Brystol finally disengaged from her grandparents and brought her grandma into the room. She let her grandma sit next to Carly, and she stood by her side. Brooklyn gave her father a kiss on the cheek and asked him to please go visit Bowie, telling him she would be out in a bit. She stood at the end of the bed and watched Carly struggle in her sleep. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They have her on morphine for the pain. The nurses feel it won’t be long. They’re not expecting her to make it through the night.”
Bonnie Hewett pulled her granddaughter down on her lap and held her as she whispered to Brystol, telling her how sorry she was. As much as she wanted to remain strong, Brooklyn felt tears wet her cheeks. Her mom reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“We’ll get you through this, my little Bs.”
Brooklyn wiped away the stream of tears with her free hand. “She has a list of things I’m supposed to do, but I still feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. I hate waiting, and I don’t even know what I’m waiting for. She’s just there, and in pain, and I can’t do anything to help her.”
“The staff here is doing everything they can for her, sweetie. Your father is very confident in their ability, and you know he’s here if you have any concerns.”
“I just don’t like seeing her in pain.”
“I know. Why don’t you go out to the waiting room, round up your dad, and go get something to eat downstairs? Little B and I are going to sit here and visit with Carly. If something changes, we’ll come and get you.” Brooklyn went to her mom, leaned over, and hugged her from behind. Her mom kissed her cheek and told her that she loved her.
In the waiting room, Bowie and her father were arguing over football. It was something that they had done every time they saw each other. Bowie was a die-hard Seahawks fan, while her father thought they were lime-green chickens. Her father was born and raised in San Francisco and would always be a Niners fan, something that Bowie loved to give David shit about.
Watching her father kid around with the man who Brooklyn knew was her future gave her hope, and right now she needed a lot of that hope to get through everything she was facing.
She went outside, needing a break from everything the hospital represented. The smells, the background noises, the uncomfortable chairs—it all meant waiting, and in her case waiting meant dying. The double door opened as she approached. She passed a man who carried a bouquet of flowers and balloons. A quick glance and she figured his wife had just had a baby boy. Her mom and dad, Carly, and Rennie had been the only ones at the hospital when she’d had Brystol, and they too had brought her flowers. She couldn’t remember if she’d had balloons in her room or not.
There was a bench not far from the double doors. She sat down on the wooden slats, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Even with the light breeze and overhead cloud cover, the sun was in perfect position to keep her warm. She let her mind drift, not to the past, but to the future. A future that finally included Bowie and them together. Before, when she had dreamed of what life could’ve been like if she had stayed, he had been there, but never fully. Austin’s death had always kept them apart, and she knew why. Carly. Out of fear of what she would think, Brooklyn had hidden her feelings, and now knowing that she didn’t have to hurt. She cried for the years they’d lost. Not only together but as a family.
Someone sat down beside her. She shifted slightly so the stranger couldn’t see her red puffy eyes and ask her if she was okay. She was afraid to answer a question like that. Was she okay? In a sense, maybe. She had a healthy child and a great job, and for the most part she was happy. Deep down she knew she’d be happier with Bowie, that Brystol would thrive in Cape Harbor, and she would as well. Her parents and Rennie would be close enough they could see each other whenever they wanted, but Carly and her deathbed confession lingered like a bad aftertaste.
The person beside her cleared their throat. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Grady sitting there. She shifted and looked at his disheveled state. The Grady she remembered, the one with boyish charm, a sweet baby face, and a crooked smile was gone and replaced with despair, anger, and age. The long-term alcohol abuse had aged him at least twenty years. He no longer looked like Graham’s twin but a distant relative.