Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
My mind races as I get our drinks. I answer a text from Rafail, then load a few stray dishes in the dishwasher. I make Ruthie a cup of chamomile, the one she always drinks before bed, and pour myself a few fingers of an aged bourbon Mariah bought me for my last birthday.
Ruthie’s head is drooping when I walk in, but she straightens up, her eyes barely open, and offers a smile like she wasn’t just moments away from drifting off. “Let me guess,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not sleepy. It’s not bedtime yet, right?”
She gives me a sheepish smile and stifles another yawn. “You can’t make me.”
I kiss her forehead as I nestle down beside her and hand her the cup of tea. She wraps both hands around it with a sigh.
“I remember when Mariah bought that for you,” she says, smiling at the bottle still in my hand while I sip my drink.
The mention of Mariah pulls me back, a familiar warmth stirring in my chest.
“I can still see her picking out that exact bottle, asking all these questions, trying to find something that would surprise you but you’d still enjoy.”
I smile and sip, imagining Mariah with her bright eyes and infinite questions, asking anything and everything about the different types of drinks. “She was always good at finding little things that made me feel special,” I say softly, my voice quieter now, caught between the memories of her laughter and the quiet absence that followed. “She did that for everyone.”
“Yeah,” Ruthie says softly, absentmindedly running her thumb along the handle of her teacup. “She did. And she was damn good at it, wasn’t she?”
“She was.”
It might be the first time we’re sharing fond memories of Mariah like this since her death, the first time the two of us aren’t fraught with grief or crying. We’ll still cry. We’ll still grieve. But being able to talk about memories of her makes bearing the weight of grief a bit easier.
Ruthie shifts and slides her ankle up, peering at it. “Let me see,” I murmur. I shift so I can make room for her swollen ankle on my lap. I hold it gently in my hands and take a close look. “It’s much better. The swelling’s gone down, and the bruising’s faded, hasn’t it?”
She nods as I rub her ankle softly. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
She lets out a small laugh, though it’s laced with exhaustion. “You’re spoiling me, Vadka.”
Am I? I like that. I miss having someone to spoil. I love that Ruthie appreciates it.
I smile faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Someone should.” I tug the lock of hair. “Not that you can’t take care of yourself or anything.”
“Thank you,” she says with a laugh.
“Haven’t heard from your mother. How is she?”
“Seems kind of the same.” Ruthie looks off in the distance and bites her lip.
“Is anything bothering you?” I still can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something from me.
When she doesn’t protest right away, I feel myself growing more suspicious. “Ruthie.”
But she only shakes her head. “Just a lot on my mind right now. I think everything’s okay.”
She… thinks everything’s okay.
Fair enough. I won’t push her. I reach my hand to the back of her neck and massage her gently. Her eyes soften at the touch, a quiet moment between us. She sighs and leans back against me, her body settling into the comfort of the couch. For a moment, everything outside the room fades. It’s just us in the soft glow of a life that feels uncertain.
“You know,” she starts, her voice quieter, as if she’s carefully choosing her words. “Mariah… she was like a mother to me when my own mother started to… well, when the dementia started showing.” She pauses, a shadow crossing her features. “She used to take me to get my favorite candy just because she knew I liked it, even when I didn’t ask. She reminded me to do my homework and taught me how to drive. She didn’t let me carry the weight of everything like I had to when my mom wasn’t herself anymore.”
I can feel her heartache in the way her body tenses slightly. I want to say something comforting, but I know no words will ease it. Instead, I just hold her tighter.
“It’s almost like you lost more than a sister.”
She lost her whole family, her support, her rock, in one fell swoop.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “But… she was always there, always looking out for me. Even when I didn’t realize it.” Her voice cracks a little. “She was everything I needed.”
A heavy silence falls over us. The room is filled with nothing but the sound of our breathing and the gentle hum of the house settling around us. Out of habit, I click the video footage on my screen and see Luka peacefully sleeping.