“Well…” Saylor chewed her lower lip. “Let’s just say Wes had to do his fair share of throwing his weight around and even then the only way they’d release her was if your signature was on the paperwork.”
“So?” I crossed my arms. “How’d you do that?”
“Martha signed.” Saylor cracked a smile. “She’s pretty good at doing your signature too by the way. Oh, and she said if you fire her she’ll hunt you down.”
“Ha.” I wiped my face with my hands. “She’s the best head nurse we have. I’d never fire her.”
“Good.” Saylor’s smile was wide and happy.
“I still can’t believe you’re here.”
A throat cleared. I glanced to the right. The nurse was folding her arms over her chest, looking between the two of us with interest.
“Oh, and I almost forgot! This is the nurse who’s going to be taking care of Princess, and even if you call hospice she won’t leave.”
The nurse tilted her head and held out her hand. “I’m Tara.”
Saylor went and stood next to the lady then wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “Gabe, meet my mom.”
Stunned, I could only stare and then hold out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
She nodded and politely took my hand. “Where would you like me to put Princess?”
“Ahh…” I sighed and looked around the house, momentarily confused as to which direction to take them. “Guest rooms are down here, let’s go.”
It wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall that I realized Princess hadn’t called me Parker — Ashton. She called me Ashton.
How was it possible for a heart to be so full of dread and excitement at the same time?
I paused in the hallway.
“Gabe?” Saylor turned. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Sorry.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Watching someone you love… die? There are no words for how broken that makes a person. It’s like waking up from a bad dream only to find out that it’s you reality, it’s like watching sunlight fade from the sky, like watching death suck the one you love dry, and being powerless to stop it. You may as well try to stop the waves from rolling in, or the sun from rising. In the end, the waves will roll, the sun will set, and death will come. The only thing you have a choice in? How you deal with it…when it does. —Wes M.
Saylor
Two days later, I was sitting next to Gabe while he read to Princess. She was still failing so he’d called hospice in. One of the nurses from the main hospice team came a few times a day to check on things, but since my mom was constantly around they didn’t stay. It wasn’t normal for hospice to approve of something like this, but in the end, it was about the patient. And Gabe was high profile so they didn’t mind. Besides, my mom wasn’t just any nurse. She was amazing, the best at what she did.
Eric called at least thirty times a day — he was staying with his best friend and thought it was the coolest thing in the world that he could spend the night on school nights for the entire week.
And I was stressed.
Not because of the situation.
But because I couldn’t focus on anything, not even my music. It was like, the passion that had once been there, the passion that Gabe had introduced me to, had been sucked dry. I literally had nothing to offer, nothing to give.
That evening, I walked into the piano room — the one littered with pictures of Gabe and Kimmy — and sat at the piano.
My fingertips grazed a few of the notes, but nothing. I felt nothing.
“Sometimes,” Gabe’s voice said from behind me. “It’s not passion that brings forth the music, but desperation.”
“I feel desperate,” I whimpered. “I also feel a bit lost.”