Chapter 12

Andrew took a deep breath of preparation before swaying open the door to Eliza's hospital room before him. The sun hadn't even risen yet, it was so early the next morning, but Andrew had been sitting in the waiting room alone all night and he had eventually decided – after an impossible amount of deliberation – to go and see how she was doing. He couldn't bear just sitting out there by himself, unknowing, clueless. But he hadn't been completely alone after all. He had prayed. And there wasn't a single trace of doubt in the Lord's suggestion to Andrew to go and see how both Eliza and Monica were doing. Forcing back every voice inside of him, screaming out to him to leave her be, Andrew had taken those few crucial steps to the second room on the left down the hall.

But before he had done so, he felt it necessary to try and show Monica he was willing to make amends if she wanted to. He had gone down to the cafeteria and purchased two coffees, which he then carried up to Eliza's room in hopes that perhaps the small gesture would mean something to Monica. It just had to.

But now, as he stood in the doorway of the hospital room, the sight before him caused him to feel more vulnerable than he ever had before. There Eliza lay, unconscious, lifeless, hooked up to an uncountable number of machines that no-doubt were the only things that were keeping her alive. And there his dear friend sat, next to her daughter in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed. Her face was frightfully pale, her eyes glassy and weary, as though she hadn't slept a wink the night before. Her gaze still fixed upon her daughter, she didn't even glance briefly upward when Andrew entered the room. In fact, it seemed she hadn't heard him at all.

Approaching her side cautiously, Andrew stood in momentary silence, simply staring down at her with such love and sadness in his blue-green eyes that he couldn't help but feel she knew every thought currently running through his mind. It was only after another long second that he finally held out one of the Styrofoam cups he had brought up with him, offering it to her in a silent plea for even the smallest smile in return. When she still didn't so much as flinch at the action, Andrew drew back ever so slightly and cleared his throat bravely. "I thought you could use some coffee." He proposed in a voice so gentle and soft that Monica couldn't help but grant him a brief glance before reaching forward herself and taking the coffee slowly with little more than a nod in thanks.

Though this miniscule return gesture alighted him inside like a sunrise, Andrew still didn't even smile to show his relief. He simply stood there as still as could be, watching her sip her beverage gingerly as she returned her gaze to her dear child. But what he was clearly unaware of as he stood there, unwavering, was that Monica's eyes may have been on Eliza, but her full and complete attention was on her beloved Andrew, standing next to her. She wanted more than the world itself to simply turn to him and cry her heart out, tell him she was more sorry than she could ever be and hear his sweet, tentative voice reassure her that everything would be okay. But she didn't, for she knew there was no guarantee that was what she would hear when he spoke in return and the consideration that he may be eternally angry with her if she tried frightened her more than the devil himself. So instead, she maintained her poker face and simply made safe enough seeming small talk.

"Why haven't you gone home yet?" She questioned quietly as she kept her gaze fixed on her daughter in front of her instead on the one the question was directed to. Her voice contained little if not no feeling or emotion whatsoever as she spoke, slicing the very tension in the room it seemed like a sharp knife through butter. Andrew hesitated momentarily as he glanced warily from Eliza to his dear Monica before he finally replied after a long minute. "I…I guess I just had to stay and see how she was doing." He half-lied in response as he finally fixed his gaze permanently on Monica. But she only nodded in reply as she still didn't look up at him. She couldn't. Not now. He would see the pain and regret in her eyes and, at the moment, she had no idea how he would react to such a thing. So she hid the tears as they eventually found their way across her eyes.

Andrew remained where he stood for another lone, awkward silence, simply staring down longingly at Monica, wishing that somehow, someway, he could tell her he was sorry. But he knew she could never forgive him and that she had every right to be more concerned with her daughter at a time like this. He just wanted to hold her in his arms once more, allow her to cry on his shoulder and tell her he loved her. But, to his utter sorrow, that simply wasn't an option at the moment. And so he only stood there, blinking back the tears until he finally forced his feet to move once more, making his way slowly back toward the door in silence. Without a word said between them, he knew well enough that she was better off without him here.

But just as he stepped toward at the threshold of the doorway, a glorious sound rang out to his ears. A sound he had wanted to hear for the past several hours. The longest hours of his existence. The miraculous sound of Monica's Irish lilt as she called out to him. "Andrew." She called after him ever so softly in a weary voice as she turned her head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. Then came an achingly lengthy pause as Andrew halted instantly in his tracks, fighting with the debate over whether or not to reply, or to simply continue on out the door. But eventually, though he did not turn around, he made the decision to oblige out of pure curiosity about what she had to say to him.

"Yeah?" He inquired in a cautious, gentle voice, barely audible, though he still didn't look at her, but simply turned his head enough as she had, just to be able to see her out of the corner of his eye. But what he saw was enough to make his heart swell to an impossible extent. Monica had turned around fully now, and was holding eye contact with him, tears of every emotion in the book streaming down her cheeks. That was when he knew. He knew everything she felt as well as if the Lord had planted those emotions in his own heart, using the seeds from hers.

He didn't waste another moment. Feeling hot tears of his own spring into his blue-green eyes without any warning at all, he turned fully now and took the few small, but crucial steps back toward her, allowing his feelings to get the better of anything else was feeling at the moment. "Oh, Monica," he breathed in a choked voice as he took her face in his hands and dropped to his knees on the floor before her. But he needn't say a word more, for, as Monica's own heart suddenly seemed to explode in her chest, her emotions overflowed and the tears began to flow freely, finally letting out all the pain and feeling she had so desperately wanted to cry to her dear friend before. She suddenly didn't care whether or not he was angry with her, she simply decided she had to try or she might as well die if she couldn't feel his love for her anymore.

But he wasn't angry with her at all, which became more and more clear to her as she continued to confide in her beloved soul mate. "Andrew…I…I'm so sorry!" She sobbed intensely as she finally allowed herself to do as she'd longed more than anything for the past few hours. She fell forward, sliding off of the edge of the chair…and into his arms. She cried so deeply into his shoulder that he was almost concerned for her lungs, the way she was sobbing. None the less, he embraced her tiny shoulders in his strong hold and allowed tears of his own to finally stream over his cheeks and into her hair below his chin. This was how he wanted it. This was how it should have been. He loved her so much and it felt immensely more than just right to have her back in his loving arms once more.

There they sat without a word spoken between them for a brief moment while Monica drained her tears into his shirt, too ashamed to speak again until Andrew finally broke the incredibly painful tension between them once more. "No Monica. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be the one apologizing. I…I love you so much. Please…forgive me." He was forced to take brief pauses between words – as so was she – for his breath intake had been minimized by the tears that were spilling over his handsome features relentlessly.

But Monica wouldn't hear any of it anyway. She shook her head no over his shoulder, as though trying to convey a message to him even though she could barely speak. "No…Andrew no! I…I had no right to…to…" But once again, her sobs got the better of her and she was forced to leave the statement unfinished as she continued to allow the painful cries to wrack her petite frame once more. But Andrew received the message loud and clear and wouldn't have let her finish it at any rate. Drawing back just enough to hold his dear friend at arm's length by the shoulders, Andrew gazed past the agonizing glaze of tears and stared at those two, soft, brown eyes he loved so dearly.

"Oh Monica, no. Come on. You had every right to feel that way. Come here." He pulled her back onto his chest, wrapping his arms around her yet again, clearly not knowing what else to say. The sobs bombarded her body once more as he felt her chest heaving against his, her loving tears falling onto his shoulder once again. Nothing further needed to be said between them. It seemed simple enough that it obviously didn't matter who was right before. As long as they were together now, they suddenly realized it would only help the situation to be there for one another.

"Shh. Shh. I'm here now. I've got you. Shh." As Andrew whispered consoling encouragements in his friend's ear, both she and he suddenly relived the moment they had first reunited after Andrew's death. Resting there in his arms, she recalled those same, loving words he had whispered to her before and it was those same words that were all she needed to hear right now.