Page 225 of Severed Heart

I stare at the phone as it rings in my hand and swipe as the seconds start to tick by, reminding God of my one request.

Please, God, just this one thing.

“Sheila,” I whisper.

“Tyler, she’s fading—”

Thank you.

“How long?” I ask.

“Within the hour, maybe less,” she replies.

Fighting the urge to yell at her for not alerting me sooner, I knew the risk in leaving this morning. Of complications that can arise in the final days. The touch and go. I was always going to lose her. I haven’t slept in days because of that knowledge. The idea of sleep beckons me, and selfishly I allow that fatigue in. Maybe if I let it take me under, this pain will subside, and my heart will give out. Or maybe life will be merciful enough to complicate that sleep so I can go with her. Knowing that mercy isn’t an option, I lift my phone and manage to catch some of Sheila’s words.

“... Tobias just arrived.”

He must have been close or going to see her. He’s been haunting our house for months. Haunting because he drifts in, stays mere minutes, and drifts right back out. As if he can’t handle anything more. As much as I know it hurts Delphine to see him in that state, it would have hurt her more without his ghost visits.

I stare out the window as the trees blur, and flinch when I see snow flurries start to drift toward me as my one ask backfires.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snap at the clouds, at her God, “don’t you dare do this to her,” I say as Russell jerks his head in my direction.

“What? What is it, brother?”

“Pardon?” Sheila asks.

I shake my head, the story too long to tell. Her life story. She’s lived so much life, a lot of it I’ve been witness to, but not enough.

“She’s only forty-one,” I whisper, lowering the phone. “She’s only forty-one,” I release in exhale, disbelieving that’s the truth of it. That I came into her life when she’d already lived half of it.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Russell emits low, and I know it’s my state that’s making him emotional. None of the birds really know her. They don’t know how incredible she is, or of her true nature. Most of them only glimpsing the formidable alcoholic she was. Which was only a mask and shield she held in place—that she fought to hold. But my life with her, my whole relationship with her took place behind both. It’s as I reflect on that truth that Tobias’s words from our conversation drift back to me.

“Do we ever really know people?”

We do, the people we truly love and memorize, and God, how I memorized her.

“Russell,” I prompt, my unspoken request immediately answered as he floors the gas, using every bit of horsepower beneath his hood to get me to her. It’s then I realize I’m still on the phone, the seconds ticking by as Sheila patiently waits. Inside these seconds, I find life irrevocably cruel to take her this way, on this day. A day without the sun she so loves while hoping she hasn’t seen the snow. She’ll think of Matis. I don’t want her mind there when she takes her last breath. Her final thoughts to be on the man who started the slow break of her heart, only for me to do everything to try and seal it, to mend it, to soothe it.

She’s finally whole, she’s finally ...

“Sheila, close her drapes right now, do you hear me? Close them. Don’t let her see it’s snowing.” This year, winter was charitable, only granting us a few inches that didn’t stick. While it snowed, I kept her in our bedroom to watch a Star Wars marathon.

“She’s not very cognizant—”

“Close them,” I snap, more determined than ever to protect her from it. “Sheila, it’s important,” I beg. “Please.”

“Already done,” she assures.

A weak French curse sounds, and I’m slapped back into reality by her voice, remembering my promise not to mourn her until she’s gone and she’s still here. She’s still here. “Please put the phone to her ear.”

“Doing it now.”

“Soldier,” Delphine utters weakly. “I am okay.”

“Hey baby,” I croak, hearing the gutting taking place inside of me. “Can you try,” I utter, “t-to wait for me?” My eyes burn as I try to hold in the ache that wants to leave me. While also silencing any condemnation for her order to take Zach out of the house this morning. An order to leave her side. Because she knew, of course she knew. But I don’t dare condemn her for it. If I could protect her from this, I would. And I’ve just done it to Zach, who will probably never forgive me. Staving that down to concentrate on the precious seconds remaining, I speak what I can manage. “If you can’t wait,” I release in a pained exhale, “it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

An empathy-fueled grunt sounds from next to me as Russell torpedoes us through the backroads. His effort feeling futile because we’re too far out. We’re still too fucking far out.