Page 72 of The Art of Dying

I climbed out of bed and met him in the living room.

“How’s she doing?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “As expected. Cried herself to sleep, and after that she didn’t move a muscle. She’s exhausted, and I don’t… I don’t know how to help her.”

Kitsch’s brows pulled together, wincing at his next words. “You can’t help her, honey.”

I nodded, wiping my eyes, trying not to cry. “How are the kids?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Missing you. I can sit with her until she wakes up.”

“I don’t want her waking up to you and not me without warning. She needs some kind of normalcy right now, even if it’s just the little things.” My lips formed a hard line, my voice barely above a whisper. “That… that can’t be me. I’m not strong like her, Kitsch. I can’t lose you.”

“Honey…”

“The way she’s feeling right now? I can’t do that. I… won’t survive.”

Kitsch wrapped me in his arms. “Naomi’s tough as hell. So are you.”

I buried my face in his chest, drowning in guilt that I was so grateful not to be in Naomi’s shoes.

My husband held me for several minutes until we heard Naomi padding around in her bedroom. Minutes later, she walked out to greet us, already in her gym clothes, her hair secured back with a thin headband.

“Nomes,” Kitsch said, greeting her.

“Hey, Kitsch.”

“You going for a run?”

“Training,” she said.

I frowned, unsure of what she meant.

“Training for what?” Kitsch asked. “You going home to Arizona? Working with your dad again?”

“For a while, but Matt is my home. What was most important to him was protecting all of you. And you’ve got an open spot.”

Kitsch shook his head. “They’re not going to let you in, Naomi. Not right now. You won’t make it past the psych eval.”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I will.”

“It’ll be three years in before you can even qualify for MARSOC training.”

“I know.”

“Naomi…”

“I’ve already called Trex. He’s on board. You need to be, too, because of her,” she said, pointing at me, “and Caroline, and your babies. They’re not going through this,” she said, gesturing to herself. “I won’t let them. So, lock it up, Kitsch, because this is fucking happening.”

She walked past him, opened the front door, and closed it behind her. We followed her out, watching her run down the street until we couldn’t see her anymore.

“You think she’ll get in?” I asked.

“It’s Naomi. Of course she will. If she should is the question.”

“Do you think Trex is really on board?”

Kitsch shrugged. “He either is, or he’s telling her what she wants to hear to get her through the day. I guess it’s a goal, a distraction… a purpose. If it’s the only thing she has to hold on to, then Trex has the right idea.”

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