Page 71 of The Circus

“He’s not going to make it,” she finally whispers to me.

The beginning of the destruction of the kingdom we’ve painstakingly built starts to crumble in that moment, for the woman I love is about to lose everything she’s ever fought for.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

FORTY

EDEN

The steady,rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor attached to my father’s pale finger is the only thing helping me keep time. It’s late, well past ten, and nothing has changed since we arrived here a few hours ago. Nothing, save for the fact he can no longer open his eyes, can no longer communicate. His life is now measured in hours instead of days, and a blanket of numbness wraps itself about my shoulders as I stare at the thin man on the bed.

That isn’t my father. It can’t be. My father was always strong—in shape and athletic, unlike me. He ran every morning, made eggs and turkey bacon to go with his pitch black coffee. And still, the cancer crept into his organs and ate away at him as though it were sport. One day, maybe, this image I have now of my father will fade from my memory, and I’ll be able to see him as he was after a run, or when he used to work on his car, smudges of oil caked across his tanned and weathered cheeks.

Teddy shifts beside me in his own chair, the noise as loud as gunfire with how silent we’ve both been. Cash’s mom Betsy left an hour ago at the end of her shift, tears in her eyes, promising to return the moment I needed her. But at this point, whatdoI need? The only thing I want is dying in front of my eyes, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it or prolong it anymore.

“This is beautiful,” Teddy murmurs, and my sketchbook comes into my line of sight, his strong hand grasping the papers gently. I swallow thickly, eyeing the rendering of an anatomical heart I did for fun while bored in art one day. I’ve always been fascinated with anatomy, and the heart is so beautifully intricate, woven through with veins and arteries, electricity somehow pumping the muscle that keeps us alive.

It’s how my father’s heart must look in his sunken chest.

For the first time in hours, I cast my weary glance to the man I love. His eyes are guarded, his jaw set. There’s a lot he wants to say to comfort me, I can feel it charged in the air between us. But he doesn’t say anything, because he knows that right now, words are useless. Everything is useless against the finality of death, even though I can see the dead. My father won’t stick around, nor do I want him to. I’ve come to terms with his passing, so why am I finding this so fucking hard right now? Why can’t I accept what I always knew was the ending for him?

“Thank you,” I croak back, unsure of what else to say. He sets aside my sketchbook and reaches for my hands, clasping them in his and giving a hard squeeze. In the background, the harsh breaths rattling through my father’s impaired lungs fracture a part of my brain.

It’s a sound I know I’ll never forget. A death rattle.

“I’m going to go get you some clothes, some food. What else do you need from home?” he asks softly, eyes flicking between mine. Biting my lip, I shrug. What does one need while waiting for something like this to happen?

He gives a small smirk, leaning in and pecking a sweet, gentle kiss to my forehead before pressing our noses together. My eyes flutter closed, and my heart aches at his kindness; his is a type of love that I will forever drink in like a greedy addict. I can survivethe death of my father, so long as Teddy still holds my hand through it all. How I would have ever made it without him, even without Cash, I’ll never know. Life has a funny way of bringing you the people you need at the exact right time.

“I’ll take care of everything, little ghost. You’ll be okay if I leave for a bit?”

I nod against him, reaching out and clutching his frame to me in a tight embrace that he returns, cupping the back of my skull and holding my ear above his steadily thumping heart. When he releases me, the chill of death creeps in between us. He gives me a quick kiss, and he’s gone as silently as a ghost.

The minutes tick by slowly. In one hand, my tattered copy ofLooking for Alaskais open, my eyes skimming the prose I know by heart. In my other hand, I grasp my father’s cold fingers. My eyes jump from him to the page every few seconds, my distraction not working as I would have wanted it to.

“I’m here now, dad,” I whisper hoarsely, tears brimming my eyes. “I’m here. Just you and me.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge my words, other than to give a pitiful squeeze of my fingers. Sniffing, I wipe the moisture from my cheeks with the sleeve of Teddy’s sweatshirt, gazing upon my father with deep sorrow swirling in my heart. He’s suffered for so long. He deserves peace, but I think he’s still too afraid to let go.

To letmego.

Sucking in a deep, calming breath, I grip his hand back even tighter.

“You…you can go now, dad. I’m here. If you need to let go…just let go,” I whisper around the hard lump in my throat. “I’m going to be okay. I love you, forever. It’s okay to go now.”

I wait, watching, searching for his soul to rise above his body, but nothing happens. Tears permanently stain my cheeks, and I return my eyes to my book, rubbing my thumb over the back ofhis waxy, stiff hand. A smile paints my lips despite the horror I am about to face, and I prop my book on my knee, reading him one of my favorite lines.

“‘If people were rain, I was drizzle, and she was a hurricane,’” I recite from memory. My father used to call me that—a little hurricane.

A small smile ticks up the corner of his lips. He raises his other hand, reaching for something I cannot see. My eyes flick to the clock on the wall, ticking down the seconds. The rattle of his final breaths in his labored lungs echoes forever in my ears. The beeping of his heart monitor slows, and slows, and slows.

11:43.

“Dad?” I whisper. But it’s silent now. No beeping, no pained breaths dragged in through

a ragged throat. I shake his hand. “Daddy?”

I stand, my book thudding to the floor, icy numbness enveloping me as I call the nurse’s station. One is already in the doorway, a young woman I haven’t seen yet.

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