Oh crap.
Light laughter slipped free, and I was biting at my bottom lip, trying to stop the rush of joy as I looked back at Everett.
“I was kinda busy last night,” I told her.
“Um. Hello. Rude. You are never supposed to be too busy for me.”
I giggled. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll forgive you just as long as I get to pick your dress.”
“Ha. Not gonna happen. You’ll have me wearin’ some boring old thing.”
“Yeah, and I’ll be savin’ you from picking some tulled-out disaster. If you aren’t careful, you’re going to look like a bad rendition of Madonna from the 80s.”
I chuckled a little. “Bite your tongue. I will be rockin’ that vibe. You know that’s exactly what I’ll be going after—except in pink.”
“Oh lord help us . . . I can only imagine what atrocity the bridesmaid’s dresses are gonna be.”
On a smile, I gazed out at Everett who was inside the sandbox. Standing there facing away. Holding a yellow shovel. Milo whined, doing a circle around him.
There was just . . . something off.
He stood there.
Unmoving.
Like he was in a daze.
Confused, maybe?
A feeling that hit the air.
That ugly, horrible spot inside of me flared.
“I’ve got to go,” I told Carly, not even giving her a chance to say goodbye before I was sprinting across the yard.
Milo started yipping, making these whining, howling noises.
That was right when Everett toppled forward.
Face-first into the sand.
Oh my god.
Images flashed.
Evan only a little boy. Hooked up to all those machines. Her favorite, favorite froggy.
“Hurry, Daddy. You got to take me right now so I can give him my heart. He needs a good one.”
I raced across the lawn. Refusing it. This couldn’t be happening. “No. No, no, no, Everett, no.”
Pain lanced.
Cutting me open wide.
Grief cutting me in two.
The loss. The loss.
She’s gone. She’s gone.
Dizziness swept in, and my mind spun, and my world tipped out onto the ground.
And I wanted to give them all my hearts. Patch them up and make them better and love them hard enough that they could never be stolen away.
So that they could breathe and live and smile.
I dropped to my knees at his side, trying not to shout out in grief when I rolled him over.
When I saw his face was purpled and swollen, his lips turning blue.
A scream bubbled up from my soul.
Agony. Agony.
I struggled to remain upright.
Not to pass out.
I was shaking. Shaking and shaking. Sickness curled my stomach. Bile crawled up my throat.
“Everett . . . sweet boy, no,” I pled, blackness sweeping in to blind me at the edges of my sight. “Please, Ehvie, no.”
Fingers trembling, I touched his neck, searching for a pulse. Thready and dulled.
Not him. Please, God, not him, too.
I begged it a thousand times as I dialed 9-1-1, begged it harder when the operator came on the line when I shouted, “Please, someone help.”
Thirty
Evan
“This should be the last one.” My attorney slid another document across the desk for me to sign.
I scanned over the words, anxiousness riding through my being.
Couldn’t wait to get this done. Needed it finished. Needed to know my son would have the best care possible.
My phone buzzed where I had it rested on my thigh.
Again.
For about the fifth time.
Anxiety flared.
I tried to ignore it, to give this my entire focus.
When it buzzed with an actual call which was something my parents had done when they needed to get my attention, a sort of SOS, I quickly signed the few lines on the page and lifted my finger. “Excuse me for a second, but I need to check this.”
“Not a problem,” he said, thumbing through the last documents that were sitting in front of him.
I flipped into my phone, trying to shake the uneasy feeling, trying to convince myself that it was only Frankie texting to ask something about the house or Everett or an inconsequential thing, but hating that I knew she wouldn’t interrupt a meeting that was so important if what she needed to say wasn’t more so.
My eyes flew over the words.
Frankie Leigh: Come to GL General. Hurry.
My sight blurred, and I was pretty sure I swayed to the side as I staggered to my feet.
Everett. Everett. Everett.
My soul chanted his name.
This little boy who had swept into my life like a windstorm to rearrange everything.
To set it back to right.
No.
This couldn’t be happening.
It couldn’t.
He was going to be spared. I’d felt it. Prayed so damn hard for it.
“Mr. Bryant?” At least that was what I thought the attorney said, but I wasn’t sure I was seeing straight when his mouth moved.
No capacity to read the words or feel their meaning.
Because the only thing I felt was this.
This consuming, gutting pain.
I blinked a thousand times, trying to get my bearings. “I have to go,” I told him, not waiting for a response before I bolted out the door and down the long corridor to the lobby. The whole way, I tried to process through the rest of the texts that were waiting for me as I fumbled to get to my car.