Heathcliff’s hand rose, stopping her. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out an iPod. “I’ve got some stuff on here that will work.”
Stepping away from me, he set it on the table next to Gregor, pausing just long enough to press a few buttons. Music spilled out of it, the first song an old, slow one.
Offering me his hand, Heathcliff breathed, “Dance with me.”
I glanced at Uncle Gregor. He was watching the entire scene, his cheeks flushing. There was something odd about his eyes, and I ignored Heathcliff’s hand. Stepping toward the bed, I leaned over it, my gaze on Gregor’s.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
Gregor blinked, his eyes finding my face. He seemed to have a hard time focusing, his breath coming heavy when he said, “Dance, Hawthorne. I’d really like to see you dance.”
My lips brushed his forehead, his skin so fragile now I was almost afraid to touch him. “I love you, Dad,” I murmured.
I don’t know why I said it. I’d said it before, and then fallen back into the routine of calling him Uncle because the word was less awkward for us after all these years, but now Dad just seemed more appropriate.
“I love you, too,” he answered, grinning. “Now dance.”
I turned, and Heathcliff met me at the side of the bed, his arms embracing me. The music on the iPod had changed, the song an upbeat one, slow but full of amusement, and Heathcliff pulled me into a series of twirls. My feet stumbled, and we laughed, my gaze coming up to meet his.
“I’m not going to be good at this,” I said.
Heathcliff shrugged. “You don’t have to be. You just have to smile and enjoy it.”
And we did. We danced, and we laughed, the music carrying us across the floor. Uncle Gregor laughed with us, and then fell silent, his bright eyes watching as we circled around the room, my bare feet spending more time stepping on Heathcliff’s socks than on the floor. He twirled me so that my feet lifted, rising in the air. The shock of it made me giggle, the music cocooning us. For the first time in weeks, the room was bursting with happiness, with smiles and beauty.
It was a moment I was never going to forget. I’d always remember how much, in that instant, I loved Heathcliff. I’d remember how handsome his face looked lifted in amusement.
The music played, songs Heathcliff sang along to while I hummed, and we danced. We danced until our feet were sore, and the sun started to set, sending golden rays through the windows to light up the room.
It was then, while we danced and while our laughter rose to the ceiling that Uncle Gregor passed into a coma, his spirit ready to depart on gold, music, and joy.
Chapter 18
There are no words big enough to describe grief. It’s an incredibly lonely, empty place, a large hole that swallows your soul and threatens to destroy it. It’s a dark place with no light that blinds you, deafens you, and crushes your spirit. It’s a place full of memories you’re afraid to lose.
I was in that place. No amount of tears washed away the loneliness. No amount of screams chased it away. There were simply memories, an avalanche of memories that I desperately needed to hold onto.
There was so much that death didn’t prepare me for. It didn’t prepare me for the storm that would break my will. Uncle Gregor’s passing sent me to my knees and left me there.
The day he died, it rained. It rained so hard that the yard turned into a muddy mess, the vehicles that pulled into the drive sloshing through water, their metal bodies highlighted by lightning. The air screamed with me, thunder rolling, crashing over me like a bowling ball of pain.
It was twenty-four hours after my impromptu prom, and I was still wearing the dress, my hair wild, my feet glued to the wooden floor next to Gregor’s hospital bed. His body had been taken, and there were people surrounding me, people helping clean the room while others worked in the kitchen, making food and conversation. I knew most of the men and women who came through, but I didn’t see them. The tears blurred my vision, my heart stuck in a strange limbo between needing to live and wanting to join Gregor.
Sometimes, I stood. Other times, I knelt. Most of the time, I cried, silent tears trekking down my cheek. Mams’ voice circled me. After a phone call from Heathcliff, she’d arrived just after Gregor’s death, her commanding voice taking over where my voice had ended. She didn’t try to console me. She didn’t even approach me. She just took over, guiding people to where they needed to be.
I think she knew I was lost.
This part of my life wanted to destroy me. It’s true that death finds us all at some point, but the heart doesn’t care about that. It simply grieves.