I crouch down by her head as he checks her over, and give her a few strokes along her neck.
“Candice,” he says softly, his voice telling me all I need to know.
“She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
“She’s getting weaker, not stronger.”
“Can’t we do anything else?” I say, a sob escaping me.
“I think we have to let her go,” he says.
Tears drip down my nose and I nod, staring into Storm’s eyes. They look tired.
“I’ll give her more IV fluids and antibiotics, and if she makes it through the rest of the night, then of course we’ll keep trying,” Beau says gently.
“Okay,” I say, though I know he’s just trying to be nice. She won’t make it through the night.
Nathan crawls into the stall and sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my side.
“I’ll wait with you two,” he says.
Together, the three of us sit with Storm, keeping a silent vigil around her, hoping and praying that she makes it through.
Storm passesas dawn arrives at Star Mountain. She leaves us just as the rest of the world starts to wake up, as the sky turns from black to gray, shot through with yellow and orange, and then brilliant pink and purple. Nathan helps me up and out of the stall gently. Beau walks out into one of the paddocks and lets out a hoarse scream, venting his frustration and sadness out into the world.
I hate seeing my strong, capable brother sound so broken. I know that every animal death hurts him, though he’d never complain or mention it. It hurts me too, right down to the very bottom. I feel myself teetering on the edge of something—a black hole inside of me filled with grief so thick and deep that I know if I fall into it, I may never find my way back to the surface.
“I need to get inside,” I say, a sob escaping me. I feel my knees falter, and Nathan catches me, propping me up. “I need to go,” I repeat.
Nathan swings me into his arms without hesitation, and carries me towards the house without a word. I cling to him, seeing nothing but Storm’s face, over and over again in my mind. And then my grandma’s. And my grandpa’s. And even the hazy, time-addled outline of my parents—tall and strong and huge in the way that parents always are when you are young and small.
A sob rips through me again, and I feel my body thrash, but Nathan holds me tight. And then, soft blankets and warm arms around me, rocking me gently in the dark.
34
NATHAN
When I getCandice to her room, I help her out of her dirty barn clothes. She raises her arms above her head and lets me peel her layers off of her. But there’s nothing erotic about it—it feels tender, instead. Like I’m taking care of her when she needs me most. I grab her pajamas off of the bed and tug the striped flannel shirt over her head, and help her into the pants. She looks like a sad, lost little kid, standing there with her messy braids and her matching pjs, tears running silently down her cheeks. It makes my heart ache to see her this vulnerable.
I climb into bed with her, and hold her while she sobs, in great big gulps and heaving breaths, like she’s struggling to get enough air.
“Deep breaths,” I say, rubbing her back.
She just sobs into my chest even harder, her whole body shaking. I try to find the right words to say, the right combination of things that will make her feel better, but I come up with nothing. I don’t know how to make this better for her—Ican’tmake this better for her.
I know enough to know that this isn’t just about Storm. I bet she’s feeling the same thing she felt when she lost her grandparents. It’s like the losses have been piled on top of her,one after the other, and it’s more than she can take. It’s more than one person should ever have to endure.
“Nathan,” she says in a shaky voice. “I can’t get it to stop.”
“I know honey, I know,” I say, stroking her back again. “Please try to breathe. Please? For me.”
She nods, but tears continue to roll down her face as she shudders and gulps in air. I continue rubbing her back, feeling utterly helpless, as I murmur to her softly.
“I’m gonna go get Jenny,” I say. “She will know how to help.”
“No!” Candice says. “I don’t want anyone else. No one can see me like this.”
“But you’re happy for me to stay?” I ask.
