Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Courtney flips through a magazine, Isabelle works on an intricate design in an adult coloring book, and Portia holds a novel open, but she hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Connor’s knee bounces, and he taps on the armrest.
I tug at the scrunchie around my wrist. Neither of us has slept particularly well since Christmas Eve, and I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically. Plus, right now, I’m drowning in the tension of it all. “I need a coffee. Does anyone want anything?” I ask.
“The coffee here tastes like bathwater,” Courtney grumbles.
Isabelle closes her coloring book and stands, setting it on the chair. “I’ll come with you.”
I look to Connor. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine.” His jaw tics.
My heart aches. I stand and move in front of him, blocking everyone’s view with my body. His gaze stays locked on his bouncing knee.
I lean down and press my lips to the top of his head. “I won’t be long.”
I’m afraid to leave him alone with his parents, but I can’t protect him if he’s shutting me out. I still haven’t had the guts to bring up the conversation we desperately need to have. If Meems doesn’t survive, my happiness is no longer important, and if she does…well, that wasn’t part of the contract.
Isabelle slips her hand into mine and squeezes. “It’ll be okay.”
“It should be me reassuring you, not the other way around.”
“You’re close to Meems. Closer than I am. She always loved Connor best,” Isabelle says.
“She understands him,” I murmur. I thought I did, too. I thought we were becoming something real, but now I don’t know.
“I know Connor can be closed off,” Isabelle whispers as we start down the hallway. “But he’s scared right now.”
“We all are.” And he’s slipping away from me. I don’t know how I’ll survive if I lose them both.
“But Connor more than the rest of us,” she says softly. “Apart from you, Meems is the only person he loves like this.”
My stomach twists, because Connor doesn’t love me. Does he? a voice inside me demands. It’s what my presence in his life brings him that connects us. Isn’t it? That’s what I always tell myself. But why?
“You’ve changed him, Dred. So much. Once Meems makes it through the surgery, he’ll be okay. He just needs to get through this part.”
“We all do,” I agree.
She hugs me tightly. “Thank you for being here. I know it isn’t easy.”
His family is messy, but I know his sisters care. And he cares for them, too. So maybe he can love me, my mind chips in before I can shut it down.
Isabelle releases me, and we continue down the hall until we reach a Tim Hortons. I get coffees and Timbits for everyone.
Portia accepts a coffee and so does Connor, and I leave the others sitting on the table, in case anyone changes their mind. Then it’s back to waiting, the knot in my stomach constantly growing, my fears compounding. Two hours into the surgery, a nurse comes in with an update. Her posture and expression make my already roiling stomach sink.
“The doctors are working hard to replace the valve, but it’s been touch and go,” she says. “We lost Lucy briefly, but she’s stabilized now.”
Everything inside me goes cold.
“Can they still replace the valve?” Portia asks.
“They’re doing their best,” the nurse replies.
Connor runs a rough hand through his hair. “This is supposed to make her better, not fucking kill her!”
“Connor, get ahold of yourself,” his father snaps.
I settle a gentle hand on his forearm. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, some of his tattoos on display. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“I don’t want to go for a walk! I want the doctors to do their job!” he barks.
I pull back, hands raised. “Yelling at them, or me, won’t make the outcome any different.”
His anger quickly morphs to guilt, and he looks away.
Isabelle and Portia are wide-eyed. His mother looks embarrassed, and his father smug. Like the outburst is expected.
“You’ll have to excuse our son. He has a temper,” Duncan says to the nurse.
“He’s hurting and afraid,” I counter. “Look at yourselves.” I motion to the four of them, sitting in a row, with no space for their son. “What did you expect when you turned him into an island?” I turn back to Connor and extend my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
He complies, but he still doesn’t meet my eyes. And I don’t know the impetus behind his actions.
In the hallway, his gaze remains on his feet, jaw tight. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Me too, and no, I didn’t.” I turn to him. “But this is a really difficult situation. What can I do, Connor? What do you need? I’m trying, but you’re shutting me out.”
“I just need her to live.” He pulls me against his chest. “I need her to stay. I need this not to be the end.”