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After: The Fall


Ashley

Several days had passed since the night that I'd felt Nick's presence. They were long days, filled with a feeling that I was straining to feel him, trying to find him in an empty room. I had the strangest sensation that he was there, hiding, keeping himself secret from me. And I wanted him to make himself known. So I'd reach out into thin air, grasping for something that wasn't there. And I'd talk to him, when nobody else was in the room, I'd say things to him, trying to make him come closer so I could feel him again. But he never did.

It was a Monday when Oliver was all packed up, ready to head home. We all stood out on the lawn as he squashed his suitcase and carry-on into the back of Zoey's car. She was going to bring him to the airport so he could fly home to his family, to Derek and Webber, his partner and adopted three-year-old son. Oliver walked back from the car, back over to me, and he wrapped his arms around me, tightly pulling me into him. He rubbed my back as he hugged me, and I held him close.

"Can you forgive me?" I asked, "For shooting your father?"

"Of course," he said.

I closed my eyes. "I love you baby boy," I said.

Oliver nodded. "I'll come home again real soon, mum."

"Real soon," I pleaded.

He nodded, then drew back, hugged Leslie, "Take good care of mum," he said, and then Presley, "Stay out of trouble, kid," he told her. Then he walked across the lawn to Zoey's car and waved goodbye. He swung into the passenger seat.

"I'll be back soon," Zoey called, and she, too, ducked into the car.

I watched my babies drive away.

"C'mon mum, let's go inside," Leslie said. Steve Perry ran to the end of the driveway after the car, barking. "C'mon Steve Perry!" Leslie yelled, whistling. The dog bounded back toward us.

I tripped on the step.

It was something anyone could've done. My shoe caught the step and I went down to my knees. I hit the wood stoop hard, and ache went through my entire body. Presley tried to catch me, but I slipped through her grasp. I hit my head on the step.

Leslie clutched my hand, "Get her other side," she snapped to Presley and the two of them hoisted me back up. "Are you okay, mumma?" Leslie asked, concern all over her face. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, even though I could feel the welt on my head already growing where the step had hit. "I'm... I'm okay..." I struggled to get the words out. I felt dizzy.

"Are you sure?" Leslie's voice was strong, professional, experienced in this sort of thing. She gripped me like I was a breakable.

"Let's get inside," Presley said.

And they helped me up the steps quickly.




Nick

Ashley spent the next day in bed. She was too tired to get up. The fall had taken a lot out of her. Leslie stopped in the room, dressed in purple scrubs with little dog cartoons all over them to check on her before leaving for work. Presley checked in periodically, asked if she needed anything when she went to the store. Zoey sat with her for hours at a time, watching old movies on TV and laying across the bed where I used to lay, holding Ashley's hand.

I hovered. I waited. Because I knew when she was alone, she would talk to me. I lived for those moments. Those were heavenly.

When Zoey went to get lunch, though, Ashley fell asleep instead. Zoey returned, carrying a plate with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a couple glasses of milk. She put one of each on the nightstand beside Ashley and set herself down in the desk chair close by. She put her own lunch down on the desk and rolled the chair closer to the bed. She gently pushed a strand of stray white hair back from Ashley's face.

Presley came in the room, apparently back from the store. "How is she?" she asked from the doorway.

Zoey didn't look up, "I think she's tired," she said.

Presley nodded, "It's good she's getting sleep, then."

Zoey turned and looked back at Presley. "I mean she's tired," she said thickly. Zoey rolled away from the bed, closer to Presley. Her eyes were threatening tears. "Pres... I'm worried for mummy."

Presley looked down at her toes.

"She's been talking to him," Zoey whispered, "When she thinks none of us can hear her. She talks to him like he's in the room."

"I know," Presley said. "She reaches out, too."

Zoey's voice was low, "Presley, I think she's dying."

Presley's eyes filled with tears.