Her finger moved to the cookie.
“And she’d make really good cookies, just like Mommy, because Mommy said you suck at measuring and will need someone to do it.”
My eyes blurred, and I crouched carefully next to my daughter, laying my hand on her back as I stared at the horrifying picture that she worked so hard on. I wanted to rip it up. I wanted to burn it.
Anya pointed at the stick figure. “And Mommy said she’d be soft where you’re hard, and I didn’t know how to draw that, but anyone who’d be a good mommy might already have kids and know how to hold me when I’m scared and sing me to sleep. And I just added the flower because I like drawing them.”
I rubbed the back of my hand over my cheek so Anya didn’t see. “You did really good on your picture, gingersnap,” I said in a choked voice.
She ran her fingers over the jumbled letters that must’ve made sense to her. “I didn’t want to forget. This way you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Then Anya carefully folded the paper and handed it to me. “You can keep it, Daddy. So you’ll know who to look for.”
I licked my lips, taking the piece of paper like it was a bomb set to explode. But I smiled at my daughter. “Thank you.”
She flung herself at me in a tight hug, and I stared up at the sky.
When Anya ran back into the house, I stood slowly, paper in hand, and made my way to Beth’s bed.
Her eyes were closed, her chest moving with shallow breaths.
I took the chair next to her, and as I slid her bony fingers into mine, her eyes opened.
“Why’d you do that?” I whispered.
She smiled faintly. “I knew you’d be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” I told her. “I’m …” My voice trailed off when I didn’t have any words. This time, I let a tear fall unchecked, and Beth watched it with a sad expression on her face. “I just hate that she asked you.”
My wife—my funny, outgoing, loud, passionate wife who could no longer muster the energy to get out of bed—tightened her fingers around mine. “She’s worried, Aiden. I just wanted her to …” She made a small shrugging motion. “I wanted to make her feel better.”
“I know.” I sniffed.
“Promise me something, though,” Beth whispered.
Immediately, I was shaking my head.
“Promise me that, if you find someone like that, you won’t ignore it.” Her voice wavered, and I wanted to rage. Scream. Break something.
I sighed, finally meeting her eyes. “All I got out of that picture was that she has a mouth the size of my face and likes cookies.”
Beth breathed out a laugh. “That’s a gross oversimplification of what I said.”
“What did you say?” I asked quietly. “Who’d you conjure up for me, Beth? Because they won’t be you.” I shook my head again. “I don’t care what list you just gave her. They won’t be you.”
My wife ignored my attitude. She’d known me too long, knew it was easier to brush past it. She’d learned that lesson when we were eighteen, and she kissed me for the first time when she got sick of waiting for me to do it.
“I told Anya that hopefully someday you’d find someone kind and funny, someone who smiles and laughs easily because we both know you don’t.” I held her eyes, unable to argue. “Someone soft where you’re hard, someone who will know how to handle all the things that Anya will need help with. Someone who can bake cookies for her, and sing her to sleep, and teach you how to handle all her big emotions because I know they scare the shit out of you, Aiden.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to hear any of this, but like any conversation I had with Beth these days, I forced myself to soak up every word. Every nuance. Every second.
“And for fuck’s sake, don’t fall for the first tight-bodied fangirl who fawns over you,” she teased. “I’d haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Somehow, I managed a smile. “Would you?”
“I’d make a bitch of a ghost.” Her frame was wracked with a rib-rattling cough.
Lifting her featherlight hand up to my mouth, I kissed her knuckles. She smelled like medicine. Her fingers were cold against my mouth, and all I wanted to do was warm her. Fix her.
And I couldn’t.
The helplessness had me wanting to wreck everything. Especially when she kept talking. Her words were so much worse than the knife; it was like a hundred of them. The girl next door, who I’d known for more than half my life, who’d had my heart for almost a decade was going to leave a gaping hole, and I didn’t want to think about the fact that I couldn’t fill it.
“You have excellent taste, Aiden Hennessy,” she said quietly. “You must if you chose me.”
I gave her a look. “I think it was you who did the choosing. The way I remember it, at least.”
She hummed, eyes falling closed. “That’s right. I had excellent taste.” She slid her hand over my cheek and down the line of my jaw. “That’s why you should trust me.”
“I do,” I whispered.
“Good.” Gently, she exerted pressure on my chin until I couldn’t look away. “That’s why I answered Anya’s question. Because you two will be okay, and she needed to know that. You will be happy again, even if I’m not there.”
“Beth.” My voice cracked on her name, eyes burning dangerously. “Please.”
“You will be okay without me,” she repeated, her own gaze clear and strong.
It was like she pulled the knife out—every single one—and everything they’d held in came pouring out
