Page 37 of The Souls of Lost Lake
His brown eyes softened. “Sure. Nothing.” He didn’t believe her.
“Doesn’t it ever get to be too much for you?”
Eddie hit the mute button and drew in a deep breath. “You mean about Mom?”
The reference to Patty, slowly dying in the other room, snagged Wren’s breath. She nodded.
His honest answer was still painful, though Wren knew he didn’tmean it to be without feeling. “Death is a reality of life. Dwelling on it doesn’t change anything. It’s a walk of faith.”
“Ouch.” Wren gave him a floppy snarl more laden with tears than derision. She blinked rapidly to stop the tears.
Eddie worked his jaw back and forth for a second. “Will it hurt when Mom passes? Yeah.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah, it’ll hurt, Wren.” He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her, but he didn’t. Instead, Eddie dropped his hand back to the remote that balanced on his leg. “But I don’t want to live in that hurt. I want to live knowing that Mom lives too. With the Lord.”
“Heaven,” Wren managed to say around the lump in her throat.
“Yeah.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. The air between them was thick, emotion drawing links between them that would be difficult, if not impossible, to sever. For a moment, Wren couldn’t breathe. Some kind of force—friendship, understanding?—moved them closer to each other. She could smell mint on Eddie’s breath, could see the blond highlights in his whiskers.
Eddie pulled away and shook his head, picking up the remote and pressing the volume button so the TV sound blazed into life. He waggled his eyebrows to deflect whatever had just happened. “Time to listen to politicians argue.”
Wren had to wait a few minutes to gather herself. Eddie seemed unaffected, but she was shaking. She looked down at her hands resting in her lap and linked her fingers together to steady them.
Patty.
Launching from the couch, Wren muttered, “I’m going to go see your mom.”
Eddie didn’t try to stop her.
The bedroom was warm. Patty lay propped at a slight angle in the hospital bed that had been brought in. The room was lit with dim lighting, the curtains drawn against the night that lurked outside.Patty opened her eyes. They had tired, dark circles underneath. Her peppery gray hair was short like a pixie cut, but that was because it was all that had grown since her last and final chemo treatment. The blankets were pulled up to her waist, which was small now, unlike the plumper, curvier version of Patty that Wren remembered from when she was a child.
“Wren...” A smile fluttered across Patty’s face. She patted the bed. “Come. Sit.”
Wren returned the soft smile and took her place at Patty’s side. The bed sank under her weight. Wren adjusted by slipping her knee onto it and propping her other foot on a stool by the bed.
“You look like death warmed over,” Patty observed. Her voice was shaky. Weak from battling the disease that ravaged her body. She hadn’t lost her sense of humor.
Wren smirked. “Very funny.”
“Eddie said they’ve not found the little girl yet.” It was an observation, but Patty waited for Wren’s response.
“No. They found her sweatshirt.”
“Yes.” Patty winced. “There was blood on it?”
Wren nodded. “They said it wasn’t a lot. So maybe it was just a cut or something. I hope.”
There was silence for a bit. Wren picked at her fingernails but felt Patty’s assessing gaze. Finally, the woman spoke again.
“What’s bothering you?”
Wren smiled then, lifting her eyes. Patty could read her like no one else could. There was no hiding from her. “Just that old feeling again.”
“You had another nightmare?”
Wren nodded. The effects of this nightmare had lasted longer than past ones.
Patty reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing it weakly. “You need to explore it, Wren. I’ve always said that even though they don’t necessarily mean anything, they reflect your spirit. Your soul.”
