Ian's eyes lift to mine. He has pretty much mastered Jim's look of disapproval by now. There's a sadness twinged in there, too. Maybe it's just me and it's not as bad as I think it is. Maybe I'm just crazy.
"Two knife wounds," Ian says, clearing his voice. "Motherfucker had aim. Got Pop right in the stitches."
"It only just sounds bad," Jim says. Liar. Even I know what's happening here. I place a hand on his forehead. It's so hot, way too hot to be normal. He's also sweating profusely, and his hand shakes violently as he tries to raise it up enough to demonstrate how little the issue really is. He's pale with purple circles around his eyes, and every single breath is more difficult than the last.
"Quit lying to us, Dad." Ryan holds Jim's other hand in his. His knuckles are white from the effort to keep from snapping. "It's bad, and we all know it."
Jim gives our boys a sad smile and nods his head. For my part, I hold Jim's torso tight to my chest and kiss the top of his head.
"In that case," Jim says softly, "Give her what she wants. You won't ever regret it making her happy. With your girls or mine, just make them happy.
"No doubt. You two are my greatest creations." Jim sucks in a ragged breath and looks at Ryan first and then Ian. There are unshed tears in his eyes that slay me. I'm so numb, I don't think I'm feeling it. I'm just forcing myself to act like I'm here, in the moment. In reality, my brain's already shut down.
I know what this is--this is death.
"I love you, momma." His words come out on a gasp as his eyes dart side to side involuntarily. His body is shutting down.
"Why couldn't you have just stayed in your hospital bed?" The rawness in my voice sounds foreign to my own ears. The volume shocks me. It's as if part of me is here, screaming at Jim about what he should have done. Even though I know him staying put would have gotten our boy killed. A crushing guilt overcomes me. I won't price my husband's life over my any of my sons'. I hate that shit so much, so I push it down as far as I can and hope it never resurfaces.
"Told you I'd walk through fire for you," he says. The last few words are mumbled, barely audible, and they end on the last gasp of air that leaves my husband's body.
And he's gone.
We don't move for a long while, just stay like that, without a single word to pass between us. Ryan moves first, removing the piece of torn shirt from Jim's side. He looks up at the human shield the girls have created. My eyes follow his. Alex's body shakes in silent sobs from what she's just witnessed. Her face is contorted in ways that must be painful for her and her scars, but she cries anyway. Still, no sound escapes her. Immediately, Ryan pulls her down to him, and he lets out a cry that is so honest, I know I'll never forget it.
Mindy moves in to comfort Ian, but he pushes her off and stomps away. Once he's standing over the body of the man who took his father from him, he gives it a kick. And then another and another. He doesn't let up until Grady drags him away. It's only then that my boy's eyes dart up, and he looks for Mindy. When he finds her, the tears fall openly from his eyes.
There's no shame in crying, I used to tell him.
Even the strongest of men cry.
Looking down at the man in my arms, all limp and lifeless and still so formidable--even in death--I work to pull his deadweight up higher, so I can hug him better. It's not easy, but I make it happen. Everybody is sort of immobile now, some intently watching me, others determined to do anything but. I ignore them and give myself this final moment with my man. It starts with one tear, and then there's many. A memory surfaces, and it knocks me on my ass.
You don't shut us out, he'd once told me. I was depressed over the twins' birthday and had pretty much given up on the entire world. My pushy, determined, loving man told me I don't get to quit when our kids need us.
"They need me now," I whisper to myself on repeat until I can bring myself to do what I need to. With one final moment, I brush Jim's hair back from his face and look into his empty gray eyes. I close one eyelid and then the other and shush whatever may be left of him into eternal rest. "I got this now, baby. I got this."
"Somebody get my mom out of here," Michael says. Looking up, I find everybody's position has changed. The women are largely removed from the space now, standing back behind their men. This isn't a rescue anymore, but a massacre. I carefully extract myself from beneath Jim's body and place his head gently on the cement. Jeremy approaches me, but my face and gun encourage him not to.