When I Was Theirs

21. Emmy

21

Emmy

“ E mmy?”

I jump as a pair of sensibly shod feet appear in front of me. I’m perched on the communal stairs outside Ben’s apartment, clutching my phone in one hand and the piece of paper with Jared’s possible phone number in the other. Behind me, the door is ajar so I can hear if Ben wakes up again.

“You okay?” Nicole, the hospice nurse, peers down to look into my face. “Has something happened with Ben?”

I blink up at her, and she half-smiles. A sad, sympathetic smile. “Something new.”

I clear my throat. “No. I didn’t realize it was four already. I’ll… get out of your hair.”

Her smile softens into something kinder. “You know, I’m here for you too. Caring for someone in Ben’s condition – and on your own – it’s exhausting, Emmy. You need to take care of yourself too.”

“He’s dying.” The words come easier now than they used to. A little steadier. A little more resigned. “I can handle a bit of tiredness.”

Nicole sighs. “At least take a break while I’m here. Stretch your legs. Go for a coffee.”

I haven’t left him before.

And it’s harder, now.

“He calls for me,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. “When he can’t see me.”

Nicole pats my shoulder. “Totally normal, I promise you. I’ll keep him calm – and I can call you if anything happens. Okay?”

My nod is slow. Getting to my feet, I slide the paper into my pocket and run it down my jeans before double-checking the time on my phone. “Actually… I do have a few things I need to do. If you’re sure—,”

“Go,” Nicole says firmly. And she sounds a little relieved. “He’s in good hands.”

I know. But it still feels wrong to step out onto the street without him. I glance up at the balcony. The doors are open, Ben’s bed angled to face the view he chose, although I can’t see him from here.

Just get it done.

The bookstore. The travel agency. The market, although I keep my head down as I pass the flower stall, my arms full.

If you were a bouquet, you’d only be the good ones.

Not today.

Today, I would be… orange lilies, to reflect the hatred burning my throat. Black dahlias, for betrayal. Begonias, maybe, for caution.

As I walk, the paper burns a hole in my pocket. I try to pretend it’s not there as I stop to buy a bottle of water from a stand, trying to dampen the anger in my chest so I can make the call to give Ben the only thing he’s asked for.

How could you leave him?

When I finally stumble back to the apartment, the sky is nudging toward sunset, and exhaustion drags at my heels. Nicole fusses, showing me a sleeping Ben, fresh from his wash with damp curls that cling to his forehead before we head into the kitchenette.

“He had some of your soup,” she says with a smile. “Not too much, but some.”

Probably because I can't actually cook. But I'm trying.

“That’s good.” I set my items down on the small, two-person table we bought the day we furnished his apartment.

An apartment he never intended me to be part of. An apartment he never intended to be a part of, with the exception of his final days.

I don’t know when I began to measure the passing of time by Ben’s movements. Sitting up unaided. Going to the bathroom.

Drinking a small bowl of soup.

Every moment is an indication of how much time we have left.

Nicole gives me a hug before she leaves. “I’ll be back on Thursday.”

I blink. “But… it’s Tuesday.”

She studies me. “We were going to move to every other day…,”

Her voice is gentle. “Did you want to change it?”

Another marker of time. Hospice visits.

Once a week. Twice a week. Every other day.

Silently, I shake my head. “Thursday is fine. Thanks, Nicole.”

After she’s gone, I pull the paper from my pocket and sit silently at the table, turning it over between my fingers.

Call him.

You’re wasting time.

And it’s not your time to waste.

With my lips pressed together in a tight line, I grab my phone and type the number in, gripping it tightly as I hold it up to my ear.

It might not even—

It’s ringing.

“Ben?”

The voice, deep and slightly out of breath, takes me by surprise.

“ Ben ,” he says again, urgency lacing his words. “Is that you?”

He doesn’t sound like someone who walked out on his sick brother.

He sounds… desperate.

“Please,” he breathes when I don’t say anything. “Please say something. Tell me you’re alright. Tell me you’re still—,”

His voice cuts off on a choked sound, and I close my eyes.

My own voice is small. “Jared? You’re Jared Bennett?”

Silence. Only ragged breathing meets my question. I wait, pressing the phone against my cheek tightly.

“Is he dead?”

The question, abrupt and harsh compared to the plea of a few seconds earlier, makes me inhale sharply.

“No,” I say quietly. My eyes flick to the bed. “He’s still here.”

Silence, filled only with the sound of Jared’s breathing. “Who the hell are you?”

He sounds angry now. I flinch against nothing but air, my hold on the phone slipping slightly. “I’m a friend of Ben’s. He… he’s not doing well. Can you… can you come? He wants you here.”

“Tell me where you are.” I can hear him scrambling, the metallic sound of cutlery clanging as he slams a drawer closed.

I reel off Ben’s address.

He’s breathing heavily, but I can hear the wetness in it. “I’m a few hours away. Will he still be alive when I get there?”

I close my eyes as a shield against the agony in his question. “Yes.”

“And this is your number? What’s your name? Put Ben on the phone.”

He’s throwing questions at me now, even as he rushes around. I can hear him, doors banging and the sound of clothes hangers jangling together. “Your name .”

“Emilia,” I force out. “E- Emmy. Marsters. He’s asleep at the moment.”

“Emilia.” His voice settles into something cooler. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

And then Jared Bennett hangs up on me.