Page 65 of One More Time

19

February – June 2006

The house was way too quiet for Grace’s liking. With death feeling so close, she preferred for the house to hold as much life as possible, but it was hard when Ava was studying at the library, and Bryn and Hudson were at work. It was times like this that she really missed Nugget, who had crossed the rainbow bridge the year before.

Waiting for the saucepan of broth, made from organic chicken, and vegetables and herbs she’d gathered from her garden, to come to a simmer, she wandered over to the kitchen sink. Pressing the window wide open, she watched the lace curtains flutter in response to the gentle morning breeze. The scent of the lavender bushes she’d recently planted beneath the window drifted in, along with the sweet perfume of her vibrant English roses. The relaxing, rejuvenating aromas embedded her in the present moment and enticed her to take slow, deep breaths – now this was really stopping to smell the roses. The thought made her smile for the first time in ages. The simple things in life could bring so much pleasure, something she’d learnt time and time again in her fifty-four years of life.

Her chin resting on her folded hands, she gazed out at the gorgeous day with a sky so blue and clouds so cottony, it looked like a scene that had been freshly painted. She wished she and Charlie could go on an adventure like the many they’d enjoyed as young lovebirds, either out driving one of the winding roads that hugged the curves of picturesque coastline or lying on a picnic blanket down by the beach with a basket full of delicious homemade goodies. Back then, they hadn’t had a care in the world, and nothing could burst their bubble of enduring love. Little had they realised just how many battles they would have to fight together, and apart. But this one was the biggest, and scariest. She risked losing the love of her life in the most devastating of ways. To never hear Charlie’s voice again, or witness the way he looked at her with such unconditional love, or to feel the tingle the brush of his hand on hers would entice, would damn near kill her too. Even thinking about it almost brought her to her knees, actually had brought her to her knees every single night, as she prayed like she’d never prayed before for god to spare his life.

Charlie was a fighter to his very core, that was for sure, but this battle was wearing him so thin. Literally. In a little over nine weeks, and after three chemotherapy sessions, he had faded away to a shadow of his former self, and he was only halfway through his journey to hell. He still had nine weeks of chemotherapy to go, and in the dark of the night, she admitted to herself that she didn’t know how he was going to make it. But she had to keep the faith and believe there would be a happy ending. Right now, it was all they had to hold onto.

Ten minutes later, with a tray in hand, Grace climbed the staircase and knocked on the bedroom door. ‘Charlie, is it okay to come in?’

At first, he didn’t answer, but after another three knocks, firmer this time, his frail voice carried. ‘Come in, Grace, but enter at your own risk.’

Grace’s heart squeezed tight. Even at death’s door, Charlie had kept his humour. ‘I’ll take my chances,’ she called back as lightheartedly as she could as she pushed the door open with the toe of her shoe.

His eyes flicked open but then closed, as though his lids were made of stone. Charlie’s face appeared even whiter than when she’d checked on him less than an hour before, if that was at all possible. As she placed the tray on the portable food table, she forced a broad smile – it was all she could do not to burst into inconsolable tears. Charlie didn’t need to see just how deeply this was affecting her and the children. They were all doing their very best to remain bright and bubbly in his presence, which could be mighty tough. It was always out of Charlie’s earshot when they would break and be there to comfort one another. If it weren’t for Hudson and Bryn’s ability to add a dose of humour to every day, she didn’t know how she, Ava or Hope would cope. They were most certainly their father’s sons, always wanting to make another smile. And the girls … well, they were just like her, empathetic and emotional.

Gliding the curtains open to allow the glory of the day in, she padded back to his bedside. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’

Turning his head, Charlie managed a slight smile. ‘Yes, so I can see.’

His jaw was covered in grey stubble, and the glassiness of his eyes told her he was in quite a lot of pain. She sat alongside him and swept a gentle hand over his cheek. ‘Would you like me to call the doctor and ask if we can up the dose of your painkillers?’

‘No thanks, Grace.’ He pulled the cotton sheet up a little further. ‘I want to try and wean off the blasted things, not take more.’

‘But Charlie …’ Emotions threatened to overflow, but she forced them back. ‘I can see how much you’re hurting.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s just this headache that’s doing me in.’ He offered her a wincing smile. ‘I’ll be right.’

‘Will you?’ She knew that a headache was the least of his pain.

‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’ A ghost of a smile flittered over his ashen face.

‘I meant, will you be right without a bigger dose of painkillers, Charlie, not …’ She stumbled, unable to articulate the idea of losing him forever.

‘Oh, sorry, my mistake.’ His hand slid out from beneath the covers, and he brought it to cover hers. ‘I’m going to make it through this, Grace. Because come hell or high water, I’m sticking around to meet my twin grandbabies in four months’ time.’

‘Hope would love that, and our little Sharni and Rose will love to meet their granddaddy.’ Drawing in a much-needed breath, Grace interlaced her fingers with his as she sighed it away.

‘I’m going to be okay, Grace,’ he assured her. ‘Breakfast smells amazing, by the way.’ He looked to the tray. ‘Let me guess … chicken soup?’

She broke a smile. ‘You know it’s chicken soup, you wag, seeing as it’s the only thing you can stomach lately.’

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t look forward to it, and you spoonfeeding me.’ His brows moved ever so slightly in what would have normally been a cheeky wiggle.

Grace was momentarily lost for words, given she knew just how much he hated being fed. A week before, after insisting on doing it himself and spilling most of it down his pyjama shirt, he quickly learnt he simply didn’t have the energy or the steadiness of hand, much to his exasperation and, at the time, embarrassment.

Grace did what Hudson would have and made light of it. ‘You just like the fact you can be a lazybones.’

‘Ahh.’ Charlie pointed a finger. ‘You got me.’

Grace came to her feet and moved to the top of the bed. ‘Come on, let me prop you up a bit.’ She carefully helped him sit forward, then placed two extra pillows behind him. ‘How’s that?’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

Grabbing the bowl, she sat as close as she could and, bit by bit, patiently fed him, delighted that today he managed to stomach ten spoonfuls. ‘Well, that’s better than yesterday, Charlie. Almost double the amount.’