After Forever (2 page)

I was in the lobby when I thought of Cade. Maybe I should see if he needed anything. He didn’t have anyone, I didn’t think. No one to visit him or bring him clothes. I stopped, considering. He needed
someone
, and it looked like I was it.

He was half-asleep when I entered his room, the TV in the corner tuned to some soap opera.
 

“Hey,” I said. “I thought maybe I’d come and see you.” That came out awkward. I tried again. “See if I could bring you anything from home or…or anything.”

He blinked a few times, touched a button on the bed to raise his torso. “Th-thanks.” His voice sounded hesitant. “I’m fine.”

I took another step into the room, twisting the strap of my purse in my fingers. “Sure? Can you—are you able to eat? Normal food, I mean? I could bring you McDonald’s, or something. A book?”

“McDonald’s has books now?” he asked, a barely there note of teasing in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be a smart-ass. You know what I meant.”
 

He chuckled, but he sounded weak. “A book would be good, I guess. There’s literally nothing on except
Days of Our Lives
, or whatever the hell this is.”

“Food?”

“Nah. I can’t eat much right now. Just…not hungry. Thanks, though. They do feed me, and the food’s not bad.”

I sensed that he was glossing over his lack of appetite. His eyes searched the room as he spoke, lighting on the TV, the hallway, the window. He looked everywhere but directly at me.”

Standing in the middle of the room and talking to him felt strange and awkward, so I pulled a chair up next to the bed. “How are you, Cade? Really?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I had to ask. Someone had to ask him. Someone had to care.
 

“Okay, I guess. I feel dizzy sometimes. The pain comes and goes.” He tried to lift his right arm, failed. “What worries me is this arm. My hand. I guess I fucked it up pretty bad. I can barely move it. It’s hard to even wiggle the fingers.”

“That’s your drawing hand?” I knew how important that was. If the fingers of my left hand—the ones I used to work the strings of my cello—got hurt, if I couldn’t use them…I’d be a mess.

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m right-handed. I do nearly everything with my right hand.”

“Well, you can move it a little, right?”

He stared at his right hand, and I could see him focusing, flexing, straining. The index finger and the middle finger twitched. “That’s it. And that was…it was a fucking effort.” He wasn’t kidding; he was sweating, shaking.

“Well, hopefully with some physical therapy you’ll get use back.”

“Yeah. Guess we’ll see.”

Silence.
 

I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know him, not really. We weren’t much more than strangers, even though he was married to my twin. Was it imposing too much to ask how he was doing emotionally? I could see the answer to that, though. In his eyes. They were agonized, simultaneously dull and lifeless, yet rife with haunted horror. I tried not to stare at him, but despite the cuts on his face and the bandages around his head I could see why Ever had fallen for him. His eyes, even as conflicted as they were, shone amber, hypnotizing with the vivid clarity of their color. He had strong, sharp cheekbones, a square chin, several days’ worth of stubble. He was handsome, in a rough and rugged way. Not beautiful, but ruggedly good-looking.

I tore my eyes away and stared at my feet, embarrassed. Had I just been…checking out Ever’s husband? What was wrong with me?
 

I shot to my feet and turned away. “I should go—”

“I want to see her,” he said at the same time.

I halted. “She’s…she’s not in good shape, Cade.” I couldn’t look at him.

“You think I care? I need—I
need
to see her.”
 

I sighed. “I’ll talk to the nurses.” I found a nurse at the desk, conveyed Cade’s request.

The nurse, a woman in her mid-thirties with curly black hair and a quick, efficient manner, followed me into Cade’s room. “I’m not sure we should move you just yet, Mr. Monroe,” she said.
 

“Just…please. I need to see her. Please.” He sounded…pale. I wasn’t sure how that worked, but it was true. It was as if his voice was a bloodless husk of what it should be.

The nurse took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Twenty minutes later, she unhooked various machines and wires, and hung them on the poles attached to his bed. She unlocked the wheels and pushed the bed out of the room, down the hallway, and to the bank of elevators. As the elevator took us to Ever’s floor, I sneaked another glance at Cade. He was white as a sheet, trembling, leaning back against the sheets with his eyes shut tight, as if against a spinning world.
 

Ever hadn’t moved, of course. She was on her back in the bed, trailing a maze of tubes. Eyes closed. Bruised and broken. It hurt to look at her, every single time. I watched Cade. His eyes were closed as the nurse moved his bed in next to Ever’s, locked the wheels, and left us alone. He didn’t open his eyes right away. I could see the war on his face, needing to see her but not wanting to look.

Finally, his eyes slid open, and his gaze landed on Ever. He shuddered, and his features twisted. “Oh, god,” he choked. The fingers of his left hand curled into a fist, shaking violently as he white-knuckled the sheet.

I looked away from him, then; the vulnerability in his eyes was far too private for me to witness.
 

He reached for her with his left hand but fell short. His hand rested on the metal railing of Ever’s bed, and he seemed to be straining, as if he needed simply to touch her hand. I leaned over him, far too close to him, smelling him, took Ever’s hand and lifted it so he could brush her knuckles with his fingers. He sighed, a wretched, trembling sound, as he touched her. I held on, leaning over him, my eyes closed to avoid seeing him from so near. Their beds were too close together for me to fit between, no space at the head, too far away at the foot. I was conscious of my hair brushing his chest, an intimacy too great for the strangers that we were.
 

When I couldn’t hold the position any longer, I laid Ever’s hand down on the bed and moved away, brushing my hair back over my ears. I was shaking from the bizarre tension of the moment, holding her hand so he could touch her.
 

“Thank you.” He whispered the words.

“You’re welcome.”

He just looked at her then. Watched her, his thoughts inscrutable. Unknowable, to me at least.
 

“Want some time alone with her?”
 

He turned his head to look at me. “Alone with her?”

I shrugged. “To…to talk to her.” He blinked, as if not understanding the idea. “I talk to her. They say people in comas might be able to hear you. That it helps. Somehow. So I talk to her.”

“Oh.” He returned his gaze to Ever. “Yeah.”

I left the room, but not before I heard him clear his throat and start to speak, his voice barely audible. “Hey, Ever. It’s…it’s me. Caden. I’m here.” His voice trailed off, broke, and then he tried again. “I’m—I’m so—so sorry, baby. I should—I shouldn’t have—” But his voice broke again, and now I heard the choking, gasping sound of his struggle to contain his guilt, his tears.

I closed the door behind me. He blamed himself. I couldn’t listen to his grief.
 

Not without giving in to my own.

I fled to my car, sat in the frigid darkness and shook, felt tears trickle down, unable to stop them. I drove home in silence, through the thickly falling snow, with tears freezing on my cheeks, tears stuck in my chest, grief shut down and compressed and denied.

~ ~ ~ ~

Caden

I heard Eden close the door. I was thankful she’d left, relieved. I couldn’t stop myself from crying as I stared at Ever’s broken body. My Ever. Barely breathing, so still. I willed her to move, to wake up. She had to wake up. She
had
to. She would wake up. Right? Tears slid down my face and I didn’t care, didn’t wipe them away, just watched her, willing her to wake up.
 

“Baby. Please.” I heard my voice. “Wake up. Please. Wake up. I need you. Please.”
 

She didn’t move, didn’t stir, didn’t wake.
 

I sat there, wishing I knew what to say, until the nurse returned and wheeled me back to my room, pretending not to see the tears. I didn’t know her name, but I was grateful for her silence.
 

Alone in my room once more, I sat with my eyes shut, the TV off, and tried to move my fingers, my right hand. Tried to ignore the way it hurt, the way my whole body hurt. My head throbbed. My leg ached. My arm was on fire.

My heart was shattered.

I fell asleep, and when I woke up, Gramps was in the visitor’s chair, Grams beside him.
 

“Hey there, kiddo.” His voice was deep and gruff. “How are you?” He stood up, moved to stand by my bed. He was the same as ever: tall, commanding, whip-cord lean, silver hair and weather-lined face.
 

I pushed the button to raise the upper part of the bed so I was sitting. I was so weak, I couldn’t even sit up on my own. “Fine,” I said.
 

“Bullshit,” Gramps said.

“Connor!” Grams chided. Grams was much like Gramps, with silver hair and a slim, straight body, dark eyes.
 

“I’m your family, boy. Don’t lie to me.” His eyes reflected his love, even if his way of showing it was very much his own unique brand.

I sighed. “It hurts, Gramps.” I looked away, out the window, where all I could see was snow and more windows. “So bad.”

“You’ll heal.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know. Still the truth.”
 

I met his eyes. “No, I won’t. Not without her.”

“You really love her, huh?”
 

I nodded. “More than I can say. God…I feel like I can’t breathe. She’s in that room, and she’s not gonna wake up. But she has to. She—she has to. She can’t leave me. She promised me.”

Gramps could hear what I wasn’t saying. He didn’t speak, just stood at my side and nodded.
 

Grams came to stand next him. “Talk to her, Cade. Be there with her. That’s the best thing you can do.”

“It’s not enough. And…it hurts. To see her. To talk to her and not hear her voice.”

“I know,” Grams said. “But you’ll be there for her. And you’ll be there when she wakes up.” She seemed to be struggling, fighting some emotion I didn’t understand. She’d always been just like Gramps, steady and solid. Now it seemed like she was near tears herself. “Excuse me.” She turned abruptly and left the room.

I looked up at Gramps in confusion.
 

“She spent nearly every day for two years in a hospital room,” Gramps said, his voice low. “Her ma. Got sick, real sick. Went into a coma, just like your Ever. Grams was real close with her ma, so it was…the hardest thing for your Grams.”

“Did she get better? Great-grandma, I mean?”

Gramps wobbled his head to one side and the other. “For a while. Point is, bein’ in a hospital is hard for her.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know how that feels.”

I’d spent hours, days, weeks in the hospital when Mom got sick. I hated hospitals. I hated being in one, and I knew each and every day, every moment would be torture. But I’d stay here with Ever, no matter what.
 

“I just want you to know, son, that we’ll be here for you. We’re here for you.”
 

Gramps was restless, though. I could see it. He hated being inside, hated sitting in the chair, hated the close walls and the smell of sickness.
 

“You should go back to the ranch.” I picked at the thin, scratchy white blanket, tugging on a loose thread.
 

“Gerry and Miguel can handle it.”

“There’s nothing for you to do here, Gramps. I’ll be out of here before long, and then it’ll…it’ll just be me sitting in Ever’s room.” I was tired suddenly. Again. So tired. A broken heart was tiring. “For real, Gramps. I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll stay a few days.” He said this in a way that made it final. I nodded, and felt myself drifting.

solace in the strings

Eden

I pulled the bow across the strings, eyes closed. It was off, a raw note, and I brought the bow away. Sighed, drew a deep breath, and tried again, stilled the shaking in my hands and the ache in my chest.
 

Perfect.
 

I started slowly, playing one note, a second, a third, and then I was into the prelude to “Suite No. 1 in G Major, ” as played by Yo-Yo Ma. His
Six Unaccompanied Cello Suites
was a masterpiece, and when I didn’t know what else to play, what else to do, I would find myself playing that. Bach, yes, but Yo-Yo Ma’s interpretation specifically. There was something about his tone, the way he emoted through his instrument, that spoke to the core of my soul.
 

I floated away, then sank into the rise and fall of the notes, the sweep of the bow and the voice of my Apollo, my cello. I let the music pull me under its spell, made it mine and let it take hold and erase all the thoughts within me, all the hurt and the confusion. It was my solace, this cello, the music, the sonorous voice singing to me, appealing to the notes of my blood, the eloquence in my hands. It could soothe me, shelter me, for a few moments, from the hurt and the darkness and horrors of being alive and so, so alone.
 

I moved and breathed in a lonely world, and Apollo alone knew my tears, felt them fall upon his shoulders. He scoured them from me, took them and allowed them to fall, and never judged me. When my heart broke, he comforted me.
 

“Suite No. 2 in D Minor” rippled from the strings, and I poured myself into it, let it flow like a river. Let the grief go with it, the pain.
 

I found myself playing the
allemande
to “Suite No. 6 in D Major” and I cried then. It was Ever’s favorite piece to listen to me play. I’d auditioned to Cranbrook with it. I faltered near the end, my bow slipping on the strings as I sobbed. I played through it, played through the shivering, shuddering, wracking sobs, playing through it for Ever, because this was the only way I could grieve.