“Oh.” He faded. Sheets draped his body, smoothing the edges into the white bed, which made him appear small and slender. I noticed then the rod poking from his shoulder. Terra-cotta red, rusty. Square. Its edges were black and the gauze wrapped close to his flesh was tinged with red.

“Did you see the doctors?”

“They’re taking you to the OR in a few minutes. They said the surgery will be long.”

He glanced at the rod exiting his shoulder. “It was just getting really good and now … One second. One split second and everything changes.”

Charlene gasped.

“But don’t worry. I’m going to fight. I survived it going in and I’ll survive it coming out.” He inhaled and closed his eyes.

Charlene rubbed his hand and then looked out the window to the blue sky streaked with clouds and the hospital parking lot filled with squares of pastel cars in allotted white rectangles painted on black tar. Endless rectangles in endless lines. She returned to her son. “We’ll get you through this. You’re a fighter.”

“I’m so tired.” He shifted his head to her slowly, as though his determination and anger had spent his energy. “This has been a good year. A gift year.” He then turned to me and said, “You’ll take care of her. Right?”

I met his eyes. I thought of saying something reassuring and optimistic, like, you’ll take care of her, or she’ll take care of herself, she always has, but I realized what he was asking. I nodded and said, “Of course, Luke. Of course. We’ll take care of each other. And you.”

But he knew what I meant and I knew what he asked.

He seemed to fall asleep as his breathing deepened. Charlene and I were on either side of his bed, each of us holding his hand. Tubes entered the one that Charlene held, connecting him to his IV. The light was very still. One of those moments when everything stops as though the very air is thick and motes quit dancing in their sunbeams and the world holds its breath.

Luke opened his eyes and said, “Tell Jenny that I love her. And thank her for coming into my life. Maybe it’s just as well she’s not here. I don’t want her to remember me like this. You either.” He closed his eyes again and cleared his throat. “Tell her that if I don’t make it, I’ll be watching over her and for her to go on and make a happy life. A happy life for both of us.” He swallows.

Charlene bowed her head, her hair covering her face, squeezing his hand.