HOPEFULLY, THINGS AREN’T AS BAD as Sophie made them out to be and I’ll have a while longer to get myself together before Sammy comes to live with me.
Sammy is coming to live with me.
It’s still something I’m coming to terms with. It’s not that I don’t want to have her—to see her every day and take care of her. I want that. But I know what it’s like to lose your mother. I would’ve given anything for one more day with my mama. Cami would’ve too. So, I’ll do whatever I need to do to make that happen for Sammy.
The drive to Houma is becoming so routine that I’m pulling onto Sophie’s street before I know it, and just as the sun begins to set behind me. Parking along the curb, I hop out and walk up to the small gate. Before I can get the latch open, the front door swings wide and Sammy’s smiling face is looking back at me.
“Hey there, sunshine.”
“Hey there, Tucker,” she says back to me. When she jumps down the steps and runs toward me, my heart tries to jump out of my chest and meet her halfway.
Every time she hugs me, it becomes a little less startling and chips away at the awkwardness between us. I realized, when she came and stayed for the weekend, I’m the one making it awkward. Kids don’t know awkwardness. They don’t know boundaries. They don’t put their feelings in a box. They just live out loud and love even louder.
We could all learn a thing or two from them.
I hug her back fiercely, picking her up. “I missed you,” I admit.
“I missed you too,” she says solemnly, her little arms wrapped tightly around my neck.
“How’s your mommy?” I ask, expecting Sophie to appear in the doorway at any second, but she doesn’t.
“She’s sick,” she whispers.
“I know,” I tell her, hugging her tighter to me. “She’s tired.”
“That’s what mommy said.” Her words are so matter-of-fact that it hurts me. She’s wise beyond her years and it kills me that she’s going through this.
When I sit her back down, kneeling in front of her, she reaches up and pushes my hair out of my face. “Where’s your ponytail?”
I pull the pink holder out of my pocket and show her. She gave it to me when I brought her home last week. She told me to keep it and practice on my hair, so I’d be better the next time I do hers.
“I think you need to use it.” She scrunches up her face, totally judging my hair.
I laugh, loving her honesty. “Wanna do it for me?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.” She shakes her head, making her blonde curls bounce.
“Okay, let’s go inside. You fix my hair and I’ll make grilled cheeses for dinner.”
“Deal.”
She holds her hand out to me, like I often do to her, and I take it, following her inside.
Later, after Sammy has eaten two grilled cheeses, complimenting me on my skills, we’re sitting in the living room as Sophie begins to stir on the couch.
“Sammy?” she croaks out and Sammy runs to her side, offering her a drink of water.
She’s been asleep most of the time I’ve been here, waking once calling out for Sammy. When she saw I was here, her entire body deflated in relief and she’s been asleep since.
I’ve checked on her periodically, as has Sammy. Being here with them like this, I see what Sophie’s talking about. Sammy doesn’t get too far from Sophie and even when she’s wrapped up in play or a television show, every so often, she stops what she’s doing to check on Sophie.
Earlier when I was in the kitchen, fumbling my way around, I called out for Sammy, but she didn’t answer. Walking around the counter, I saw her kneeled beside the couch where Sophie slept. She watched her so intently, almost like she was counting her breaths and I wondered how often she does that. How many days are spent right there beside her mother as she sleeps.
My heart broke.
“Tucker?” Sophie’s voice is weak, so I walk over where she can see me without moving.
“Hey,” I greet her, looking down at a shell of the person I met only a little while ago. Someone who walked into my barn and changed my life forever. I hate seeing her like this. I can only imagine what it’s doing to Sammy.
“Thanks for coming.” She gives me a weak smile, but I know she means it.
“Anything I can do?” I ask, wanting to feel useful.
“No.” She shakes her head and slowly starts to sit up, adjusting the pillow behind her. “I’m fine,” she says, offering Sammy a small smile and a squeeze of her little hand that’s still resting on Sophie’s arm.
“How ‘bout I start Sammy a shower,” I suggest.
Sophie looks at the clock on the wall, realizing the hour. “Oh, yeah. That’d be good.”
“I don’t wanna go to bed yet,” Sammy whines, sounding like any other kid her age, for once. “I wanna stay up with you and Tucker.”
“How about after your shower, I read you a book?” Sophie suggests.
Sammy’s whine turns around on a dime. “Okay.”
“That’s my girl.”
As I’m following Sammy down the hall toward the bathroom, I turn around to see Sophie watching us. Her face is shadowed with sadness and exhaustion, but I also see a hint of happiness there too.
“I left you a grilled cheese on a plate in the microwave,” I tell her. “Want me to get it for you?”
“No, I need to get up. Thank you, though.”
“No problem,” I tell her, wishing for anything other than our current situation.
It’s not that I feel anything romantic toward Sophie, but I feel for her . . . I feel admiration and respect. I’m so thankful for this small person she brought into this world—we brought into this world. I’m grateful for her taking such good care of Sammy for all the years I didn’t know her. I just wish things were different. I wish it so bad that I can’t swallow down the enormous lump in my throat.
“Not too hot and not too cold,” Sammy instructs, stepping up on a stool to grab a fluffy pink towel from the shelf above the toilet.
“Right,” I tell her, remembering this routine from the last time. “I’ll lay you some pajamas out on your bed, okay?”
“Pink ones,” she says.
“Sure you don’t need any help?” I ask, always feeling weird leaving her to it. I know Cami said she’s fine and I trust her, but I just don’t want anything bad to happen to her.
“I’m big.” That annoyed expression and tone she used with me and Cami at the farm is back.
“Okay.” I hold up my hands in surrender.
“Tucker?” she asks, right before I close the door.
“Yes?”
“You can sit outside the bathroom.”
I nod, trying to keep a straight face until the door is closed, leaving it cracked an inch, just in case. She’s way too smart for her britches. If she knows I’m sitting outside of the bathroom keeping an eye on her at four, what is she going to figure out at sixteen?
Oh, God.
What will she be like at sixteen?
She’s never dating.
Ever.
Maybe we’ll become Amish.
What are their policies on dating?
I’m at least in favor of their dress code.
When Sammy is tucked into bed and Sophie is exhausted from reading practically her entire shelf of books, we sit down in the living room. The house is quiet, too quiet really. It’s void of Sammy’s adorable chatter, so I feel the need to fill it.
“What will happen to the house?” It’s a random question, but one I’m sure Sophie’s thought about. She’s thought of everything.
“We rent it. Now that Mamie’s things are gone, there will just be mine and Sammy’s stuff and we really don’t have much. I’ve donated things and given things away. The biggest items that’ll need moving is the furniture, but I told the landlord he can have it all or give it to the next people who rent the place.”
I nod, clearing my throat. “What about your stuff?”
“Well, like I said, I’ve donated a lot. All I have is in a few boxes in the bedroom, one of them with Sammy’s name on it. It’s stuff I want her to have later down the road. I contacted a hospice facility earlier today. My doctor suggested it, knowing that I don’t have anyone around and well . . .” she pauses, taking a deep breath. “He said he can’t tell me how much time I have, could be a few weeks to a few months. Days even. It’s not something he can predict. It’s mostly just time and whether or not I catch some crazy illness. Usually, what kills people isn’t the cancer, it’s the body’s inability to fight off sickness.”
Everything she’s saying I already know. I’ve been doing research. But again, it makes me feel good that she’s opening up to me. I want her to feel like she can talk to me about anything. She needs someone and I want to be there for her.
“What would the hospice facility be like?” I ask, trying to get a grip on what she’s telling me.
“It’s a place, like a hospital for terminally ill patients. My Medicaid will pay for it. All I needed was for my doctor to make the recommendation, which he did, months ago.”
“You don’t have to do that.” The words come out of my mouth before I think them over or consider the consequences. “You can stay with me. I’ll take care of you and Sammy. I’ve been working on setting up my house. There’s plenty of room—“
“No.” Her reply is swift and firm, matching the hard expression on her face. “That’s not what I want. It’s . . .” She swallows. “It’s a really kind gesture, but I can’t. I don’t want Sammy around when things get bad. She’ll be scared and worried . . . all the things I’ve been trying to avoid.”
I sit and consider her words, knowing that’s one of the reasons she sought me out in the first place. But this part is so hard, much harder than I ever expected. How can I just allow her to go into a hospice facility and die alone? It goes against everything inside me.
“So, you’re ready?” I ask, needing her to tell me face-to-face that she’s ready for me to take Sammy—ready for this to be over, ready for this final step.
“Can we ever be ready to die?” Her dark curly hair is framing her face, making her look so young. Way too young to be dealing with death. Way too young to plan the end of her life.
“No,” I tell her sincerely. “We can’t. I remember when my mama died, it took us all by surprise. She was sick and then she was gone. One night, I overheard some of the ladies from church talking about how at least she didn’t suffer. It pissed me off. I wanted to yell at them and I didn’t even know why, but I just knew there was nothing good about my mama dying. Not that I would’ve wanted her to suffer, but I wanted more time with her. I wanted time to prepare. But, now that I’m older, I realize there’s no such thing.”
“You’re gonna be good for her,” Sophie says, picking at a thread on the blanket that’s across her lap. “You know what it’s like. She’s lucky to have you.”
“I don’t know about that,” I admit, shaking my head. “Every day since you showed up in the barn, all I’ve thought about is that I’m gonna mess this up.”
“Every parent worries about that. I think, if you don’t worry about messing your kids up, you’re not doing it right.” Sophie laughs lightly and then coughs, but it’s good to see a smile on her face. I love that she still finds light in the darkness. She can still laugh when everything in her life is so sad. I hope Sammy has that kind of fight and optimism. “You’re not gonna mess her up or break her. I thought that for the first year of her life, but it was Mamie that talked some sense into me. She said kids are much more resilient than we realize. They’re gonna fall and get bumps and bruises, but that’s all part of life. Every trial and tribulation they go through is what molds them into the adults they become. So, don’t be afraid of failure.”
“How did someone so young get so wise?” I ask, dumbfounded by her strength. “I don’t know how you’re still so strong.”
“It’s Sammy,” Sophie says. “She’s been my lifeline. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve been dead years ago. She saved me, gave me purpose. I just wish . . .” her voice breaks, and I see the tears in her eyes, tears I’m not prepared for, but feel deep in my soul.
“She’s gonna remember it . . . all of it,” I tell her, my own voice breaking. “I’m gonna make sure of it.”
She swallows down her emotions, wiping at her eyes with the blanket. “I’ll never be able to say thank you enough or repay you, but just know you have my eternal gratitude.”
I lay my hand on top of hers and give a squeeze as I stand up and head to the kitchen. It’s getting late and I want to make sure everything is cleaned up before I leave. I wash the few remaining dishes in the sink and place them on a clean towel so they can air-dry overnight.
When I turn off the faucet is when I hear the crash.
I run back into the living room and find Sophie on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
“Fuck,” I spit out, rushing to her side. I check for her pulse and am relieved when I find it, but it’s weak and she doesn’t react when I say her name or touch her face. Grabbing my phone out of my back pocket, I dial 9–1-1 and glance down the hallway, checking to see if Sammy has heard any of this. Thankfully, she hasn’t but I know I’ll need to wake her after the ambulance gets here.
She’s going to be so scared.
Who am I kidding? I’m fucking scared, too.
Within twenty minutes, the ambulance has arrived and Sophie has been placed on a stretcher to be taken to the emergency room. She still hasn’t regained consciousness and I fear this may be the end for her.
What if our conversation was the last thing she’ll ever say?
My stomach is twisted in knots and I’m shaking all over but I continue to give the paramedics all the information I can. Once they’re ready to leave, the paramedic I’d been talking to pats me on the back and tries to assure me they’ll do their best with Sophie. I nod my head in understanding and thank them before running into the house to wake Sammy.
Later, at the hospital, I’m sitting in the waiting room with Sammy asleep in my lap. She wasn’t budging when I tried to wake her up at her house, so I just wrapped her in a blanket and carried her to my truck. I buckled her in the best I could since I didn’t have a car seat for her and my right hand never left her little body, as I drove quickly but safely to the hospital. We’ve now been here about thirty minutes. Sammy stirred for a minute but I reassured her that I had her and she fell back asleep.
I’m struggling to stay awake myself when a doctor finally comes to give me an update.
“Are you Sophie’s husband or boyfriend?” he asks.
“No, but I’m her friend. I’m the only person she has, really, besides our daughter here.” I glance down at Sammy in my arms.
The doctor takes a deep breath and releases it before continuing. “Sophie is conscious now but, as I’m sure you realize, she’s not doing well.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Are you two living together? Does she have a home health worker checking on her?”
“No, like I said, I’m all she has and I just happened to be at her house tonight.”
I watch the doctor scratch the stubble on his chin as he thinks of what to say next. Maybe he’s thinking of how to say it instead. His job can’t be an easy one.
“Sophie won’t be able to go home. She’s too sick, and at this point, she’s going to need around the clock care. I hate to be so direct, but there’s no time to beat around the bush. Her time is short. I’m recommending she be placed into a hospice facility as soon as she’s stable enough to transport. I’ve looked over her chart and there’s not anything left we can do for her, besides keep her as comfortable as possible.”
“She was just telling me tonight that her doctor had already set her up with one,” I inform him.
I hate that she was right, that the doctor was right.
This is happening too fast.
“I’ll contact her primary doctor and get the transfer paperwork started.”
“Can I see her? Can we see her?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. She’s conscious, but her vitals are weak. The nurses are cleaning her up right now. My advice would be to go home and get some rest. When she’s set up at the new facility, someone will call you.”
The doctor offers his hand for me to shake, so I take it but I don’t look at him. My eyes are glued to the little girl snuggled up against my chest, knowing she’s now my full responsibility.
“Where’s Mommy?” A sleepy Sammy asks about five miles out of town. It’s now three o’clock in the morning and we’re almost to French Settlement.
I was going to go back to Sophie’s house for the rest of the night, but it just didn’t feel right. So, I drove over there long enough to grab her car seat and the boxes Sophie packed up for her and we left.
“Mommy’s in the hospital.” I think about softening the truth, but there’s no benefit to that. I don’t want Sammy to be blindsided by Sophie’s death. It’s inevitable at this point, so she needs to know.
“Where are we going?” Her voice is a little unsure, but I expected that. It’s a lot for me to take in, so I can only imagine what’s going through her mind.
“We’re going home, to my house . . . our house.” I correct myself and reach over to smooth her hair back. “Is that okay?”
“Okay,” she says, looking over at me. In the darkness, I can barely make out her petite features, but what I see is a little girl who’s scared.
“It’s gonna be alright,” I tell her, wishing I could give her a hug, but we’re almost to the house, so I keep driving.
Before we turn off the main road, I glance over to see that Sammy’s dozed back off. When we pull up in the drive, I’m glad I left a light on in the living room because even though this was Cami and Deacon’s house, it’s still new to me.
Walking around the truck, I decide to get Sammy out first. I’m also glad that Micah and Deacon helped me get her bed put together. At least, she’ll have a place to sleep—somewhere to call her own.
“Mommy?” Sammy mumbles sleepily.
“Shhh. I got you,” I assure her.
“Daddy,” she says so quietly as she nestles her head on my shoulder, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I freeze in the middle of the driveway, my heart pounding in my chest.
That’s the first time she’s called me anything besides Tucker. It makes me squeeze her a little tighter. I want to ask her to say it again, but she’s sound asleep. I wonder if she’ll remember in the morning.
Unlocking the door, I take a second to look around the place. There are still a couple of boxes left to unpack and not much on the walls, but the things that are in here are mine. Tomorrow, I’ll add Sammy’s.
I’ve always known that it’s not the things you have that make a home, it’s the people inside.
Hopefully, Sammy will feel like this is her home.