a more angled jaw. “You were never ten years old when you ran with me. You were fifty in a kid’s body. You were never a typical child.”
“And Jacob is not a typical son.”
She grinned sadly. “You’re right. He’s your son.”
“No. He’s our son.” I coughed again, cursing the ever-tightening curse in my chest. “And our son is smart and brave and wise, and he will remember me. Just like you will. You’ll both remember how much I love you and that I’ll never be truly gone.”
Della nodded, unable to speak.
For a moment, I let us sit in the puddle of sadness, then I stood, coughed, and tapped her on the butt. “Go get the backpack and the child. It’s time to camp.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
DELLA
2032
WE SET UP camp as a family.
Erecting the tent, we put our sleeping bags in one wing and Jacob’s in the other.
Our journey hadn’t been as easy as previous excursions. We hadn’t gone as far, but it had taken twice as long. I’d carried the backpack—against Ren’s wishes—but I couldn’t allow him to lug more weight when he already struggled with his own.
Ren’s cough crucified him, bending him over a few times, spitting up blood toward the end.
I’d told Jacob to run ahead as Ren clutched my hand through one attack, stumbling for breath, his hand on his heart as it palpitated to an uneven rhythm.
I’d murmured calm nothings, rubbed his back, cursing the noticeable nodules of his spine.
I’d been strong for him and kept my panic hidden.
But it didn’t mean it didn’t grow with every little reminder that things were coming to an end. That our life together was almost over.
My heart was held together with sticky tape and bandages.
My eyes were made of tears and terror.
I couldn’t explain the toll loving Ren took on me when he faded day by day from this world to the next.
Some days, I wished I could stop loving him.
I wished I could pack up my feelings in neatly labelled boxes, and store them in the attic of my mind for a time when dust and time had made them less painful.
But that only made me feel like a weak, wicked woman, and I’d throw myself into loving him even more.
Here, take my heart. Take my soul. Take every second I have left because I don’t want them without you.
By the time we made it to the camp, I was sick with loathing at life and love, utterly unable to talk.
My heart was in knots; my stomach tied up with rotten string.
I missed the man who used to run wild amongst the trees.