Time ticked away as Jim counted the seconds between inhalations and exhalations under the blanket. He lost track of everything but the counting until he blinked and realized the shadows in the room had deepened across them both.
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The door opened a second later, and Jim almost jerked away from Ed but forced himself to stay still. He thought it was Frances or the doctor, but a whiff of aftershave turned his head in complete surprise.
Griffin stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his khakis and a sad look on his face.
Hi
, he mouthed, indicating Ed with a tilt of his head.
“Sleeping,” Jim murmured, a feeling of relief and pain intermingling in his chest. He couldn't imagine anyone he wanted to see more in the world at this moment, and it was terrifying.
Griffin walked over, grabbing the second chair in the room and bringing it next to Jim's. He butted the two chairs together, so when he sat down, his thigh matched up against Jim's.
“You need anything?” he whispered as he looked over at Ed's sleeping form.
Jim stared at Griffin's profile, then cleared his throat, realizing he had to answer. “Nothing,” he answered, and it was the gospel truth.
“You need to eat or drink at least.” Griffin sat back in the seat and reached into the pocket of his blazer to pull out a small bottle of water. “I'll get you coffee and some dinner in a few minutes.”
“I ate…”
“Breakfast. Maybe lunch?” Griffin gave him a small smile. “Shut up and let me do something nice for you.”
Jim didn't have any words at that moment; he simply blinked and went back to counting Ed's breaths.
Griffin sat beside him for a few hundred more clicks of the clock, then murmured something about coffee. He disappeared briefly, eventually returning with the aforementioned hot beverage in the largest cup Jim had seen in a while.
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“There's a sandwich when you're ready,” Griffin said, handing the cup over as he sat back down.
“Yes, dear,” Jim mumbled, but he smiled as he took a sip.
Francis came and went over the next few hours, tidying the room and indulging the boys with smiles. The last time around, her smile didn't last long as she took Ed's pulse; it didn't take a medical degree to read her expression.
She said she'd get the doctor, and Griffin didn't push the sandwich anymore.
“Do you want me to leave?” Griffin asked as soon as she left.
“No, why would I?”
Griffin didn't respond, but Jim could see he was pleased.
Which in turn helped Jim breathe a little bit easier for the moment.
“You should, uh—I don't know. If you're gonna say something, you should say it soon.” Griffin's face twisted up for a second as he stared down at the floor.
Jim put the coffee cup on the bedside table. He knew Griffin was talking urgency—because Ed didn't have long, and he remembered the story Griffin told him about his mother.
He stood up and leaned over Ed's still form; he moved without thinking, which is the only way he could get out of that chair.
A flurry of words started to whirl in Jim's head. Apologies for Carmen's case, words for all Ed had taught him and given him in the time they'd known one another. Words he knew he could never say aloud about the father Ed was, whether he knew it or not—Carmen was his failure in some ways, but Jim…Jim might be counted as his success.
“Ed,” he murmured, his voice halting and strained. A gentle touch against the back of his leg steadied him a bit. “Ed, thank you. Thank you so much.” The door opened and Jim looked up to see the doctor, who seemed apologetic for interrupting.
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“Come in,” he said as he breathed in deeply and walked away from the bedside to give the doctor some room to work. And over to the window to give himself a break.
Jim stared out into the parking lot of the hospital. He tracked a few cars coming and going, some dark clouds moving in over the mountains that promised rain. He didn't turn his head when Griffin came to stand next to him, but he didn't resist the gentle touch of his lover's hand in his.
The doctor cleared his throat to get their attention.
Jim turned around and read the doctor's expression as well as he'd read Francis's.
“If we could stay…”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. Just call the nurses' station if you need anything.”
That was all that needed to be said. That could be said. Everyone shared another round of pained faces, and the doctor left.
It was just waiting game now.
* * * * *
It was taking longer for the blanket to rise and fall.
Jim checked the clock and saw it was almost one o'clock. He thought about waking Griffin and sending him back to Ed's house to sleep more comfortably, but selfishly, he wanted the other man here. Close enough to see and touch and need when the time came.
The time was coming.
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In a perfect world, in a movie, Ed would have woken up and said something profound. Given Jim his blessing and love and gone out with wise words on his lips. But at half past one he took a deep, painful breath, so sharp that the sound made Griffin stir on the other side of the room.
Jim got up and leaned over Ed, gripping his hand tightly. He remembered Carmen's body in that empty parking lot and Della's body in the back of that ambulance and squeezed until sweat dotted his forehead.
He wanted Ed to know he was here. He wanted Ed to remember he wasn't alone at this moment.
He held on for a few more heartbeats—his own racing heart pounding in his ears as Ed's slowed and slowed. He swore he could feel the last pulse before a machine signaled that it was over.
Jim couldn't let go.
Even though everything had changed, he couldn't relax his hand or stand up straight. The door opened, and he heard quiet voices, and he still didn't move.
“You did great,” a voice whispered in his ear. “You helped him go. Now just let these guys take over, okay?”
Griffin's arms were around him, urging him to move away from Ed's body.
He didn't pull or tug or force the issue, but the embrace and the gentle pressure made it easier for Jim to let go, to relax the muscles of his hands and straighten his back. And eventually, to step away.
* * * * *
Griffin stood silently at Jim's side through it all. At some point he managed to disappear, buy a large bottle of cold water, and reappear again before Jim noticed at all. Two hours after Ed had finally passed, Jim found 168
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himself in the passenger side of his truck as Griffin drove slowly out of the hospital parking lot.
“Uh—sorry, but…Ed's house? A hotel? Which would you prefer?” he asked softly.
Jim rubbed his face hard with both hands, trying to kick himself out of the funk and find an answer. Everything seemed fuzzy and out of focus; he heard Griffin, he knew what was going on, but thinking seemed out of the realm of possibility.
When he didn't answer, Griffin seemed to make a decision on his own. He pulled out onto the dark highway and turned up the heat before resting a hand on Jim's knee.
Comforting without saying anything. When they pulled into Ed's driveway, it seemed exactly the right answer.
* * * * *
Jim lay on his side, facing the wall. The small television was on a local news channel, the sound low. He didn't turn over when Griffin came in, but he did roll a bit closer when his boyfriend got into bed.
“Need anything?” Griffin asked.
Jim could smell the coffee, feel the warm length of Griffin's body next to him.
“No, thanks,” he said softly.
Griffin didn't say anything, but his hand, warm from the coffee cup, rested against Jim's hip. Holding him steady until he fell asleep.
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Chapter Twenty-three
“Terry Oh.”
“Hey, Terry—this is Griffin Drake…”
“Hi, hi.” Terry paused. “Crap. Bad news, I'm guessing.”
“Yeah.” Griffin sighed deeply. “Last night. Jim's still asleep. I was just going to make the calls before he wakes up so he doesn't have to deal with it.”
“That's pretty nice of you, Griffin.”
“It's the least I could do.”
“Let me know about the funeral arrangements. I'm not sure Mimi can travel, but I'll be there. You want me to talk to Nick and Heather?”
“Thanks—that would be helpful. I'm going to call Ben next, because there's going to be more legal stuff, I'm sure.” Griffin tapped his BlackBerry stylus on the scarred kitchen table, making the little spilled drops of Splenda dance on the surface. “Not sure if there's anyone else.”
“If I think of anyone, I'll let you know. Tell Jim I have things under control here and not to rush back.”
“You've met Jim, right?”
Terry laughed. “Point taken. Thanks for calling.”
“No problem.”
Griffin hung up and picked up his coffee. It was cup number five since the pot last night as he attempted to watch over Jim and get some stuff done without falling into a deep coma himself. He monitored his e-mail and messages religiously, worried that Claus would break his promise when news of Ed Kelly's death reached his ears.
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Daisy had talked to Claus that night as Griffin fretted in his apartment; he paced and packed and sent e-mails to real estate agents in LA and Aspen, put an ad for his car on the local Craigslist. She called him in the morning as he agonized over Ed's turn for the worse and his inability to be there with Jim.
She swore it was a done deal. She made a deal with Claus for the rights to the film. He'd be getting paperwork shortly.
He thanked her again and again, but she hung up without another word.
Then he waited for the official notification from Bright Side, which hadn't yet come when he flew out of LA to get back to Tacoma and Jim.
So far nothing seemed to have changed. Claus promised him the project.
Daisy swore it. She would presumably front the money until he could come up with it. The fat lady was warming up to sing her final few notes as soon as the legal paperwork finally arrived with signatures in place.
Exhaustion crept up and knocked on the door, pushing him into a foggy delirium as he checked his messages one more time. Maybe if he laid his head down for ten minutes—max—he could make it a few more hours…
* * * * *
He smelled bacon and eggs.
There was a blanket on his shoulders; as he sat up it slid off, and his entire back cracked so loudly, there was an actual echo.
“Heavens! I knew sleeping in that chair wasn't a good idea,” a voice said, and Griffin looked over to see an older woman in an apron standing over the stove with a spatula in her hand. “Are you all right, young man?”
“Uh…yes, ma'am.” Griffin stretched and twisted until he could move without breaking the sound barrier. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh no, don't apologize. You were so tired,” she said sympathetically. “I'm Carla Kelly.”
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“Griffin Drake. I'm sorry—are you a relative of Ed's?”
“Second cousin by marriage. We got a call from Jim this morning and got right in the car.” She shook her head. “So sad, but at least they're all together now, Ed and Della and Carmen.” She turned back to the stove, and Griffin shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Jim? Morning? He looked over at the rooster-shaped clock and saw it was three thirty in the afternoon.
“Is Jim around?”
“He had some errands to run, he said. I think he'll be back soon. Guessing you're hungry—eggs and bacon all right?”
“Yeah, thanks. That would be great, actually.” Griffin flipped open his computer to check his e-mail, then grabbed his BlackBerry. Nothing.
OhGodohGodohGod.
He flashed back to the meeting in Claus's office, face-to-face with Tripp Ingersoll, and felt the cold sweat breaking under his hair.
“Here you go,” Carla said cheerfully. She put the plate in front of Griffin along with a mug of coffee. It was the world's best dad mug that Ed had been holding the first time they were here, where Griffin swore that they would do nothing to harm the memories of Carmen or Della.
Oh God.
He didn't know what to do besides choke down the breakfast Ed's second cousin by marriage dropped in front of him. He drank the coffee and cleaned his plate and then politely excused himself to shower and change.
And freak and pray with hands shaking as he disappeared into the bathroom to dial Daisy's cell phone.
Griffin sat on the toilet seat, the door closed behind him. Everything in the tiny guest bathroom smelled lavender, the wallpaper covered with tiny purple pictures of it. He thought this might have been Carmen's bathroom, and how much did he now wish they'd gone to a damn hotel.