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It’s been three days. Three days since we drove home. Since Diane opened her eyes, looked at Kyle one final time. I wonder if his face is the last image she’ll have before she’s gone. Before she succumbs to her illness, passes on, leaves us behind.
Her breathing is slower, more labored as I watch the rise and fall of the grey cable-knit blanket over her body keeping her warm. I'm frozen in place, my gaze focused on her chapped lips quivering from the effort it takes to keep breathing, to keep living.
My heart aches in my chest. Feels like someone is squeezing it with their fist, beats erratically.
I could stand here and argue about the unfairness of it all. But maybe part of growing up, part of living, is accepting that some things are just unfair. They don’t make sense, may never make sense.
It's part of life.
The weather has been as foreboding and cold as the mood in the Thompson house.
Snow. Ice. Grey.
Seems fitting, I suppose, that the weather would be just as bleak and hopeless as we all feel. I wish the sun would come out, even just for a moment or two.
“Hey,” I say as I gently wake Kyle from the white chair beside Diane’s sleeping form.
Kyle’s eyes flit open. “Hey.”
He opens his arms for me to crawl into, grabs the blanket off the back of the chair, wraps us up in it. I snuggle into him, thankful for a few peaceful, quiet moments.
“Everything alright?” Kyle asks as his fingers find my chin, lift it towards his face. He presses his lips to mine.
I nod my head. “I just wanted to check on you. You’ve been in here a lot today.”
“I don’t think she has long,” he exhales heavily. “And I’m trying to work up the nerve to say goodbye.”
My hand cups his cheek. “Kyle…”
He closes his eyes, opens them, they’re filled with unshed tears. “She did terrible things, Jenny. Terrible things. She defended horrible people. She got them off on lighter sentences, stole closure from their victim’s families. She…she destroyed our family.”
I don’t know what to say, so I stroke his cheek, wishing I was older, wiser, more mature. That I knew how to comfort him, give him advice, understand what he's going through.
“I want to forgive her. I want to say goodbye.” He pauses, licks his lips. “I just don’t think I can right now. I can’t rush this.”
Time.
It always moves so damn fast.
Too damn fast.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” I shrug in his arms. “But just because she did bad things doesn’t make her a bad person. She loved you so much.”
“I should have told my dad about the affair,” he shakes his head, brushing off what I've said. “Should have let it destroy their marriage, but I couldn’t leave you. I didn’t want to leave you.”
“What do you mean leave me?” I ask, confused.
“It's...nothing,” he clears his throat. “I’m angry with her. She wasn’t supposed to die yet. She was supposed to live long enough for me to figure out how t-to…”
He starts crying and I feel a lump form in my throat. He holds me tighter as he crumbles in my arms.
I look up, see Matt standing in the doorway. His eyes shift down to the floor as he pushes off the doorframe, leaves us.
And it makes me wonder, does Matt feel the same way?
Has he forgiven Diane? Said his goodbyes?
Back when we were friends, I would have known the answer.
