Blind now, because I cannot see through my bleary eyes, I hear the door swing open and shut, and then there are footsteps, and I know Cal and Joan have moved into the room.
“These are people who love you,” I say. I blink and try to clear my vision. “Please don’t be upset with me.”
A wash of emotion rushes over her pale face, and she lifts a hand to cover her eyes.
“They love you,” I say. “It’s all okay. They love you. They want to be here for you.”
Steffi starts to panic and flounders for me, yanking her oxygen away. “They’re mad.” She begins to cry. “They’re mad, aren’t they?”
“No, no, no.” I replace her mask. “Listen to me. You listen to me very clearly. No. They love you. You are their daughter. They are your parents. And they are here.”
Her eyes water so much that my heart further shreds. But she nods, and behind her tears, I can see tremendous relief. I can see peace.
“Steffi?” Joan says from the other side of the bed.
“You are our joy.” Cal’s voice is steady, steadier than it should be.
Steffi turns her head.
Nobody moves, but then, with clear effort, she inches an arm their way. Both sit and lean against the bed so that they are as close to her as possible.
Joan smiles. “We love you, do you hear me? We love you.”
Steffi starts to protest and gropes for something by the bed. Jamie again gets to her and hands her something.
“It’s a morphine drip,” Jamie explains to us quietly. “Steffi can hit it when she needs pain relief.”
When Steffi hits that button three times, it’s impossible to watch and impossible for my heart and my soul not to feel savagely ripped apart.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” Steffi says with a rasp.
“No.” Cal shakes his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. No apologies.”
It takes a bit, but Steffi nods.
Joan is upset, but she hides it well. “I know that you’re apologizing in your head. Don’t, okay? We are all together now, and that’s what matters. We are your mom and dad, as we have always been. You’ve never been without us, and you never will be. It’s very simple.”
Steffi’s smile is as broad as she can make it right now, and Cal and Joan both bend over to hold her. It’s only then that I notice the IV in her arm, presumably for the morphine.
I feel as though I should maybe step out of the room and give them some time, but I know there might not be much, and I can’t stand to leave. Plus, Steffi’s hold on my hand, while weak, is steadfast. So, I stay.
For a long time, we all just sit with her. Later, she brushes away the oxygen mask.
“Joan? Remember the . . . curtains you put up for me?” It clearly takes effort for her to say even this. “Sheers. White. With stars.”
Joan touches Steffi’s face. “I do remember.”
“I loved those. You did something . . . so nice. For me.” Steffi’s face doesn’t change, but we all know that she’s hitting upon a good memory. “Very pretty.”
“I’m glad you liked those.” Joan sounds so motherly that it makes my heart ache. “We have pictures of you all over the house. And your room is still your room. We haven’t touched it.”
“So sorry . . .” Steffi is getting weaker. “So sorry I wasn’t better. Smart enough to know . . .” She looks agitated, as much as she can now. “I should have said yes. Chosen you.”
“No.” Cal’s voice conveys only intense sincerity and gentleness. “No. You did what you could. You made the choice that you felt was right at the time, and no one could ever fault you for that. We get why you couldn’t trust us. Joan and I get it.” He rubs a finger under his eyes. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are a family. Okay?” He forces a smile. “Do you hear that we adore you? That you’re our daughter? Because that’s the truth.”
A new level of comprehension and acceptance sweeps over her. I can see it. I can see that Steffi takes in their love.
“Thank . . . you.” Steffi shifts a bit, clearly in pain. “I love you both, too. I do.” She hits the morphine button.
When she settles and looks my way, I find myself shifting to another emotional state, to a new kind of peace, to a harbor where there is nothing but the two of us. The sterile, monotone, scary hospital room recedes into nothingness.
It’s coming.
I crawl into her bed, laying my body next to hers. She has always held me, but tonight, I hold her.
“Allison . . .”
“It’s okay, Steffi. It’s okay.”
“Before I forget . . . there are some things I have to tell you. Final things.”
Inside, I scream. I rail against this. But I won’t let her hear that. “Anything.”
“My ashes. I don’t want . . .” She struggles for breath. “I asked for ashes. But I don’t want to be in some gross urn. We clear? You scatter my ashes in the ocean.”
“I’ll do anything you want.” Emotionless, I’m about the practical now. I have to be. “California or anywhere?” I touch her hair. “Simon and I are going to the Cape or the Vineyard this summer. Would you want that?”
There’s a long pause. “The Vineyard. That’s perfect.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“And—”
“And Cal and Joan will come with us, yes,” I say for her. “Yes.”
“Absolutely,” Cal says.
She squeezes my hand lightly. “Esben.”
“Him, too,” I confirm.
“Not . . . sad. Okay?” Steffi looks at me with hope.
“No, we won’t be sad that day, my beautiful girl,” Joan answers when I cannot. “We will celebrate how much joy you brought us all. It will be a day of celebration, not of tears.”
Steffi looks peaceful after those words, and her eyes grow heavy. “After this. When I’m gone. You’ll be okay, though, right?”
“I will,” I promise her. “Do not worry about me. Please don’t. I will miss you forever, but I will get through this. You told me to be brave, and I can do that.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” I hate lying to her, but I have to. “The only thing that matters right now is that I love you. And that you trust that I am strong. It’s time for you to trust that, okay? Steffi, you are my heart, and I will always love you. To the goodnight moon and back. Always and forever.”
She breathes through the mask for a while. “I’m so tired . . . Allison? I just want to sleep for a little,” she says behind the flow of oxygen. “Do you mind?”
“You sleep as long as you want.”
Slowly, she looks at Cal and Joan and then back to me. “You’ll be here when I wake up? I’m so sorry . . . I just need a little nap.”
“We will be here when you wake up.” Because I have to be a rock right now, I do not cry when I say this. “We will be here. So, you sleep, Steffi. Just sleep. And have beautiful, wondrous dreams.”
Steffi smiles a little, then taps her mask, and I lift it. “My mom and dad came,” she says in a whisper.