Page 53 of Before You Can Blink (Rust Canyon #4)

Jett

February

The four hours that Daisy was hooked up to that machine always dragged.

She took it in stride, electing to read or nap, but there wasn’t much for me to do other than stare at the wall-mounted TV playing daytime game shows in the waiting area.

At this point, I was practically an expert at guessing the exact cost of random appliances and motorized vehicles, or how a random survey of one hundred people would answer any given question.

In the past fifteen months, I’d watched more television than the rest of my life combined, and I could literally feel my brain rotting.

I was zoned out watching the contestants spin the giant wheel on stage when the door to the clinic slammed open, startling a few of those waiting alongside me for their loved ones to complete treatment.

It was enough to have me tearing my gaze away from the screen, where someone had landed on the one-dollar spot on the prize wheel, and my eyes widened when they landed on my son, who had apparently been the cause of the commotion.

“Tripp?” I rose from my seat.

He tugged on the back of his neck, and his voice came out hoarse, “Dad, I—” That’s all he managed to get out before his hand came up to cover his mouth.

His visible distress had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I’d only ever seen him this upset once in all my life, and that had been when he recounted the time Penny almost lost their first baby in the early stages of her pregnancy.

Swallowing thickly, I forced myself to ask, “What’s happened, son?”

It couldn’t be anything good with him standing opposite me in a hospital an hour away from home in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.

“Th-there’s been an accident.” The words were barely above a whisper.

“Who? Penny? One of the kids?”

His eyes slamming shut, Tripp blew my world apart when he said, “Meemaw.”

I stumbled back, my knees hitting the chair behind me, and I collapsed onto it.

“No.” I shook my head in disbelief. This had to be some kind of sick joke, right? Wasn’t I suffering enough?

“I tried calling but—”

“My phone died. Didn’t have a charger,” I explained, emotionless, having gone numb.

“They said she doesn’t have long.”

My head snapped up. “She’s still alive?”

Tripp dipped his chin in confirmation. “They brought her here after a neighbor found her.”

“A neighbor,” I repeated, trying to make sense of it all .

“She hit a patch of ice on the porch and fell. Cracked the back of her head on the edge of the cement steps.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “She’s been declared brain dead.”

The air was sucked out of my lungs like a vacuum.

“Brain dead.” My voice sounded far away, foreign to my ears.

“I, uh—I already said my goodbyes if you want me to stay with Mama,” Tripp offered.

Craning my neck, I tried to catch a glimpse of her down the long row of wide, padded chairs containing patients. Only her shoes were visible from here, propped up on the reclining footrest.

Nodding my head woodenly, I accepted his offer, barely able to absorb the directions on how to get to the room containing my mother, who wasn’t long for this world.

During my walk through the maze of hallways, my mind raced, running through every emotion known to man before finally settling on one that couldn’t be ignored: guilt.

This was my fault.

The woman was eighty-seven years old, for crying out loud. I should never have allowed her to continue to live alone. I should have demanded that she move onto the ranch with us. If I had, this would have never happened.

But I’d been so consumed with Daisy, and these past few years had given me a new perspective on why Ma refused to leave that house. Though it might initially be painful, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere other than the place that held all our shared memories—everywhere I looked, I would see Daisy.

When I reached the glass door to the ICU room, I froze, my heart shattering. I knew it was my ma in that bed, but she was barely recognizable. Her face was purple and swollen, and no fewer than a dozen tubes were attached to her body, including one down her throat that was breathing for her.

She didn’t deserve to go out like this. No one did.

Chest gone concave, I pushed inside.

A sobbed, “Daddy,” had my head whipping to the side. There against the wall, with red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin, was Aspen, tucked into Mac’s chest.

She pulled out of his arms and rushed into mine, where we clung to each other like our lives depended on it.

“I’m so sorry.” Her words were muffled against my shirt.

“Me too,” I croaked out.

Mac stepped closer. “How much did Tripp tell you?”

“Enough to know there isn’t anything they can do for her.”

He nodded sadly. “The ventilator is keeping her alive for now, but the bleeding in her brain is what will take her from us. They couldn’t give an exact time as to when that would happen, but they don’t expect it to be very long.”

Swallowing around the lump formed in my throat, I nodded. “I understand.”

These would be my final minutes with my mother.

Gently, Mac eased Aspen from my arms. “We’ll give you some privacy.” With that, they left me alone with the woman who had given me life.

The symphony created by the machines in the room filled the silence.

The drip of the IV.

The soft whooshing of the ventilator.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart rate monitor.

Heart twisting painfully, I stepped forward. Grazing a finger over her hand, I sucked in a sharp breath at how cold her skin felt.

Pulling in a deep breath, I began to say goodbye .

“I know I wasn’t the perfect son, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to apologize for that.

I’m sorry for giving you a hard time when, more often than not, you were only saying what other folks were too scared to.

Your colorful commentary might’ve been over-the-top, but that’s who you are.

You lived your life out loud because that’s the only way you knew how. And God, Ma, you were always right.

“You knew Daisy was the one for me when I was too blind to see it for myself.

You knew that my children would become my greatest accomplishment, even when I was adamant that I would never have any.

You knew Tripp and Penny were destined to create a beautiful life together, just like you knew Aspen needed someone like Mac to make her laugh and be her constant source of support, so she could chase her dreams.

“When you’re gone, people will say you lived a full life surrounded by a family who loved you.

And while they’ll be right on both counts, I’ll always be wishing there had been more.

One more hug, one more sarcastic remark, one more chance to see that sparkle you get in your eyes when you get to visit with your great-grandbabies.

They all adore you, Ma, but don’t you worry, I’ll make sure to explain to them you’re with their Pawpaw now.

And that you’re probably the happiest you’ve ever been to be reunited with him. ”

I took her cold hand in mine. “I love you, Ma. Tell Pop I’m sorry for not taking out the trash when you see him.”

The minute those final words cleared my mouth, the line on the monitor went flat, and there was a long, drawn-out beep.

She was gone.

I stared straight ahead, unblinking, during the funeral service.

While my body was physically seated in the front pew, my soul watched on from above, almost as if it had been ripped out at my mother’s passing.

Mac gave the eulogy, providing a mix of lighthearted humor and compassion as he recounted the impact Ma had on not only him and our family, but the community.

Aspen and Tripp stood up to share a few words and to express their gratitude to those who had offered their love and support during this difficult time.

Through it all, Daisy kept her hand in mine, silently offering me all the strength she had left to give.

When we moved to the graveyard and watched as the casket was lowered into the ground, I couldn’t help but wonder . . .

Would I be burying my wife next?