Page 63 of Sacrifice
TWENTY-FOUR
JULIA
The moments tick by, each breath advancing us forward to Monday morning.
I rinse the last breakfast plate before putting it into the dishwasher. Over my shoulder, I see Crew and Ever on the couch watching cartoons. In the middle of this hell I’m living in, a world of diagnosis, vitamins, antibiotics, unknowns, denials, and uncertainty, the scene in front of me gives me something to hold on to.
I’ve toyed all day with when to tell Ever what’s going on. At first, I was going to wait until Sunday to tell her, figuring it would give her the least amount of time to worry about it. Then I thought maybe it’d be easier for her to know now and have all day today and tomorrow to ask us questions and get comfortable with the idea.
My stomach aches with dread. I’m sure an ulcer is forming. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I just go from motion to motion, looking at the clock. Even that is a source of anxiety. I don’t want to see Monday get any closer; I don’t want to witness such horrid things happening to my baby. Yet again, each day that passes is a day that she’s not getting treatment. I just pray the doctors know what they’re doing.
“We need all our ducks in a row, Mrs. Gentry. We need all the lab work back and time to call in a team to study it. This is what we do, and we want your daughter to be as strong as possible when it’s time for treatment. Trust us.”
I trust no one.
I dry my hands on a dishtowel and gather my courage. “Crew? Can you come here for a minute?”
He looks up and his eyebrows pull together. He pats Ever on the head and walks toward me. He stops a few steps away.
“I was thinking . . .” I know once we do this, there is no going back. It has to be done, but I’m terrified to do it. I don’t want to see her scared. I don’t want to see her cry. “Maybe we should tell her tonight. Give her a couple of days to think about it. Ask questions. Before we have to show up and start everything.”
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. He nods, like he’s still coming to terms with the idea and stands taller. He pulls me in to his chest and I let him. I need this moment of reassurance that I’m not going through this alone. Maybe it makes me weak to need him, but damn it, I do.
The warmth of his embrace, the hardness of his body, the scent of his skin that I remember well, begins to fill up that part of me that seems empty. The part of me that I rely on for strength.
Pulling back, he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Ready?”
“Now?” I ask. I wasn’t prepared to do it later, let alonenow.
“Let’s do it now. Get it over with.”
I nod because agreeing to this out loud is more than I can do. He turns and heads back into the living room. I follow. My throat is so dry, my chest stinging so badly that I’m not sure I’ll be able to say anything.
“Hey, monkey. Your mommy and I want to talk to you for a second, okay?” Crew glances at me, waiting for me to sit. I lower myself beside Ever and he sits in the chair by the window.
Ever sits up and looks from Crew to me. “Okay. What do you want to talk about? Taking me to the park?”
“No, but maybe we can go tomorrow, okay?”
She seems pleased with the answer and looks at me.
“So, remember how we were at the doctor earlier this week? And they did all kinds of tests and things?” I ask.
Her eyes grow wide and she scoots back to the back of the couch. “Yes. It hurt.”
Her words strangle me. I look at Crew pleadingly.
“Yeah, those things suck,” he says, getting Ever’s attention. “Before you were born, I got hurt. And I had to do all kinds of tests like that. It doesn’t feel good.”
“You did?” she asks. “I didn’t know that.”
“I did. So I know what it feels like.”
Crew pauses, waiting for me to join in. I know he’s letting me lead the conversation and I appreciate that. I just don’t know what to say.
“Your doctors called, Everleigh. And you know how your belly hurts a lot?”
She nods and places a hand on her tummy.
