She's pale; under the blinding fluorescent lights, her skin is the color of snow. She's holding Max's hand. Her face is devoid of emotion. She occasionally opens her mouth like she is going to say something to her father, but she quickly closes her mouth. Nigel is sitting next to her. Lily, Bug, Sydney, and Garrett are crammed into the area between his bed and the wall. They don't seem to mind the close quarters. Eddie is sitting on the corner of the bed. I had to beg the nurse to let me back; she insisted that Max had enough visitors. The doctor told me to go back; they were waiting for the priest. They already talked to the neurologist. I told the doctor that I was a close friend of the family; he told me that the ventilator would be turned off after Max's last rights.

I hadn't expected Garrett to be the one to call me; I was asleep. I couldn't think of what else to do when I got home. Jordan had a date; I didn't have anyone to run to. I didn't really have anyone.

I raced to the hospital, but I had a hard time getting out of the car. I did everything possible to avoid hospitals; my least fond memories all took place in hospitals. I watched my mother die only to have to watch my father die just over a decade later. I knew why Jordan wanted me there, but I didn't think that I would know what to tell her. It's hard to say good-bye; it's hard to figure out the right words. I always second guessed my words to my father; he was my father and I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I loved him. I loved him for being my father, but I didn't love him for being an alcoholic and forgetting to take care of his sons. My father was dying, but I hated him.

I felt like I had wished this upon her. I was the one who told her that we might not have six months; I was the one that had secretly been praying for something that would keep her in Boston. I didn't know what I was going to say to her.

"Are they ready?" someone asked. I turned around to see the priest with his bible in hand. It was Jordan's friend from high school . . . her friend from the murder investigation.

"Yes . . . yes, father," I replied. I followed him into the room. Paul went right over to Jordan; he took her in his arms. He asked if she was ready; Jordan could only nod before the tears began to run down her face. Paul said told her that it was time to start. Nigel held Jordan as Paul began the Catholic ritual. I could hear her muffled crying; I could almost hear the minutes ticking away in my head. It was almost over.

The prayers were short; I always thought that they were much too short to encompass meaning of a life. I didn't really hear any of the words; all I could hear were the faint sounds of Jordan desperately trying not to lose control of her emotions. Her head was buried in Nigel's chest; his hand gently rubbed circles on her back. He would occasionally whisper something in her ear; I was willing to bet that this time he was saying very beautiful things to her. I wished that I was him.

Paul finished quickly; he said that he would be available to help Jordan with the arrangements. Paul was like family; I remember Paul saying that they grew up together. I remember Jordan saying that Paul was her first kiss. Eddie said that he would do anything to help Jordan; Eddie said that he couldn't be there when . . . when Max died. He told her to call him; he said if she needed anything . . . it was the least he could do for his partner's daughter. Jordan thanked him. Eddie brushed passed me; his face was a pale white . . . had never seen him so close to losing his composure.

Jordan said that anyone that was uncomfortable could leave . . . she didn't want to force anyone to be there. She sounded so different. Her voice was raspy; there was a tentative pause after each sentence. She looked either at Max or at the floor. No one moved; everyone wanted to be there with Jordan. It was much like a member of their family was dying. That was the atmosphere created around the medical examiner's office; they were a family. Their family had become so much stronger in the last week. I still felt like I watched their family from the outside.

The doctor came in; he explained to Jordan what would happen. Max might breathe on his own for a little bit before passing on. The doctor gave him pain medication and assured Jordan that Max would feel no pain. Then he did it; his last moments, three minutes, seemed to take ages. Then it was over. Time of death 2356.

She cried; her head rested on Max's chest. She kissed his cheek and asked the doctor to please take him to the morgue. She told the doctor that she couldn't see her father like that. Jordan said she would be in contact with a funeral home tomorrow . . . she would return Max to Emily. The doctor offered his condolences. She thanked him for finding her before it was too late.

We followed her out to the family area set aside for us. Lily hugged her; she said that she needed to get going. Lily ran her fingers through Jordan's hair . . . straightening it . . . tucking it behind her ears. Bug was going to drive Lily home; he kissed Jordan's cheek. He said to take time off; Bug would work for Jordan. Jordan said that she couldn't ask him to do that; Bug said that there was no reason to ask. They disappeared; I could see the tears in Lily's eyes. She always felt so much for the people around her.

Sydney quietly excused himself. He told Jordan to rest; he told her to call to call if she needed anything. Jordan thanked him; he kissed her cheek. Only Garrett, Nigel, and I were left in the room with Jordan. Jordan asked them to give her a minute with me; they went silently. She sat down on a small sofa; she didn't exactly sit . . . she collapsed onto the tiny vinyl sofa. She sat with her head in her hands. I walked over to her; I sat next to her. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do next.

"You were right . . . about second chances . . . third chances. I should have just apologized and left my mother's murder alone. I would have been there with him . . . he wouldn't have sat alone in the ER for ten hours by himself . . . he shouldn't have had to go to surgery by himself . . . lay dying in the ICU before they figured out which of his drivers licenses were real," Jordan said softly. Her breathing was irregular; her chest shook slightly as it rose and fell. I wished that I wasn't right, but I didn't exactly remember saying anything about second chances.

"You were there when it counted," I whispered as I pulled her into my arms.

"He didn't know that I was there. I didn't get to tell him that I loved him . . . I didn't get to apologize," Jordan said as she looked up into my eyes. The tears rolled down her cheeks. Her faith had been shaken; she had worked so hard to put herself together. She had worked so hard to mature into a woman that Max would be proud of . . . he would never know what he was missing. Jordan would never know that she was forgiven.

"He knows . . . he knows," I replied. Max had to have known; he had probably been watching her the entire time he was in Boston.

"What do I do next?" she asked. I had never seen Jordan come apart like this; being obsessed with her mother's murder was one thing, but this was different.

"Let's get you home. Everything else can wait until tomorrow," I replied.

"I don't know what Dad wants . . . we never talked about . . . he always thought that I would be gone before him. I did stupid things . . . I did stupid things. It's my fault," Jordan replied. The tears poured down her face faster.

"It's not your fault," I replied.

"Why does it feel like it is?"

She would always feel that way. She would always remember that guilt; she would always remember today. I could remember the day my father was shot; I could remember the fight we had in the morning. I could remember me yelling at him about not giving Cal money to pay for his middle school football fees. I quit the football team so I could give Cal the money; it would mean so much more to him than it would to me. He deserved that little happiness in a life that was otherwise miserable. Dad was on a ventilator for ten days; I balanced all my time between taking care of Cal and being at the hospital. I resented my father for making me have to be an adult over night; little did I realize that I had been an adult since the day that my mother died. I took care of Dad every time he was too drunk to make it through the front door; I took care of Cal . . . I raised Cal. That was one thing my father could never say he did.

"Let's get you home," I replied.

"I don't know if I want to go home . . . his things are everywhere," she replied. I knew she recently began to clean out some of her mom's things; that must have devastated her. I knew she wasn't ready to go back home to another set of reminders.

"Dr. Macy is still here . . . maybe you could stay with him. Nigel could always go pick up some stuff at Max's house for you," I said.

"Will you come see me?" she asked. I could never say no to her.

"Whenever you want me to," I replied. This time I was determined not to let her down; I was going to make the most of my second chance. I was going to take care of her like Max asked me to; I was going to be everything that I should have been the last few years. I know Jordan wouldn't be happy if she knew what made me happy was taking care of her; she prided herself on taking care of herself. I hoped maybe she could find something in me that made her happy . . . something like cowboys, the Indigo Girls, or that locket she loved so much.