The Sympathy Screw | 18+

Chapter 10 - Last Goodbye

Author's Notes:

My apologies for anyone who expected chapter 10 to be sexy. I was really hoping for it to be, but chapter 9 ran a little longer than intended. I've already written a sexy scene, so it is definitely coming up. At this point, it might be in chapter 11, but might not be until chapter 12. Please try to be patient.

The theme song for this chapter is:

"It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday" by Boyz II Men

~-~

Michael told me, "Because he's about to die. You need to say your goodbyes. And neither of you will want to do it while you're looking at each other."

"Tact, Michael! Honestly, we talked about this!" Marie scolded, smacking him on the back of the head like she might a brother, "I don't know why I thought your skills would help here today."

Michael smirked at Marie and told her, "Because you know I'm right. Baby, it's what she needed to hear to get her to make the call. None of this namby-pamby wading her into it shit. You and I both know that if we had waded her into it, it would be too late by the time she had agreed to call."

Michael's calling Marie 'Baby' like that was anything but sibling-like, but I was too entrenched in my own emotions right now to deal with wondering whatever was going on between the two of them.

"What?" I sputtered, both confused and horrified at what was going on around me, "What's going on here?"

Michael looked into my eyes and I suddenly felt a surge of unprovoked adrenaline welling up inside me. In his thick Italian accent, Michael urged, "Violet, you need to call your husband. Don't ask us to explain this right now."

I nodded, but instead of taking the desk phone receiver Marie offered me, I picked up my cell phone and chose the video call. Michael clucked his tongue, but neither of them stopped me.

The cell phone let out the video call ring to let me know it was ringing on Andrew's end, but he didn't pick up. I hung up and tried again. He still didn't answer. I tried a third time and finally, Andrew picked up the call. What I saw when he answered made my jaw drop.

There, on the hospice bed, was Andrew, wired up to an IV that hadn't been there before, a tube running into his nose, his breathing far more labored than he had ever seemed in my presence. Somewhere in the background, I heard the sound of what I could only assume was a heart monitor, sounding in a steady rhythm of beeps.

"Andrew?" I nearly whispered, staring at him in complete awe at the deterioration of his condition.

"Babe," Andrew wheezed and puffed, "I didn't ... I didn't ... I didn't ... want you to see me like this." Tears were welling at the corners of his eyes.

"What happened?" I asked him, "You were doing so great this morning. I was sure we had at least another month."

"I've been ... I've been hiding it from you. I've had the nurses take off the oxygen and the IV when you were on your way here."

Had he really been this sick already?

"But you seemed so great! You were fine!" I adamantly protested.

Andrew gave me a sad smile. "Was I, Vi? When was the last time you saw me eating? Or drinking anything but water?"

Looking down at my feet, I thought back. "But you always told me that you ate. And the food I made for you was always gone."

Andrew chuckled lightly, which led to a couple of weak coughs. He took a few more moments to end the coughing and let himself catch his breath before he replied, "The neighbors' dog has been eating really well the past few weeks, Vi. Once I was moved to hospice, the nurses ate the food you brought me."