Page 110 of Sacrifice
“I wish they’d spend all of that energy worrying about me on my daughter! Who gives a shit if I’ve lost weight or had a haircut?”
“I do,” I whisper. “You’re the one that keeps this whole thing together.”
She smiles vaguely but I lose her to an empty space again. She gazes into thin air, in another time and place. I watch her face, her long eyelashes fluttering, her dark hair catching the moonlight coming through the windows. She looks at me again, her face solemn.
“I haven’t let myself consider the worst-case scenarios. But on days like today, I think I’m stupid for not. But I can’t make myself go there . . .”
“There’s no reason for you to go there.”
“How do you know that? You can’t promise me that.”
“I can promise you that Ever isn’t done fighting. I can promise you that she’s going to get the therapy and that will—”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do.” I stare into her eyes, searching for her soul. “I promise you she’ll get the treatment. Trust me.”
“I’m afraid to trust anything.” She yawns and snuggles down into my lap.
“Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay up and check on Ever.”
She shakes her head, her locks falling into her face. “I can’t sleep. I’m afraid if I doze off, I’ll miss something. Every time she smiles, I try to commit it to memory. Every time she laughs, I try to record it in my brain. I’ve caught myself taking notes during the day, just so I remember the things she says. I just feel like I’m living in an hourglass and the sand is slipping.”
A flurry of goose bumps ripples across my skin, a dream I had months before coming back in vivid color.
“Get your shit together, little brother. You’ve had enough time to fuck around and play games. It’s time you man the fuck up. I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to. I’m counting on you.”
“I just go through my days,” she continues, “like a crazed robot, programmed to keep track of everything she does. I don’t remember who I am or what’s going on with you or if we’ve paid the bills . . .”
I reach under her and pull her all the way onto my lap. She lies across me like a baby.
“I feel like I’m losing it, Crew. I’m feeling my hope slip. I’m so angry . . . bitter, even. I just feel so much fear.”
I kiss her temple. “Feel me love you. Feel me here with you.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she whispers, grabbing both sides of my face. “I wish things were different. I wish Ever wasn’t sick and you and I were here under different circumstances.”
“One day,” I say, feeling her thumbs brush against my cheeks. “One day Ever will be better and we’ll take her to the beach. I’ll show her how to surf. Then we’ll come home and you can make dinner while she watches baseball with me. I just hope Gage didn’t breed some Red Sox fandom in her.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t speak. She seems to have attached herself to my words, so I keep them coming.
“We’ll eat and then I’ll help you clean it up. We’ll put her to bed and I’ll read her a bedtime story. I hope we’ve moved on from princesses by then. Then we’ll crawl into our bed together and I’ll hold you all night long.”
“Oh, Crew . . .”
I kiss her gently on the lips. Her eyelashes flutter and her body relaxes a bit.
“We’re in this together. For as long as I live, every battle you face is mine, too. And I promise you,” I say, leaning in like I’m telling her a secret, “I’m one helluva fighter.”
She giggles and it’s music to my ears. “Let’s go to bed,” I say, starting to lift up.
She sighs and I sit back down, rolling my eyes.
“She calls me Daddy. There’s nothing wrong with us sleeping together.”
We’ve been over this nearly every night that she’s been home since the night we were together. I don’t see her point; she won’t see mine.
“She calls you Daddy because you fill that role for her, not because we’re married.”
