The wind was biting on the roof of the hospital. Her skin had turned a rosy red that, when they were young, her former husband would’ve found appealing. Of course, during a crisis, she was emotional, which he also might’ve found attractive. She felt the right way and felt the right things and didn’t count on living vicariously through the pain of others. She was not “an emotional vampire.”

She was twenty years younger and praying for just one more day with her son. She was praying for a day that she wouldn’t get and for the hope that he wouldn’t notice when he died. She wanted this for Mickey.

She’d known as she held him earlier that he was fading and even with his dwindling strength, he’d thought of her. He looked at her, wise eyes and innocence in one, and released her from whatever loyalty she had to him. She remained until he fell asleep, his too-thin fingers slipping out of her grasp. He looked so young, then. Her world was tilting on its axis and she’d fled as far away as she could without abandoning him completely.

The night was unbearably chilly and she wondered for the fourth time whether Mickey was warm enough. Her fur-collared coat protected her from the worst of it so far, but she suffered mostly from the cold within. The mother inside of her was crying out, praying like a nun for unlikely miracles. She felt the phantom weight of him in her arms, dispersing. She reached out to capture it, only for it to drift through her fingers, undaunted. The loss felt all too familiar.

Staring down into her empty palms, a vicious chill drove through her and she gasped, on the verge of tears. Something was missing. Her heart hammered and she shut her eyes against whatever was coming. When every other thing had failed her, denial had been her sanctuary.

In time, her tears became frosty on her cheeks. She thought that if she could disregard time, then it would cease and nothing would have to change. Her little boy, be he Bobby or Mickey, could live forever. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

The door from the stairwell opened and shut, introducing the cautious footsteps behind her. Uncertain hands laid on her shoulders, squeezing them in solidarity. It’s time, he told her. And she had never hated the dimension more. Eventually, it would take everything from her.

She swallowed her grief and took John’s hand. The time had come to say goodbye to another man she had loved. They walked across the tarmac together, neither rushing nor sluggish. Another end awaited them several floors below. If they were charmed, it would be swift. She needed that for her boys. All three had suffered plenty. She was hardly charmed herself.

The elevator ride was excruciating. With each second, she dreaded more and more going back. She didn’t want to go return to a corpse.

They arrived at the glass cage to find a nurse by his side, holding his hand with a flushed face and wet eyes. The two of them gently ushered her aside, freeing her from her obligation. Mickey smiled at them, such as it was, a faint rise at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t manage words anymore, but he said enough without them.

He watched them with a mercy, and a pity, and a love Eleanor would never understand. She supposed, when you had gone your entire life with no one to feel for, you felt it all at once you had someone. She smiled for him a smile called dazzling in its day. Behind dry eyes, he reciprocated. He knew she would be all right, that she would survive. He knew best, though, that the meantime would be hell.

One last weak breath filled his rail-thin chest. And then, the end had come…and gone.

Leaving her behind with only John’s shoulder as comfort.

 

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