My jaw clenched. It wasn't untrue, but a friend who knew me would know I'd have preferred to be alone. Instead, I found myself in a position of some social requirement to fake it, to survive the conversation when I only wanted to be selfish, when I only wanted to grieve without concern for anyone else. It seemed like such a simple thing to ask, but there we were.
"I know you're not okay," she continued when I didn't speak, "but we don't have to talk about it." She paused, watching the water too. "I just want you to know I'm sorry, Wade, for what it's worth."
"People keep saying that, and I don't really understand what it means. It's empty, meaningless, something to say when there's nothing to say."
She didn't answer, just glanced down at her shoes, shifting on her feet.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, huffing a swear word.
"It's okay. You're right. I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's sick. I'm sorry this is happening to you and your sisters. But that doesn't make anything better."
"No, it doesn't." My eyes fixed on a far point of the pond. "I'm having a hard time pretending right now. I just wasn't looking for company."
"You don't have to explain yourself. I can go." She turned to do just that.
I breathed deep. "I'll go with you."
She placed her hand on my arm. "You don't have to do that, I'll be fine."
"I don't want you to walk back alone. It's getting dark."
"Really, Wade, you don't—"
"It's fine," I said sharper than I meant to. "I shouldn't have left anyway."
She nodded, and we began our walk back to the house, back to the truth and the fear.
"So," she started tentatively, "we brought more food for dinner, and Jeannie and I are going to get some groceries for you tomorrow. Just let me know if there's anything specific you need and we'll pick it up."
"Thank you." The temperature had dropped, taking my mood with it. "It seems like that's always the last thing to think about. Food. Something so basic, so essential, and I have no room to even consider it."
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat as we walked past a copse of trees, leaving the water behind us. "We're here to help with whatever you need. Should we, ah, plan for Elliot when we bring food?"
My jaw clenched. "Probably."
Lou nodded slowly. "Sure. And she's … Sophie's friend?"
"Her best friend."
"Oh."
I felt like I needed to explain her presence, and I didn't like the sensation. So I kept it as short as possible, hoping she would take the hint and leave it alone. "She and Dad are close — he's her mentor. She's been a part of the family for almost ten years."
Speaking about her felt too personal, too close to the edge of the chasm between us, and I backed away.
"This way." I gestured to a split in the path. "It's faster."
She rubbed her hands together and put them back in her pockets. "Good. It's a little colder than I'd realized," she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
I nodded, squeezing my numb fists in my pocket, not looking forward to facing them. Maybe if I'd had a chance to be alone, catch my breath. But as it stood I was only angrier, more unsure, more confused.
"Is there anything else we can do to help?" she asked. No hints would be taken from her.
I did consider the question, though, wondering if there was anything else I could delegate, but I couldn't think of anything. Not with my brain in the state it was in. "I don't think so."
"What will the next few days be like?"
"Dad's lawyer is coming tomorrow about the will, and we have to talk about the best way for him to give me the house to avoid us losing it to the taxes they'll place on it. A nurse will come three times a week and an aide every day to monitor him and his medication," I rattled off absently. "Otherwise, we're just …" Waiting. "… spending as much time with him as we can."
She nodded. "Any visitors planned?"
"Everyone's been calling, but I haven't had time to answer them all yet. It's on the list for tomorrow."
"You have to handle everything, don't you?"
"Yeah." The word was heavy from my lips and on my heart.
"It's a lot. I don't know how you're holding up as well as you are."
"Don't really have a choice."
"Well, I just want you to know that I think you're really strong. We're lucky to have you. Just don't forget that it's okay to lean on us, too."
I didn't offer anything else, just retreated into my thoughts, and mercifully she let me as we walked the distance back home.
Elliot
My voice was the only sound in the room as I read to Rick from a Shakespeare’s Sonnets. It's all I had done since Wade left, taking all the air in the room with him.
He'd felt what we all felt.
Hopeless.
The room had fallen quiet with his exit, but silence wouldn't do. Soon, silence would be all that we had. So I'd picked up the book of words that rested in my hands, and I read them.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.
Sadie sniffled, and I turned to find her tucked into Sophie's side on the couch. But that didn't affect me as much as the vision of Wade standing behind them with his eyes cold and silvery, as solid as he was broken. He was on fire, and he was frozen. Lou was at his elbow, her brow furrowed with concern.
I closed the book, looking to Rick with my heart climbing up and up. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake."
He reached for my hand. "No, just too true. But we need truth." He looked over my shoulder, motioning to his children. I tried to pull away to make room for them, but he tightened his grip, telling me silently to stay as they appeared at my side, Wade the closest.
"Don't be afraid," Rick said gently. "Don't hide. I'm here." He let go of my hand and touched Sadie's heart. "I'm here."
Tears slipped down my cheeks, and Wade broke, his face bending, his hands fisted in the sheets as he dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed into the mattress.
"My boy," Rick whispered, cupping the back of his head. "I'm sorry to leave you."
Wade's shoulders shuddered, and I pressed my hand over my mouth, but the pain wouldn't stay down, stay in — it poured out of me, raw and burning.
"Don't be afraid," Rick said again as he looked us over, his voice thick and rough.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered to himself, eyes closed.