FINAL PART 6-During my lunch break, my husband sent me to the county clerk with $98.50 in cash in a bank envelope to renew his truck tags.

Part 11 — The Pages She Had Not Finished

Dana reached my house just as I was backing out of the driveway.
She got into the passenger seat without waiting for an invitation.
“I’ll drive,” she said.
“I’m all right.”
“I know you can drive.”
She looked at my hands on the wheel.
“I also know you’ve been holding on to those keys for five minutes.”
I moved to the passenger seat.
On the way to Nashville, she asked what I wanted to say to Lacey.
“I don’t know.”
“Then you can sit with her.”
“I keep thinking I should say something that makes the whole thing mean something.”
Dana watched the road.
“You don’t have to make a good ending out of a hard thing.”
I looked down at the paperback in my lap.
The bookmark still held Lacey’s place.
“I didn’t finish her book.”
“She told you the ending wasn’t important.”
“I know.”
I turned it over and read the note inside the cover again.
You can choose what happens after the part I know.
At the hospital, Beth was waiting outside the elevator.
She looked exhausted.
“She’s awake,” she said.
“Jeremy’s with her.”
Dana touched my arm.
“I’ll be downstairs when you need me.”
I followed Beth to Room 714.
Jeremy sat beside the bed, holding Lacey’s hand.
He stood when he saw me.
Lacey’s eyes moved toward the book in my arms.
“You brought it,” she whispered.
“I thought you might want to know how far I got.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“I haven’t reached the ending.”
“Good.”
She smiled faintly.
“You can tell me if it’s any good later.”
I pulled up a chair.
Jeremy stepped toward the door.
“You can stay,” Lacey told him.
He looked at me.
“I’m here to talk to her,” I said.
He sat down again.
For a while, none of us spoke.
The machine beside Lacey’s bed made its soft, steady sounds.
Beth came in and adjusted the blanket around her sister’s feet.
Then she left us together.
“Your son called,” Lacey said.
“He wanted you to hear him.”
“I did.”
She closed her eyes.
“I’m glad.”
I held the book on my knees.
“I wanted to apologize again for what happened when we were young.”
“You did.”
“Through a note you never received.”
“You read it to me.”
“I want to say it while you can answer.”
She opened her eyes.
“All right.”
“I knew you and Jeremy were together.”
“I knew it would hurt you when he started seeing me.”
“I told myself it was his choice, so I didn’t have to think about mine.”
Lacey watched me.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I hear you.”
She took a breath.
“I was angry with you for a long time.”
“You had reason to be.”
“I told myself my life would have been better if you hadn’t appeared.”
“Do you still think that?”
“I don’t know what that life would have been.”
She looked toward Jeremy.
“We were young, and there were things neither of us knew how to say.”
Jeremy lowered his eyes.
“I wish I had known about the baby,” he said.
“I know.”
“I wish you had called me yourself.”
“I do too.”
Lacey turned back to me.
“I’m sorry for what I did three years ago.”
I tightened my grip on the book.
“You and Jeremy both knew I was there.”
“Yes.”
“That’s the part I can’t set aside.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I came here thinking I might leave with some answer about him and me.”
Lacey shook her head slightly.
“I can’t give you that.”
“I know.”
The door opened, and a nurse checked the monitor.
She asked whether Lacey wanted us to step out.
“Not yet,” Lacey said.
The nurse nodded and left.
“I’ve spent so much of this week being angry at you,” I told her.
“I’ve also been worried about you.”
“I believe both.”
“I didn’t think I could feel both.”
“You can.”
Lacey looked at the book.
“Would you read a page?”
“From where you stopped?”
“Yes.”
I opened to the bookmark.
My voice caught on the first sentence.
I started again.
The story was about a woman returning to her hometown after her father died.
I read while Jeremy sat on the other side of the bed.
When I reached the bottom of the page, Lacey asked for one more.
Then another.
I read until her eyes closed.
The nurse came back and told us she needed quiet.
I set the bookmark in place.
Beth met us in the hall.
“Is she asleep?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Beth leaned against the wall.
“I used to read to her when we were little.”
“What did she like?”
“Anything with a mystery.”
She glanced at the book in my hands.
“She always tried to guess the ending before I got there.”
“She told me not to tell her this one.”
“That sounds like her.”
Jeremy’s phone rang.
He checked the screen and silenced it.
“It’s the crew,” he said.
“I need to call them back.”
He walked toward the elevators.
Beth and I sat on the bench.
“You don’t owe her any more visits,” she said.
“I know.”
“She knows that too.”
I looked toward Room 714.
“Does she have what she needs?”
“Here?”
“Outside the hospital.”
Beth nodded.
“The trust is signed.”
“The support fund will be handled by the attorney.”
“And the payment to our joint account?”
“It’s in the signed instructions.”
“We’ll let the attorneys sort that out.”
“That’s what Lacey wanted.”
Beth rubbed her hands together.
“She wanted me to ask you something else.”
“What?”
“If she gets weaker, would you want me to call?”
“Yes.”
“You can change your mind.”
“I know.”
Jeremy returned after making his call.
He said he was staying.
Dana texted that she could wait as long as I needed.
I went back into Lacey’s room once before leaving.
She was awake again.
“I’m going home to my son,” I told her.
“Good.”
“I’ll come back if Beth calls.”
“You can.”
I put the paperback on her table.
“Keep it until you’re done.”
Lacey looked at me.
“I want you to take it.”
“You’re partway through.”
“I know where I stopped.”
“So do I.”
“Then we’ll both know.”
I picked up the book.
At the door, she said my name.
I turned.
“I got your apology,” she said.
I stood there for a moment.
“Good night, Lacey.”
“Good night, Jill.”
Dana drove us home through the last of the afternoon rain.
My son was in the kitchen when we arrived.
I had called a neighbor to sit with him, but he was old enough to tell her she could go as soon as we got there.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Weak.”
“Did you talk?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sad.”
He nodded as if that was an answer he understood.
Dana made dinner while I sat with him.
He told me about a quiz at school.
I listened.
For a little while, our kitchen held only the sounds of a pan on the stove and my son describing how he had guessed an answer and somehow gotten it right.
After dinner, I opened my job interview email.
Monday at ten.
I wrote the time on the calendar.
My son saw it.
“You have an interview?”
“I do.”
“What kind of job?”
“At a clinic.”
“Would you like it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He smiled.
“At least you’ll get to find out.”
I thought of how many things I had feared finding out that week.
This was one I wanted to learn.
Later, when the house was quiet, I opened Lacey’s book.
I read the pages she had asked me to read aloud.
I could still hear her asking for one more.
I kept going until I reached the last chapter.
Then I closed it.
I wasn’t ready to know the ending without her.
At dawn, Beth called.
I answered before the second ring.
“Jill,” she said, “Lacey is asleep.”
I sat up.
“Is she comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Is Jeremy there?”
“He is.”
Beth’s voice trembled.
“The nurse says it may be soon.”
I looked at the book on my bedside table.
My son was asleep down the hall.
I had promised him I would be honest about where I was going.
“I’ll wake him and tell him,” I said.
Beth was quiet for a moment.
“Take your time.”
I went to my son’s room and knocked softly.
He sat up when he saw me.
“Is it Lacey?”
“Yes.”
“She might die today?”
“She might.”
He pulled the blanket around himself.
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come with you?”
I sat on the edge of his bed.
“You can.”
He thought for a moment.
“I’ll come to the hospital.”
“I don’t know if I want to go into her room.”
“You can decide when we get there.”
I called Dana.
She said she would meet us downstairs at Vanderbilt.
Before we left, I put Lacey’s book in my bag.
The last chapter was still unread.
I did not know if she would wake.
I did not know whether she wanted to hear it.
I only knew she had asked me to keep the place.
At the hospital, Beth met us near the coffee shop.
My son stopped beside Dana.
“I’m going upstairs,” I told him.
“I’ll come if I’m ready,” he said.
I rode the elevator alone.
Jeremy stood outside Room 714.
He looked as though he had not slept.
“She’s breathing,” he said.
“She hasn’t opened her eyes.”
I went in.
Beth sat on one side of the bed.
Carolyn sat near the window.
I took the chair on the other side and set the book on my lap.
For a long time, we stayed with Lacey in silence.
Then her fingers moved against the blanket.
I leaned closer.
“Lacey?”
Her eyes opened slightly.
“I brought the book,” I said.
She gave a tiny nod.
“Do you want me to read?”
Her lips moved.
I leaned closer to hear her.
“Not the last page,” she whispered.
I almost smiled.
“All right.”
I opened to the chapter before it.
As I began, Jeremy took her hand.
Beth moved her chair closer.
I read slowly, leaving space whenever Lacey needed quiet.
Halfway down the page, I felt someone standing in the doorway.
My son was there with Dana behind him.
He looked at me.
I nodded.
He came in and stood beside my chair.
I kept reading.
No one asked him to speak.
No one asked him to forgive.
He stayed because he had chosen to.
When I reached the end of the chapter, I closed the book with my finger holding the place.
Lacey’s eyes were closed.
Her hand still rested in Jeremy’s.
I looked at the final unread pages.
Then I set the book on the table.
For now, we were all still there.

Part 12 — The Day We Let Her Rest

My son stayed beside my chair for nearly twenty minutes.

He did not take off his jacket.

He did not move closer to the bed.

I could feel his hand resting lightly on my shoulder while he watched Lacey sleep.

Then he leaned down.

“I’m going downstairs with Aunt Dana,” he whispered.

“All right.”

At the door, he looked back once.

Jeremy lifted a hand.

Our son nodded to him and left.

It was a small exchange.

A week earlier, I would have missed how much effort it cost them both.

The nurse came in to check on Lacey.

She spoke to Beth in a low voice.

I could not hear every word, but I understood the shape of the conversation.

The nurse asked whether Lacey seemed comfortable.

Beth said she thought so.

Jeremy asked if there was anything else they could do.

The nurse said they could keep talking to her if they wanted.

After she left, Carolyn rose from her chair.

“I’ll get everyone coffee,” she said.

Beth shook her head.

“I don’t want any.”

“I’ll bring water.”

Carolyn went into the hall.

She had been in the room all morning, but Lacey had not opened her eyes long enough to speak to her.

I wondered whether Carolyn was hoping for one more conversation.

I also wondered what she would say if she got it.

Beth adjusted the blanket at Lacey’s shoulder.

“When we were little, she made me promise I’d never tell our parents she was afraid of thunderstorms,” Beth said.

“She was afraid?” Jeremy asked.

“She’d come into my room with a book and say she wanted to read.”

Beth smiled faintly.

“She always picked the loudest nights.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I let her read until we fell asleep.”

I looked at the paperback beside the bed.

“What happened when your parents found out?”

“They never did.”

Beth touched her sister’s hand.

“She got brave about storms eventually.”

We sat with that story for a while.

It was the first thing I had heard about Lacey that had nothing to do with Jeremy or me.

I wanted more of those stories.

I wanted to know what food she cooked when she was well, whether she sang in the car, whether she always marked her place in books.

I had spent years thinking about Lacey in relation to my life.

There were whole years of hers I would never know.

“Tell me another one,” I said.

Beth looked surprised.

“About Lacey?”

“Yes.”

“She had a terrible sense of direction.”

Jeremy laughed softly.

“She did.”

“When she first moved to Nashville, she called me from a gas station and said she couldn’t find her apartment.”

“Had she gone far?” I asked.

“Three streets past it.”

Beth shook her head.

“She made the same wrong turn twice.”

I found myself smiling.

Jeremy told us about the time Lacey tried to fix a leaking faucet with a pair of kitchen tongs because she did not own a wrench.

Beth remembered how she kept every birthday card she received.

I listened.

Occasionally, I looked at Lacey’s face.

Her breathing stayed slow.

At noon, Dana texted.

Your son ate half a sandwich.

He wants you to know he’s okay downstairs.

I wrote back that I would check on him soon.

Jeremy saw me reading the message.

“How is he?”

“He’s with Dana.”

“Will you tell him I asked?”

“He saw you here.”

“I know.”

“He’ll talk to you when he wants to.”

Jeremy nodded.

An hour later, I went downstairs.

My son sat at a table with Dana.

He had the other half of his sandwich wrapped in paper.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Still sleeping.”

“Did she hear the book?”

“I think so.”

He looked at the sandwich.

“I didn’t know what to say when I went in.”

“You didn’t have to say anything.”

“I thought she might wake up and ask me something.”

“Were you worried about what you’d answer?”

“Yeah.”

I sat beside him.

“You can tell her the truth if she wakes.”

“Even if it’s hard?”

“Yes.”

He considered that.

“I don’t want to go back up yet.”

“You don’t have to.”

Dana offered to stay with him.

I drank water, called about the clinic interview to confirm the time, and went upstairs again.

In the hallway, Carolyn stood beside a vending machine.

She held two bottles of water but had not gone back into Lacey’s room.

“Beth said Lacey’s resting,” she told me.

“She is.”

“I don’t know if she wants me there.”

“She asked you to come yesterday.”

“That was yesterday.”

I looked at her.

“Ask Beth.”

Carolyn nodded, but she did not move.

“There’s something I keep thinking about,” she said.

“What?”

“The note you wrote.”

I waited.

“I told myself I kept it because Lacey needed peace.”

“You’ve said that.”

“But I also didn’t want Jeremy to hear what happened from her.”

“She was going through something terrible.”

“I know.”

“I was afraid he would blame me for helping her leave without telling him.”

“That was your choice to make,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And then it became everyone else’s secret to live with.”

She looked at the water bottles in her hands.

“I am going to tell him that.”

“He already knows some of it.”

“I need to say all of it.”

I went back into the room.

Beth had pulled her chair closer to the bed.

Jeremy stood by the window, looking out.

“Mom’s in the hall,” I told him.

“I saw her.”

“She wants to talk to you.”

“I know.”

He did not go.

Beth looked up.

“She can come in if she wants.”

I stepped back to the door and told Carolyn.

She came in quietly.

She set the water on the table and took her old seat.

For a long time, nobody spoke.

Then Lacey opened her eyes.

Beth leaned forward.

“Hey, Lace.”

Lacey turned toward her sister.

“You’re still here.”

“Of course.”

Her eyes moved to Carolyn.

“You came back.”

“Yes,” Carolyn said.

“I brought water.”

Lacey looked at the bottles.

“Thank you.”

Carolyn reached for her hand.

“I should have delivered Jill’s note.”

“I know.”

“I should have told Jeremy about the pregnancy when you asked.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lacey’s eyes filled.

“I shouldn’t have left it for you to say.”

“You were young and grieving,” Carolyn said.

“I was the adult in the room.”

“You were afraid.”

“I was.”

Jeremy stayed at the window.

Carolyn turned to him.

“I didn’t trust you to make your own decision,” she said.

“You should have.”

“I know.”

“I had a right to know,” he said.

“Yes.”

I watched him.

A few days earlier, I might have wanted him to recognize his mother’s apology as a mirror of his own.

Now I could see that he did.

His face told me.

Lacey shifted against the pillow.

The nurse came in and helped her get comfortable.

When she finished, she asked us to keep the visit quiet.

Lacey was tired.

Beth bent close and told her she could sleep.

“I don’t want everybody waiting for me to say something important,” Lacey whispered.

Beth gave a tearful laugh.

“Then don’t.”

“I’ve said plenty.”

“You have.”

Lacey closed her eyes.

Jeremy sat down beside her.

Carolyn moved back to her chair.

I went into the hall.

The afternoon light had changed across the floor.

I opened the book while I waited.

There were only a few pages left.

I kept my finger over the last one.

The woman in the story had returned to the house she grew up in.

She found that the answer she had spent the book looking for was ordinary and painful.

Someone she loved had been afraid.

They had made choices while they were afraid.

Those choices had changed other people’s lives.

I closed the book before the final page.

It did not feel like a mystery anymore.

Around five, Beth came out to tell me Lacey was sleeping deeply.

Dana and my son came upstairs.

He stood beside me in the hall.

“I want to go home,” he said.

“We can.”

Jeremy stepped out of the room.

“I’ll stay with Beth.”

Our son looked at him.

“I know.”

Jeremy hesitated.

“Thank you for coming today.”

“I came for Mom too,” our son said.

“I know.”

We walked to the elevator.

This time, my son reached for my hand.

I held it all the way down.

At home, Dana stayed long enough to make soup.

My son asked for a bowl and ate at the table.

It was the first proper meal I had seen him finish since Thursday.

Afterward, he brought his homework into the kitchen.

I sat across from him with a list of questions for the clinic interview.

For almost an hour, we worked in quiet company.

Then he asked, “If you get the job, will it pay enough?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Dad said he’s going to replace the savings.”

“He has to account for it first.”

“Are we going to lose the house?”

I put down my pen.

“We have time to work out the bills.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It means I’m taking it seriously.”

He nodded, though I could see he wanted a firmer answer.

I pulled the mortgage statement from the drawer and showed him the next payment date.

I showed him what was in my account.

I did not hand him the problem to solve.

I wanted him to see that I was looking at it.

“We’ll make a plan before that payment is due,” I said.

That answer seemed to settle him.

Before bed, he came into my room.

“Can I ask about Lacey?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you to forgive Dad?”

“No.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me to choose what happens next for myself.”

“That’s good.”

“I think so.”

He glanced at the paperback on my bedside table.

“Are you ever going to finish it?”

“Maybe.”

He went to bed.

I stayed awake with the book in my hands.

I thought about Jeremy in Room 714, holding Lacey’s hand.

I thought about our son asking whether we would lose the house.

I thought about the interview on Monday.

My life had become a set of questions that could not all be answered in one night.

At 2:17 in the morning, Beth called.

I answered at once.

“Jill,” she said.

I heard her take a breath.

“Lacey died a few minutes ago.”

I closed my eyes.

“Were you with her?”

“Yes.”

“And Jeremy?”

“He was here.”

“Was she comfortable?”

“She was sleeping.”

I held the phone with both hands.

“I’m sorry, Beth.”

“Thank you.”

We stayed on the line for a moment, neither of us ready to hang up.

Then Beth said, “There’s one thing she asked me to give you.”

“You can keep it until tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“What is it?”

“A page from one of her old notebooks.”

I looked at the book beside me.

“Did she write it recently?”

“No.”

Beth’s voice softened.

“She wrote it the summer she left Lawrenceburg.”

After we hung up, I did not turn on the light.

I sat in the dark and grieved for a woman I had only just begun to know.

In the morning, I would tell my son.

I would call Dana.

I would learn what Lacey had written twenty-two years earlier.

For that moment, I let the news be enough.

Lacey was gone.

The rest of us were still here.

And we would have to decide how to live with everything she had finally told us.