Til Kingdom Come [Harry Styles- Bk 4]

ch.34 You're a hero

Harry looked at me and sighed so loudly, I sort of felt guilty. He had been doing literally everything from feeding the kids to refilling my tea to arresting "bad guys" on a daily basis. Yet here I was, laying in my bed trying to outstare myself.

"Daddy's here, baby," Harry whispered reassuringly to Farah. 

Farah continued to cry. She cried for hours. I laid there in my bed, semi-wanting to help, but my legs refused to move. Farah cried on and on, making Harry tremble with worry. Her jaundice condition had improved considerably, but what if something else was wrong?

Well maybe Nonna cursed her. Maybe that's why her skin is so yellow, so golden...

"Shh, baby, shh," Harry whispered. 

Farah's crying toned down about half a degree, but she kept those tears dripping like a river.

I don't know if she ever stopped, but at some point, Harry grew so exhausted that he laid down on our bed and held her against his chest. He fell asleep in the midst of her crying. And when Farah realized he had essentially passed out, her tears muffled. She did this every night. For months.

***

Becky had her baby. Tony nearly passed out in the waiting room and when he physically saw the child come out of Becky, he fainted. The boys made fun of him, but I wasn't there to see it; I was too busy staring at my damn wall.

Apparently, Becky had named her daughter Kate, short for Katherine. Tony said she was a baby Barbie: blonde hair, Becky's sharp grey eyes.

I wanted to see the baby and congratulate Becky, but I didn't feel any reason to congratulate anyone on anything because Nonna was the one who did that. It was her job, as the eldest, wisest person in our circle to do that sort of thing. I'm not the oldest or wisest person in our group. I'm the weakest.

Farah wiggled in her cushion. She wasn't crying, but little whimpers escaped her terrified lips. I stared at her. She knew the set times I would pick her up and this was not one of those times.

***

The kids walked home from the bus stop and knew not to bother me. They toasted snacks in the microwave and Harry came home with Pizza or Chinese or burgers. And every time he saw that I wasn't in the kitchen or by my desk writing, or with the kids, he sighed loudly, but didn't dare complain.

Sometimes, I wished he would drag me out of bed and release me from these invisible chains that I've strapped over myself. I wished he would yell at me and beg me to return to the semi-normal state of mind before my blessed Nonna left me. But Harry was too sweet, too hardworking, too stubborn to admit when he needed help. I need help. Goddamn.

The worst part was that in all the hours I was staring at my wretched walls, I had more and more time to wallow in my own depressing thoughts and pity. I had more time to sit and wither away and Harry, beautiful Harry was too noble to call me out for being such a pathetic woman and horrible mother.

I couldn't even cry; Farah did that for me so well. Every night, she cried for about four hours while Harry rubbed his eyes and whispered softly, gently begging her to calm down so that he could get at least three hours of sleep. But Farah's crying ended around 3 am and Harry woke up at about 6 am. The bags under his eyes had grown permanent and he drank coffee at least twice a day. I even caught him smoking a few times...

I smelled the orange chicken aroma from the kitchen. The kids were all eating. I didn't eat anything anymore. When I showered, I realized that I had lost a considerable amount of weight. I might even be leaner than I was in high school.

Plates clinked together and I realized Darcy must have been attempting to clean the dishes. Harry gave them showers and tucked them into bed. It was nearly 11 pm by the time he came to our room to tend to Farah. His T-shirt was raggedy and I could hear his muscles squeezing out of exhaustion.