“I’m cold, Stan,” Marie whispered. “Would you bring me another blanket?”
Stanley jumped up from his chair, rushing to the pile of blankets one of the nurses had left for her. He draped two of them over his wife, careful not to brush the IV tubes that were sticking out of her slender arms.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He stood beside her hospital bed, caressing her cheek gently. Though her face was pale and drawn, he couldn’t help but think how lovely she was, how lovely she would always be. From somewhere beneath the warm blankets, cradled safely in Marie’s arms, Lilah snored softly.
“What else can I get you, honey?” he asked, forcing a smile on his face as he brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. “I know your appetite is gone, but Dr. Kreuter said you can have as much mint chocolate ice cream as you’d like. Can I get you some?”
Marie smiled, and unlike Stanley’s, her smile was sincere. “Have I told you how much I love you lately?”
“Not in the last five minutes, you haven’t.”
“More than anything in this world, Stanley, I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said softly, his smile wavering only slightly. “So much.”
“I need you to promise me something, Stanley,” she whispered, her voice so low he had to kneel beside her to hear. “I need you to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, that you’ll find it in your heart to be happy, even when I’m gone.”
“Please, don’t—” Stanley started.
“But even more importantly,” his wife continued, determination filling her fragile voice, “I need you to promise that you’ll take good care of Lilah. She has no one in this world, Stanley. No one. You have to promise me that when I’m gone, you’ll love her as I have for these past ten months.”
Stanley grasped his wife’s free hand in both of his, nodding as he kissed her cool knuckles. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t dare release his wife’s fingers to wipe them away. “I promise, sweetheart.”
With effort, Marie kissed the top of Lilah’s head, taking in her sweet scent one last time. “Thank you, my sweet Lilah,” she whispered faintly. “Thank you for everything.”
Stanley stared out the window as cold rain pattered against the glass. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and his whiskers had sprouted into a full-blown beard – something Marie had always disliked. She said it tickled her face when he kissed her, once illustrating the scratchy sensation by scrubbing his cheek with a wet scouring pad so he could see for himself. That spurred a full-blown water fight beside the kitchen sink, with Stanley grabbing the hose from the faucet and Marie eventually dumping a full glass of ice water down his back to secure her hard-fought victory. They made love right there on the kitchen floor, somehow ignoring the frigid puddles of ice water that pooled beneath soft, warm flesh.
He forced himself not to glance over at the kitchen sink now; the faucet she had asked him to fix well over a year ago still dripped, its fat, noisy droplets splashing against the pile of dirty dishes that had been accumulating there for months. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the increasingly frantic cries coming from the living room. When had he last fed the baby? An hour ago? Four hours ago? Pushing himself up from the table with a grunt – lately, every muscle in his body ached, though nothing soothed the pain – he trudged towards the living room, where Lilah was fussing in her playpen.
Stanley stood in the doorway of the kitchen for a long moment, gazing at the place beside the playpen where Marie used to stand, laughing and tickling the baby’s tummy before scooping her up to rock her in her arms. He could almost see her there, her rosy cheeks overcome by a joyous smile. If she could see her husband now, she almost certainly wouldn’t be smiling. She’d probably be lecturing him on his unkempt beard, the grimy holes in his shirt, the bottles of beer piling up beside the trash can. Stanley swallowed a sob with effort; he would have given anything to hear his wife lecture him again. Anything.
With a heavy sigh, he plodded over to the baby’s playpen. She was pressing her little body against the side of it, waving her arms over the top to be picked up. “Ba-ba,” she was whimpering. “Ba-ba?”
A pang of guilt rolled in Stanley’s stomach when he saw the clock on the wall. He hadn’t fed Lilah since breakfast.
She’s just a baby, Stan, Marie’s voice chided him. She – or rather, the memory of her that lingered in his head – had been chiding him quite a bit lately. You can afford to eat pastrami sandwiches and warm beer every day – for a little while longer, at least – but you can’t neglect her.
“I know,” Stanley whispered, his voice cracking with the effort it took to keep his tears at bay. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s just been so hard.”
I know, darling. I know. You’re doing the best you can. But I need you to try just a little harder… for me. You promised.
Stanley bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He had promised her, just before she died in his arms. The memory stirred something within him, something he hadn’t felt in months: purpose. With a deep breath, he steeled his emotions, then approached the playpen with a smile. It felt stiff and unnatural on his face.
“Come here, little buddy,” he said, bending down to scoop baby Lilah into his arms. “I’m sorry I’ve been a deadbeat. Let’s go get you a bottle, okay?” He crinkled his nose. “And maybe a diaper change.” Lilah’s nose was crinkled as well, which prompted Stanley to sniff the yellowed armpit of his t-shirt and sigh. “And then a bath for us both.”
An hour later, after both Lilah and Stanley had been properly fed, changed, and bathed, Stanley sank against the couch cushions, feeling somewhat rejuvenated. He found himself bouncing Lilah on his knee, smiling for the first time in weeks. She was wearing the fleece bunny onesie Marie had bought her for Christmas, her little white rabbit ears flopping against her hood as she bounced and giggled.
“We gotta hand it to Mommy – you do make a pretty cute bunny rabbit,” Stanley grinned as he booped her nose. “Now maybe the little bunny would like some mashed carrots, since the doc says you’re getting too old for bottles. Hey, what’s the matter?”
He stopped bouncing her. Lilah had fallen silent mid-giggle, her eyes locked on something Stanley couldn’t see. He let out a gasp, followed by a curse. He hadn’t given Lilah her medicine that morning. Or the night before.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright!” Stanley tightened his grip on Lilah, resisting the urge to fling her to the opposite end of the couch. “Stay with me, kid. Please. C’mon, now – oh God!”
Lilah’s arms and legs went stiff as a board just as Stanley felt the couch disappear from underneath him. With his eyes squinted shut, a loud yelp and a sharp thud let him know his bottom had connected with the floor, though it didn’t hurt as much as he would have expected. A cool breeze ruffled his hair – but from what source? He was sure the windows were closed.
Slowly, Stanley opened one eye, and then another. He was sitting on a mound of upholstery and springs outside, still clutching Lilah – but the rest of the couch, the living room, the house… were all gone – save for the glittering piles of nails, shattered glass, piles of bricks, and crumbled concrete interspersed between the pine trees and low bushes. Somewhere close by, a crow cawed and a branch snapped.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Stanley croaked, peering at something through the nearby copse of trees. Was that the kitchen? He struggled to his feet, cradling Lilah against his body. A chipmunk scampered across his muddy slipper, causing him to stumble backwards. “What the hell—!”
“Kitty!” Lilah giggled.
He jerked his head to look at her, and all at once, the forest and trees and chipmunk were gone. Stanley stood atop his couch clutching Lilah to his chest, the plaid slippers Marie had gotten him for his birthday once again mud-free. The rest of the living room blinked back into existence as well, with nary a picture frame askew. Though Lilah seemed unfazed, Stanley was panting frantically, his clean shirt soaked through with sweat.
“What the hell was that?” he wheezed, leaning against the mirror above the couch. Marie’s framed face stared at him from the fireplace mantle, admonishing him for his errant thought of calling 9-1-1. In truth, a thousand crazy thoughts were careening through his mind all at once: going crazy, too much beer, stroke, alien abduction… But there was one pressing thought that rose above the rest of the senseless clamor, a singularly important thought, which Stanley prudently listened to.
“Kid,” he said, shakily stepping back down from the couch, “let’s go get your medicine.”
As if agreeing, Lilah gently patted his beard.