“Are you the father?” one nurse asked me.
“Yes, I am,” I said, the yawning pit in my stomach threatening to swallow me whole. “What's going on?”
“Please, step out,” she said.
She took my arm and tried to guide me from the room. I pulled away from her grip and stayed put, staring at Ava as the doctors circled her like goddamn vultures circling a piece of carrion. The room was eerily quiet except for the beeping.
“What's going with my little girl?” I said.
“Please, Mr.--”
One of the doctors turned off the beeping machine and said quietly, “Time of death, nine-fifty-five pm.”
I pushed my way past the doctors and the nurses and stared down at Ava's sweet face. It was so still. So peaceful. She looked like a perfect little angel. I stared at her little upturned nose, a trait she got from Shannon, the freckles along her nose and cheeks. She wasn't dead, she couldn't be.
The nurse who'd tried to take me out of the room earlier, grabbed my arm, pulling me from the room as gently as she could.
In that very moment, my entire world fell apart.
***
Two and a half months after the funeral, Landon stopped by and found me sitting on my front porch. Empty bottles littered the steps beside me. He didn't say anything as he sat down. I just handed him a beer, and he took it.
“Listen, man, I'm so sorry – ”
“I wish everyone would stop with the sorry bullshit,” I said, drinking down the last of my current beer.
I reached for another one and popped open the top. I tossed the cap away, where it clattered on the porch, spinning and rolling. I took a long drink and stared down into the bottle like it held all of the secrets to life and the universe. Like it could teach me how to bring my wife and daughter back to me.
“I'm so tired of everyone apologizing to me,” I said. “It's not gonna bring them back. They’re dead. They’re both dead.
“I know,” Landon said quietly. “But you know Shannon wouldn't want you to live like this.”
I scowled at him. “It hasn’t even been three months! I have a right to grieve.”
“You do,” he said, sipping his beer. “But you also need to come to terms with it and make some decisions.”
I sighed, running a hand through my greasy hair. It had been far too long since I'd seen a shower, and I probably smelled rank. My diet consisted of beer and booze these days. I couldn't even recall the last time I'd had a real meal. Probably Shannon's meatloaf, the night she died.
“This about the band?”
“Not just the band, but everything,” he said. “The ranch. Your music. Your life. We're worried sick about you, man.”
“I'll be fine,” I said.
“Look I know I’m coming across as a dick by asking, but I need to know. Just give me something. Do you intend to keep playing music?” he asked, side-eyeing me. We have shows lined up still, Drake.”
“I know,” I said, taking a long pull from the bottle. “I'll be ready for them.”
“You will?” he asked, the surprise in his voice evident. “You're gonna keep playing and singing?”
I shrugged. “I have to. I need to pay for Elsie's care. I don’t want my Mom working night shift anymore.” I said. “And besides, music is how I deal with shit.”
Elsie was my one and only sibling. She had autism and needed specialized care to help her manage. My mother had been struggling to pay for her care over the years, but she was getting too old now. We’d also talked about arranging for Elsie to move in with me, now that I was living alone. She’d always loved growing in our dad’s farm. It brought the both of us peace to be here.
Landon nodded, looking pleased with that answer. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “I know your fans will be happy to see you back on stage too.”
“I'm not doing it for them.”