Few of us will ever know of our imminent demise as I did, but I supposed the message was the same for all of us—live as though you were dying, dream as if you’ll have forever.
“Bye, Mom,” I whispered to the quiet room. “I forgive you.”
Grant’s hand curled into me. “Come on, baby. It’s time.”
Rising, I took one final look at the ten-by-twenty-foot apartment that had been my hell on earth. It looked entirely different now. The wallpaper was still peeling from the walls, bits of the ceiling were still crumbling, the same stains still scarred the old floors, the same acrid scent lingered in the air, but it was clean. Scrubbed from top to bottom of the dirt and scum that had stagnated within these walls for decades. The windows had been washed, letting in the first light of day I’d ever seen in this room.
Grant had stayed by my side, scrubbing every last crack and corner of this place until we’d sent our last bucket of filthy water down the drain. Then we’d filled the place with flowers. A flower for every bad memory. A piece of life where hope had died.
Thousands of flowers were scattered around the apartment, maybe tens of thousands. And now, there was only one thing left to do.
“I’m ready,” I said, slipping my hand into his and letting him lead me out of the room one last time.
Grant moved quickly, as he had that first time, like he was as superstitious as I was when it came to waking sleeping demons.
It wasn’t until we reached from the doors on the first floor of the complex and stepped outside that I realized the heavy coat I’d been wearing inside. It fell away the moment I breathed free air.
At the road, a large crowd started to cheer now that we’d emerged and were making our way to them. Most everyone gathered was probably from The Clink, because few people who weren’t or hadn’t been residents dared to come within its boundaries, but there was a handful of media vans and reporters too.
It had made headlines when football legend Grant Turner decided to blow up the very apartment building he and his wife had met in. The circumstances of our meeting we kept to ourselves, but the public knew enough about The Clink to understand why a couple would be keen to reduce their past to a heap of dust and rubble.
I wound my arm behind his back and glanced up at my husband. “Will we ever be able to go anywhere without having the media document your every move?”
“With a face like this?” Grant teased, circling his face with his hand. “Probably not.”
“You’ve been retired for two years, and I swear the press has only taken more of an interest in your life.”
The crowd cheered louder when we got closer, and Grant and I waved.
He winked at me. “Legends never die, baby.”
“This is what happens when they induct someone in the Hall of Fame. They lose touch with reality and what it’s like to be humble every now and again.”
His hand went to his chest. “Hey, I’m the most humble person I know.”
I laughed. “Thank you for proving my point.”
We were almost to the barricade running all the way around the apartment complex when my foot jerked. Just enough to rock me off balance. Grant caught me, swinging me into his arms as a few more tremors jerked my legs. I thought this was why he stayed so close to me all of the time, to catch me when I fell. God knew he’d done plenty of it my whole life.
“Looks like we timed our European vacation just right.” He looked down at me in his arms with the same kind of affection and devotion he had for the past two and a half decades.
It took me a minute to form the words. “I think . . . you’re right.”
The miracle drug I’d found in Europe had turned out to be an actual miracle. No, it hadn’t healed my HD, but it had given the disease a less pivotal role in my life. It had lessened my symptoms and delayed the advancement of those symptoms.
Every few years, we had to make a return trip to get my dosage adjusted as the disease continued to fight, but thanks to Grant and his quest for a real-life miracle, I’d lived well beyond what I’d hoped. I’d lived well beyond what I’d hoped.
“It will be our first time going without Charlie,” I said after the last tremor passed. Grant didn’t set me down though. “I’m kind of sad.”
“Maybe she can come if she talks to her professors.”
I gazed up at him. “I don’t think there’s a homeschooling option for college students, unfortunately.”
He made a face. “Well, there should be.”
Twisting my head, I glanced into the crowd now that we were close enough to make out faces. “Do you see her?”
Grant was doing the same thing I was. His chin lifted. “There she is. Right there by Cruz and . . .” Grant sighed, his mouth pulling into a snarl. “And him.”