Endings are hard. And we've arrived at one. I will miss my regular readers and I thank each one of you for being here!
It hurt her to hear him sleep unsoundly. Painful exhalations, small moans that would wake her from her own tossing and turning dreams. Dreams in which she could hear him calling for her and she could not find him.
Finally, early morning came, waiting for the sun to rise enough to cast the bedroom in light, she got up and lit a candle. She stood looking at him, lying on his back, the sheets sweated and twisted around his hips, the white bandages crisscrossed over the set bridge of his nose, the deep black shadows of his eyes. She went to the kitchen and returned with another dose of painkiller and an ice pack. She bent down beside him, a hand on his shoulder whispering his name. He came awake furiously and she said his name louder, firmly, and he calmed with her voice.
"Aye?"
"It's time for more pills. Here." She helped him up on his elbows and handed him the pill and the glass of water. He swallowed and groaned. "Oh fuck, that hurts."
"I know, I know it does." She sat beside him, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged on the edge of the mattress. "I have ice."
"No."
"Filip. Yes. Your eyes are going to be so black and blue as it is. Please."
He was quiet and she folded the ice pack back and forth in her hands until it creased and then placed it over his nose.
"Fuck," he groaned again. "Kill me."
She smiled. "Okay. How do you want to be put out of your misery? A brick to the head? Gunshot? Poison? Tortuous hours of lovemaking?"
"All of the above." He raised a tentative hand to his forehead, fingers ghosting between his eyes. He laughed low. "Christ A'mighty."
"Give the meds time to work. Then you can go back to sleep."
"Get me the whiskey."
She frowned. "Later."
"I cannae stand this ice, right?"
She put the ice pack on the bedside table and began untangling the bedding, pulling up the sheet, the thin blanket, tucking it around him. Then she lay down beside him and he turned slightly towards her, his eyes slitted open, watching her. She could see him beginning to relax. She brought both hands up and gently cradled his face between her palms. He closed his eyes.
"He's so adorable. Spry," the hospice nurse said after the bedroom door closed behind him.
"Adorable? Spry?" he asked, frowning.
"I didn't mean that to sound, you know, cute or disrespectful. I'm sorry."
He looked at her. She seemed very young for such an old job. "It's okay. It's just, adorable? Sure, he's eighty-eight years old, but he was fierce when he was younger. We were all scared of him." Her eyes widened at this. "I mean, not scared, like, we weren't abused." He corrected himself, stumbling over the emotions and the words. "He was a great father. They were great parents. We had great childhoods. That's a lot of greats, but yeah. He didn't take any shit and he was just incredibly strong. In every way. The boys looked up to him. Our sister adored him."
"I understand." The nurse nodded, her brow furrowed. "You seem like a really happy family."
"We are."
She smiled at him, then grew serious. "It's close now."
"I know."
"They're so in love."
"They've always been like that. The whole world could disappear and they'd be okay as long as they had each other."
"It's amazing to see him with her. I feel like I'm intruding when I have to go in there." She indicated the closed bedroom door with a tilt of her head.
He laughed. "We all feel like we're intruding when they're together."
"I can't imagine a love like that."
"No?" he asked, looking at her closer.
"I think it's pretty rare."
"I think you're right. It's funny, but I'm not even the age he was when they got together."
She looked at him again, her expression distant and thoughtful.
"Hey." He knew it was time. "You want to take a walk across the street to the park? There's a pair of nesting swans at the duck pond," he laughed at this, "and early this morning I saw them out on the water with their cygnets. You don't get to see that every day."
Her face opened, but then she frowned, looking back at the closed bedroom door. "Oh, I can't, really. I need to be here."
"It's okay. We'll just be gone long enough to see if the babies are out for a swim." He lowered his head, looking at her directly, his eyes clear, his mouth set but the corners trembling slightly. "He's in there with her. Everything will be okay."
She watched him for a long moment, considering. She mirrored the tilt of his head, smiling sadly. "Everything's going to be okay."
"All of them at once?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
He nodded. "Aye." With a hand behind her back, he helped her sit up. She tried to cup the pills in her palm but they shook free. He gathered them out of the bedclothes. "I'll do it, luv." She opened her mouth for him. He handed her the glass of water. "Here, darlin'. Drink as much as you can. Tha's a good girl."
He settled her back down against the pillow, pulling the sheets up around her, on one side and climbing in on the other. He took her into his arms, she came bone-thin, paper skinned. He held her gently, her hands curled together on his chest. He reached for one and tangled their fingers together.
"We drove it 'til the wheels fell off."
She nodded. "It was a good life."
"The best."
"Do you think they're going to be okay?" She had winded herself and he waited through the weak dry coughing.
"They're going to be fine." He gentled his gruff tone. "This has nowt to do with them now."
"I know."
She slipped one hand down to his belly and found the cold metal of the handgun he had tucked into the waistband of his trousers. "I'm sorry," she whispered, then tipped her face up and he kissed her.
"You got nothing to be sorry for. I love you more than life itself," he told her, kissing the side of her head, the thin white scar on her temple beneath his lips. "You still here?"
She nodded, choking out small laughter. "I love you."
"We love each other," he answered her, habitually.
She pressed her head harder against his chest, listening for his heartbeat.
His arms were filled with her, her life. Quietly, quietly, quietly he said, "Every leaving is a blood-letting."
