She knows me well enough to know I’m in over my head. The reason I’ve never done casual is because I feel too much. I’ve had life-long friendships, one boyfriend who I married, and a sister who needs me—casual doesn’t fit into my life. Now that I’ve come down from the buzz and adrenaline, I feel empty.
I release a heavy breath and shove down my emotions.
“Look. I’m sorry I ran out, but I have to go. I don’t belong here anyway.” I’m not sure what the proper etiquette is for running away from a man you’ve spent your entire adolescent and part of your adult life dreaming of and then slept with, but this seems appropriate. I grab my shoes and start to walk away.
“Heather, wait.” I glance back at him over my shoulder. “I just—”
“Goodbye, Eli.”
There’s no way I’m looking back, because if I do, I might not keep walking.
As we start to sprint, my phone dings with a voice mail. It’s Stephanie’s facility.
With my fingers trembling, I press play. “Hi, Ms. Covey, this is Becca from Breezy Beaches Assisted Living. Stephanie had a . . .” She pauses as if she can’t find the right words. “She’s been transferred via ambulance to Tampa General Hospital. Please call me as soon as you can.”
The tears I fought back fall without a thought. “It’s Steph. We have to run.”
Chapter 5
Heather
“I’m fine,” Stephanie says while swatting my hand away as she lies in the hospital bed.
“If you’d stop fidgeting.”
Her seizure was the worst one yet. Thankfully, there hasn’t been any damage that has manifested, but I’ve refused to leave her side, not even for a second. I hate myself for being at that stupid concert instead of here with her. She’s my entire world.
“Go to work, Heather. I can’t handle you being around me. You’re like a fucking helicopter, always hovering over me. You annoy me.”
One of the worst parts of Huntington’s is the mood swings. Stephanie was a sweet, kind, and happy-go-lucky kid. When she was nineteen, she had her first onset of tremors. Her body would go stiff and she couldn’t move. Immediately, Matt and I took her to the doctor, but they couldn’t find anything.
Then her mood did a complete one-eighty. It was as if someone stole my sister’s identity and replaced it with the angriest person I’d ever met.
“I am going to work today, thank you.”
“Good. Do I go back to Breezy tonight then?”
“Depends what the doctor says.”
According to the neurologist, we can expect her to continue to deteriorate, and she’s at high risk of another seizure that could leave lasting effects. The younger you are when you become symptomatic with Huntington’s the faster things get worse.
“Yet again, I have no say in anything. It’s always you and the doctors. I’m a fucking adult!” She rolls her eyes and turns onto her side.
“I know you are, but yelling at me isn’t going to help.”
My patience with Stephanie is unending, but at times, I lose my cool. Being told how awful, worthless, and depressing I am eventually wears me down. I know it isn’t her. She acts this way because she’s frustrated and in pain, but I still hate it.
However, it was Stephanie who made the decision to move into Breezy Beaches. She knew I couldn’t quit my job to take care of her. I needed to make whatever I could, and a live-in nurse was way over our budget since insurance wouldn’t cover it. She needed around-the-clock care that I could no longer provide.
It was the single most devastating day of my life. I cried harder after dropping her off than I did the night our parents died.
“I hate you. I hate this disease.” She flips back over and throws the cover back, staring up at the ceiling. “I hate it all.”
I touch her shoulder, and her hands start to move. They took her off the medication for the tremors when she was admitted, and it took less than forty-eight hours for them to come back.
“Steph,” I say carefully. “Please don’t shut me out.”
“I c-ca-can’t.” Her eyes well with frustration and tears. “I h-hat-t-e th-this.”
I move to the side of the bed and lace her fingers with mine, trying not to cry as well. Our hands move together as her body takes control. I do my best to comfort her. “I know, love. I hate it, too. Right now, we’re just dancing. That’s all.”
In the beginning of the disease, this was what I used to say when her hands and feet would go. It was our dance break. I muster a smile and start singing as we move with no rhythm or purpose.
My heart breaks as I watch this disease rob my sister of a life she deserves. It isn’t fair that she got the gene and I didn’t. I would gladly take it for her if I could. So many times I’ve watched her and tried to stay strong, but sometimes there is no strength. Sometimes I can’t help myself from losing it. My lack of strength sometimes won’t be my demise—love will be. Love is what breaks me down. Love is what makes it so hard to forgive God for doing this to us. Stephanie should be hanging out with her friends, working, living life. Instead, she’s stuck in a facility because we have no idea when the next symptom will arise.
The tear I was fighting so hard to push back, falls.
Stephanie’s eyes lock on mine, and we both cry together.
“Is your sister better?” Matt asks as we finish roll call.
“Yeah.” I nod. “She should be going back . . .” I stop myself from saying the word “home” because it isn’t home. It’s a fucking group home, and I hate that she’s there. “to the place soon. Thanks for covering for me.”
“I know this is hard for you,” he says, trying to comfort me. “I hate seeing you like this.”
Right. I’m so sure that’s the case.
“Wouldn’t have been if I had my husband’s support.” I toss back at him.
I watch his face shift to hurt. “Heather,” Matt whispers. “It wasn’t like that.”
I roll my eyes and huff. While Stephanie takes her hurt out on me, I channel my anger toward Matt. “It was exactly like that. You left me. You moved out because I wasn’t willing to put my sister in that home. You made it so that I had no other choice in the end. We were supposed to be a team, but you . . .” I pause and try to get myself back under control. “You left.”
“You didn’t give me any choice!” Matt’s voice rises. “I was watching my wife drift away. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t make you happy. You act like I’m the villain here, but I had to sit around watching you lose yourself.”
I can’t believe him. “It was not about me or you, it was about her.”
“Take a minute to think about who left who, Heather. You were gone a long time before I walked out that door.”
Matt turns around and walks out. How fitting. It’s a different time, but the same result—he walks away first. We’ve had this fight before, several times, and each time, it reminds me of what a selfish dick he is.
“You ready to hit the road?” My partner Brody asks as he slaps me on the shoulder, breaking me from staring daggers at the door Matt walked through.