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I scoot closer to him and wrap my arms around his neck. "I will do everything I can to prove to you that I am so incredibly sorry for what I did."
His hand cups my cheek. "You don't have to prove anything to me. The fact that you told me about it right away proves how serious you are about us. You don't have to earn my love, Jenny. It's already yours."
It's already yours.
It's already yours.
It's already yours.
Chapter 42
Loss is strange. Sometimes you know it's coming, like in Diane’s case. You sit in a chair every Saturday, watching her skin pale and her body waste away to nothing from the grief and stress and something foreign attacking her body. It's mentally taxing and physically exhausting.
But then there’s shocked loss. Like when Aunt Dorsey died in that car accident when I was 14. No one saw it coming. One second, she was driving to the grocery store and the next? We were getting a phone call saying she was gone.
We never even got to say goodbye.
Diane's soft snores echo through the room while I scroll through Facebook. Matt and Audra are now officially listed as "in a relationship." They even posted their cute gender reveal video. Everyone on the mountain is thrilled, of course. They needed good news after hearing about Diane.
People have dropped off endless dishes. Casseroles, sides, desserts. Randy had to go out and buy a second refrigerator to house all the food townspeople keep showing up with. I don't know why, but it's oddly comforting that they care enough to make a meal for all of us and drop it off with cards and letters and flowers. Mom does all the talking and explaining and thanking. Randy, generally, disappears because it's too hard for him. I overheard him and Diane talking last weekend about how it makes them feel less alone, less scared. Randy cupped her cheek, looked down at the love of his life and just broke down in tears, crying and sobbing.
I slowly crept back down the stairs, not wanting to disturb the moment.
Sometimes, I wonder if we should tell him that his wife isn't the saint he thinks she is. But what good would that do? It doesn't change that she's sick and I don't think it would change how much he loves her. Some things are just better left unsaid.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. Kyle presses his pointer finger to his mouth, telling me to stay quiet. He walks over to his mom and peers down at her. His face softens as he lifts the covers up to her chin, tucking her further in. Then, he turns back to me and reaches out a hand. I take it and follow him into the hallway.
“Do you want to run with me to grab pizzas in about 30 minutes?” he asks as he slips a strand of curled blond hair behind my ear.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “But what about the chicken and rice casserole Miss Bea dropped off?”
Kyle shakes his dark head. “None of us can stomach another rich casserole. We want pizza and beer.”
I smile. “That does sound good.”
“I have to help your dad fix that ceiling fan really quick, then I’ll come get you?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He kisses my lips gently before taking the stairs two at a time. I watch him go, my heart aching in my chest. He’s home. But he hasn’t said anything to Diane. He sees her at dinner and comes to check on me when he knows she’s asleep. I want him to fix things with her before she dies, but how do you help someone do that? How do I tell him he only has so much time before that chance is gone? Forever?
I settle back into the chair beside Diane and rub my forehead with my fingers.
“He’s never going to forgive me, is he?” I hear.
I look up and see Diane’s green eyes, the color of jade and sea glass and dewy grass when the sunlight hits it just right. She props herself up and chews on her bottom lip.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.
“He told you, didn’t he?” Her eyes shift down and she fiddles with the edge of the white sheet.
“He did.”
When she glances up, her eyes are glassed over. “When I found out I was pregnant with him, I just knew he was a boy. I went out and bought him this blue Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. It was so soft. Randy thought I was crazy because he didn't think I could possibly know that early. But I knew.” She pauses for a moment and wipes a stray tear from her sunken cheek. “My dad left when I was six years-old. He walked out the door and never looked back. I spent most of my childhood staring out the front window, hoping he would pull into the driveway and come home to us. When I was about fifteen, I realized I had spent most of my younger years wishing for something that was never going to happen. So, I made a vow to myself. That my children would never feel as unloved and heartbroken and disappointed as my father made me feel.”
My chest tightens as she takes a deep breath and struggles to find the words she wants to say.
“But I did that. I did that to my son,” her voice breaks and she raises a hand to her mouth to stifle the rough cry that leaves her throat.
