Page 107 of Time Stops With You

“Decide comes from the Latin word ‘decidere’ which means to cut off.”

“To cut off… what?”

“Any other options.”

His eyes wander slightly to the left in the direction of his family’s photograph. “I’ve made a few choices like that.”

“Is there any going back for you?”

Darrel clutches his pen a little tighter. “Never.”

“Then you made a decision. Not a choice. Choices leave options open. Decisions don’t.”

Darrel bobs his head. “For someone who rarely speaks, you have very deep thoughts.”

“I’m glad you see it that way. It’s a pain to put my own thoughts in order in my head, much less get them out in a way that makes sense to other people. But it’s not difficult here. I guess that’s why you’re good at your job.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m enjoying this conversation.”

I smile, not realizing how much I am too.

“I’m also happy for you, Cullen. I know, after marrying Sunny, what love can do. How having a partner makes life so much better.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m excited. I’ve never felt anything this intensely. I’m fortunate to be in a position where I get to love someone like this before I die.”

He goes sober again. “You don’t seem scared to die.”

“No.”

“Do you have family?”

“No. My mom is dead and my father… is dead too.”

“How did your parents die?”

“My mother had a stroke.”

Darrel waits a beat and, when I don’t speak, he adds, “And your father?”

“Drug overdose.”

He blinks.

I hold myself very still, refusing to let my mind wander over to anything that has to do with my father. I’m not ready to go there.

Darrel hesitates. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you have to ask permission, it must be a doozy of a question,” I respond.

“Does Nardi know that you haven’t been going to the hospital and, thus,” he chooses his words carefully, “you might be shortening the time you have left to spend with her?”

I pause. “Yes.”

Darrel nods slowly. “Can I ask why you haven’t been answering the hospital’s calls?”

I knew this question would come up. It’s why Sullivan sent Darrel to my house, like an emotional firefighter trying to put out a house fire.

“What you’re really asking is why I’m choosing to die,” I tell him.

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