Page 34 of Go Find Less

His brother, with his pent up frustration and a knack for taking it out on others - I imagined him pacing around the hotel room, knowing his parents sat here while Mickey drifted away.

I even thought of Kayla - was she nearby? Staying in the same hotel as his family, maybe? Mickey had made it very clear to his family from his last diagnosis that he wanted - needed - to focus on trying to make it to meet his newest family member. He said he had let the story Kelsie had woven live on for too long, he'd given too much energy to it, and it was time to focus on the few options that he had left to try and win this battle.

I knew in my heart there was always a chance that Kayla was his - that, DNA or not, they look alike. That the DNA test could have been faked all those years ago, in that tiny lab in that tiny town. That the supposed daughter he hid for years, while secretly spending time with her behind my back, could legitimately be his. But when it had all come to light, when he had other people telling him just how strange it was that Kelsie had chosen to re-emerge when he was nearing the end of his life, it seemed to knock some sense into him.

My heart ached for them. For the little girl who believed her father was dying that night. For her mother, who was either trying to do something right by her little girl and find a man who would step up when her real father wouldn’t; or was actually telling the truth, and had been railroaded by the same man who lied to me - cheated on me - and his family, whose wrongs I couldn’t even begin to list.

My heart ached for the truth I wish I’d been told from the start. The memories we all could have made together, if Kayla was his, if it had all just been one misunderstanding and Mickey had told me he had a daughter-figure he wanted to keep in his life. But those possibilities died long before this day.

“Piper?” I felt Alex’s hand on my back, and I opened my eyes, glancing at her. She was standing next to the alarm, which she must have gotten to before it went off again. I looked at the numbers.

His oxygen level was below 10%. My eyes slowly slid to the man in front of me. His eyes were closed. His chest made shallow attempts to rise and fall with the little breath he had left. His face was pale.

We’d long since said our goodbyes - tearful and love-filled as we waited for his family to arrive from Kansas for the first time in months, watching our favorite movie in his tiny bed together. But knowing it’s coming and seeing it happen are two different things.

I heard a strangled sound come out of my own throat as I stood from my chair, still holding Mickey’s hand. Melissa and Oscar, huddled together, watched when I perched myself on the edge of the bed, holding his hand in my lap and squeezing it.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“It’s ok,” I choked out, tears streaming down my face. I fought a sob. “You go.” I reached out, stroking his scruffy face, unshaven from months in and out of hospital beds. “We’ll be ok.” I glanced back at his parents, who nodded, even though Mickey couldn’t see them. Oscar gave his son’s other hand a squeeze over his wife’s delicate fingers.

“We’ll see you soon, bud.” Lips trembling, his own tears freely falling, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Mickey’s wrist. Melissa crumpled into his side, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

I couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t watch their sorrow, couldn’t let my head get muddled with the hate my heart held for them, for all of the things they’d done, said, in the last several months, so I turned back to my husband.

And as we sat there in that cold hospital room, Alex by my side, the oxygen level slowly reached zero percent, and the heart monitor flatlined.

Melissa let out a choking wail, and Alex stood from her chair, fumbling with the machines by Mickey’s bed, which were all whirring furiously to alert staff of what was happening.

Of what had happened.

Of my husband’s death.

Finally, after muttering under her breath, Alex pulled the cord out from the wall completely to silence the machines.

I couldn’t move. I couldn't think. I sat there, staring at Mickey’s face. I knew that behind those eyelids were beautiful blue eyes that I’d been captivated by the day he first walked into my life.

Blue. His lips were blue.

Noticing this seemed to snap me out of whatever trance I was in, and slowly, I stood from my perch. My body moved without even thinking, and I stepped toward him, leaning over and placing a soft kiss on his cold lips.

“Piper,” Alex said again, but I just turned, making my way toward the door - aiming for the family room down the hall where I could escape the horror in this room.

Melissa let out another wail, and Oscar was talking under his breath, sobbing.

And hearing that, I stopped in my tracks. I reached my hand out, finding the arm of the fold-out couch in the corner, and tried to steady myself. But I failed.

My knees went out from under me, and I fell to the floor, landing on the backs of my feet and cradling my head in my hands, letting the sobs fall freely. I let out sounds I didn’t know I could make, wailing noises I thought only existed in dramatic movies.

I’d been mourning for a long time. In reality, since the minute of Mickey’s diagnosis. Mourning what could have - should have - been. Recently, mourning the relationships I’d had with his family and friends before the events of the last few months. The solidarity I thought we would share after this moment. The way we’d be able to lean on each other in our grief.

In that moment, I mourned it all. I let it all wash through me, as Alex’s arms wrapped around me, holding me while I let out screams that bring staff running to the room.

And as they hoisted me up from the floor, I couldn’t stomach looking behind me. I wanted to remember Mickey as the man who walked through my front door years ago, holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand and smelling like gasoline. Remember the moments before our lives went to shit, and the times between those terrible days when even in the midst of crisis, we managed to find reasons to smile.

Chapter 12

Piper

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