“We will be . . . eventually,” I lie, before adding, “that doesn’t mean we won’t miss you like crazy every single day, kiddo.”
The faint smile she gives me does nothing to ease the ache in my chest. I’d gladly take her place, take on her cancer, and keep it for myself if I could. I’ve lived. Now should be her turn. When Clara pulls up beside us, she lets out a long breath. “This is going to be a long night,” she whispers. Then she opens the door and climbs out, leaving her purple scarf behind.
Hours have passed. Marcus and I are standing in the kitchen, drinking beer, when Clara returns from checking on Neena after she went to bed. When she enters, she looks like a ghost; her face pale, dark-lined eyes riddled with pain. The three of us joined here tonight to tell Neena the tragic news and planned to comfort her as best we could. But Neena, the old soul that she is, ended up comforting us. She truly is wise beyond her years.
First she hugged Clara, holding her tightly as Clara sobbed. Then when Marcus got choked up, she sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder while she held his hand. I managed to hold it together; after all, she asked me not to cry, so I did my best to remain strong for her. This kid could give a lesson in strength. As I watched Clara and Marcus, I could see what Neena meant when she said she was afraid to die. I don’t think she meant she fears the actual act—at least not entirely—but she fears its aftermath. I get it. She’s afraid of what dying will do to the people she loves. She’s afraid of what will happen to her mother when she’s gone. She’s the strongest kid I’ve ever met—strongest person for that matter. But even the strongest walls need reinforcement. How heavy the weight must feel to know you are deteriorating, yet feel like you need to remain tough for those you love. She needs me to be her pillar of strength so she can continue to be strong. Maybe she didn’t ask for it specifically, but that’s what I got from our conversation in the car. Plus, I feel it in my bones. And although I’m crushed, I’ll do this for her. I will give her the strength she needs.
“She’s asleep,” Clara tells us.
“I think I’ll be heading home now,” Marcus announces as he throws his beer bottle in the trash. “Mei-ling will be crying all night when I tell her the news.”
“Thank you for being here, Marcus,” Clara says.
“Whatever you need—whatever she needs, I’m here.” Then he looks up at me and adds, “That goes for you, too.” He shakes my hand, hugs Clara, and heads out the door.
“Did you want to stay tonight and get your stuff tomorrow, or just come back tomorrow?”
Scratching the back of my neck, I answer, “I’ll come back tomorrow with my stuff. Unless you want me to stay.”
Her eyes seem to droop, her shoulders sagging as well. “If I ask you to lie on the couch with me and hold me, could you do it without thinking it means anything?”
I stare at her blankly for a moment. She’s asking me to hold her—lie beside her soft body and hold her? I’m shocked. “I think I could handle that,” I reply after a beat.
She exits the kitchen and I follow behind her into the living room. She stands by the sofa, waiting for me to lie down first. I can totally handle this. Can’t I? I mean, I think I can. I can handle being so close to her in such an intimate way . . . shit. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. But I have to. She asked me to. She needs me to. I toe my shoes off and take my place, scooting as far back as I can to allow her enough room beside me. I extend the free arm I’m not lying on, letting her know I’m ready. She inhales deeply, releasing it slowly before she tentatively sits beside me and then lies down. Shimmying back, she curls her body into mine and the smell of fresh linens hit me. The woman still smells the same after all these years. It takes her a few seconds to adjust, but finally she stops moving and seems to sink on the spot. I move my hand awkwardly up and down her body without touching her. It’s just dangling midair. My instinct is to wrap my arm around her, pull her further into me, but I’m not sure if that’s what she wants. Thankfully, Clara answers for me when she grabs my hand and pulls it around her, holding my fist in her hand, and clutching it tightly to her chest.
“Thank you, Paul,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I squeeze her gently. “You’re welcome, Clara.” For the next hour or so, her body shakes as she weeps quietly, but she doesn’t speak. I haven’t always been good with words. And it would be cliché to say, it’s all going to be okay. Those words in a moment like this would be wasted breaths. It’s just like Neena mentioned earlier, she needed someone she could say things to without them spewing pretty words back at her. Clara just needs someone to hold her, let her cry, and let her be angry. She doesn’t need me to say anything. She just needs to feel me. Eventually her crying calms, and her body relaxes as she drifts off to sleep. And just before I close my eyes, letting sleep pull me into the uneasy, dark abyss, I whisper, “I’m here, Clara. I’m here for you.”