Monty gripped the bouquet tighter, trying to hide the tremble as he wandered outside and off the busy streets, hiding in the darkness of an alleyway and curling up. His mind raced at the thought of Addy lying there motionless. Without a word, without a breath, all alone. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he gasped, covering his mouth and falling to his knees despite the protest in his joints.
The idea of her being there all alone, no matter how kind the staff was or how attentive they might be, made the tears flow. He staggered to his feet and clutched the flowers tightly, emerging from the alleyway like a man on a mission, hurrying down the same path he'd followed for the last two years.
The world seemed to slow down and all at once it collapsed upon itself as Julie explained the situation. She summarized it as a scare. Addy's heart had stopped only for a moment before her pulse returned. They didn't have to resort to a defibrillator and she exhibited no injury or abnormalities. All it was that her heart had stopped and Addy willed herself back to life with a message for him.
Huffing a breath, he ignored the stares from those who he passed by and Julie's worried coaxing for him to breathe or to slow down.
"What is the message?" He chokes out, sniffing and hugging the flowers closer.
Julie is quiet for a moment and Monty dreads her next few words. He dreads what Addy had to say to him. How quickly he would fall apart if her last words to him were a goodbye from someone else's lips. Although his legs ached and his breaths were uneven, his movements jerky and quick, nearly racing into crosswalks that were busy and knocking into people who were crowding the street — none of it mattered. Not if he could get to her in time to hear her say what she had to say.
"She wanted you to bring one of her favorite stories with you."
Monty's steps slow and he stares vacantly, blinking and tilting his head slightly, his lips brushing against the phone's receiver. "A story..?" He says between heavy pants, coughing as his lungs fought to reclaim the air they'd lost in his dash. "W-What story?"
He hadn't had time to go home to gather anything. Didn't think of it with all of the messages from their children and now this. How could she be possibly thinking of a story of all things at this time? A part of him wanted to laugh, comment that her way of thinking is exactly what he'd expect from his Addy, but the other wanted to cry. To be angry. To tell her that there were more important things to worry about instead of a tale to read.
"She said that she knew you'd ask, and her only words were 'Suprise me'."
Monty breathed through his nose then in through his mouth, stumbling forward as the crowd flowed around him. The flowers clutching tightly tickled his chin as he pressed his face against the bouquet, trying to calm his racing heart with the scent. Surprise her. He almost laughs, his shoulders shaking, but the tears that fall take precedent over the laughter. There's no time to go home. No time when Addy is so close and yet so far away from him.
He presses on, hearing Julie's mumbled question of whether or not he'd be alright. He bows his head, mumbles an affirmative and ends the call, tucking his phone away and holding the bouquet tight to his chest as he walks with purpose but hesitance. The hospital comes into view but instead of walking through with his head held high, his shoulders are hunched and his head bowed, shuffling through the sliding doorway and walking to the front desk. Red-rimmed eyes are what he sees in the reflection on the glass and as he hands the bouquet to Julie, she looks at him with concern and confusion, taking it and holding it close.
He sniffs and dabs at his eyes with the pad of his thumb, giving her a wavering smile. "Thank you for everything," he says, turning away as she rises from her chair and follows him with her eyes to the elevator.
Monty waits with his head bowed and the orderlies who normally greet him steer clear. They cast glances over their shoulders, murmur to one another, but he pays it no heed. The elevator cannot come fast enough and once he's inside, Monty takes off his hat and holds it close to his chest, breathing in deep and looking to the ceiling. It was only once that he tried to pray for another day for his Addy. Hope that she would be able to stay with him for one more sunrise and one more sunset. And when she caught him praying, she pinched him in the side, wagging her finger at him with a stern glare.
"Those days can be saved for someone else," she said before sinking back against her pillows and beneath her quilt, snug as a bug, and so small for someone with a personality so large. Yet she smiled and all of Monty's cares seemed to melt away. "I've lived a full life, Monty. It's okay."
A choked sob echoed off the elevator's walls and Monty wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his hands and wail. It wasn't okay. None of it was okay. The elevator doors clicked open and Monty stepped out, holding his hat at his side as he made his way down the hall. Sunlight pouring in from the large glass windows nearly blinding him and he raised his hand to shield his eyes, catching the silhouette of a few children outside of Addy's room. He lowered his hand, spying one of the kids in a wheelchair while the other two were standing with their ear pressed to the door.
"What are you all doing?" Monty asked, marching over and planting his hands on his hips, staring them all down.
The wheelchair-bound child, a little girl with dark hair and olive brown skin discolored around her eyes, hands and neck, looked up at him with warm brown eyes and his heart stuttered. She looked exactly like Addy did when he first met her. There were some visible differences but the resemblance was uncanny and he swallowed, his heart plummeting.
"We wanted to make sure that Miss Addy was feeling alright, she hasn't come out to play with us in awhile."
Both of the girls by Addy's door turned away to regard Monty and nodded in unison. Though before Monty could inquire further about his wife's activities, a long and droning noise was heard from beyond the door. Monty's eyes widened and four sets of eyes centered on the door as the sound of a flatline echoed through the hall.
"Addy...?" Monty breathes, stepping towards the door as the children pull away and hide behind the oldest girl. "...Addy!"
The door to the room is pulled open and beyond it is her. Hair pulled to one side, hospital gown hanging below her knees, her quilt tied around her shoulders like a cape, and a grin on her face.
"Oh, look at that," she says, peering past Monty at the children who stare at her with wide eyes.
She's a sight with her hair in disarray and a manic grin on her face but Monty's heart flutters and he sighs as she steps out the room.
"I was just thinking about what would make me feel better," Addy teases and encroaches upon the children who giggle and gasp as she pokes their sides and pinches their cheeks. "And you came to the rescue of this old witch?"
The oldest girl laughed and waved off Addy's hands, beaming up at her, "You're not a witch, Miss Addy."
"Yeah!" The smaller of the trio said, clinging to Addy's quilt. "But can you come play now?"
Addy pats her head, musing up curly red locks that mirror the other child who stands beside her.
"I'm afraid that I'll have to play with you some other time," Addy says, raising her voice above the chorus of 'aws' and 'no fairs'. "I made a promise, and you know that a promise is your word."
"Who'd you make a promise to?" The red-headed girls asked.
Addy straightened up and hummed, looking around before her gaze landed on Monty and she smiled. He stiffened up as she strode over to him and threw an arm around his neck, bumping her cheek lightly against his own.
"I made a promise to him a yesterday and I intend to keep it," she said proudly, hugging Monty closer.
The girls stared Monty down and he felt the sweat beading at his forehead from such scrutiny. This wasn't what he expected at all. From what Julie had told him, Addy should have been resting but she seemed as sprightly as ever. Looking at him with a mischievous grin and a wink, and he sighed.
"So, can you promise to play with us later?" One of the girls asked.
Addy's smile dissipated and she hummed thoughtfully, untangling herself from Monty and patting each of them on the head.
"Maybe sometime."
They cheered and bid the two of them goodbye, heading off down the hall and out of sight around the corner. Addy's shoulders slumped and her knees began to buckle, Monty lunging forward to catch her around her middle and hold her close as she laughed tiredly and nudged her face against his shoulder.
"Take me to bed, Monty?" She muttered, her breath warm against his neck and he nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead then walking her backward and into the room.
The door sliding shut behind them as he carefully lifted her and walked her over to her bed, setting her carefully on the bedside and fixing the blankets fussily around her. She waved his hands away and scrunched her nose, looking over him with a cursory glance.
"Didn't I ask you to bring my story with you?" She said, nestling further beneath her blankets. Her voice is much quieter than before, all of the cheer and the heartiness seeming to drain out of her until nothing but a quiet calm is left.
Monty pinches his lips together and takes a seat at her bedside, holding his hat between his hands and fussing with the brim. The flatlining EKG had automatically turned itself off and it would be a matter of time before the nurses were up to their floor. He sighed and threw down his hat on the side table, turning to face her with an irate glare.
"What would have possessed you to get up like that, Addy?" He says, hand slapping against his knee. "You could've hurt yourself or worse. Don't you know—"
"That I asked for you to bring me a story and you didn't?" She interrupts as if he hadn't said anything at all, a soft smile on her face as she tilts her head, cheek resting against her shoulder. "I told you that I would wait, didn't I?"
The words and the scoldings that Monty had cultivated over that short period of time of watching Addy struggle were all gone. His mouth ran dry and he clutched the brim of his hat tighter, almost curling in on himself until her hand surfaced from the blankets and grasped his bicep. Her hold was weak and he could've easily shaken it if he wanted but he reached for her hand and held it.
"I told you that I would wait," Addy insists, squeezing his bicep for emphasis. "And I keep my promises, Monty."
He chokes back a sob and holds her hand a mite tighter, prying it from his bicep and lifting it to his mouth so he can kiss her fingertips. Hold them close to his face and mutter an apology, begging her not to do what she'd done as her palm cradles his cheek.
"And you promised me a story," Addy continues, squeezing his hand. "So tell me a story, any story, it doesn't matter to me which one."
Monty huffed and pressed another kiss to her knuckles. "I was a horrid storyteller, the children always preferred you."
"Because you never let your imagination run free."
Monty sighed, brushing his fingers along her knuckles, his hat falling of his lap and resting upside down on the floor as he turned to face her.
"You dreamt for the both of us," he says, hold her hand gently.
Addy stares at him with eyes glazed over, a warm shade of brown and filled with emotions that he can't quite put his finger on but he knows the one. The one that he'd seen for every year they'd been married.
"And now, you'll have to dream for me."
She squeezes his hand again and settles back with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling.
"Tell me a story, Monty. Please?"
Monty nodded slowly, holding her hand as she breathed in and breathed out, her eyes fluttering shut. He pressed her knuckles to his lips and then lowered her hand.
"I will."
He sniffed and the tears rolled down his cheeks before he could stop them, his voice cracking and wavering even as he tried to muster a smile.
"I'll tell you a story, Addy."
She cracked open her eyes in slits, looking at him with the faintest of smiles.
"What will it be of?"
He chuckled softly and squeezed her hand, opening his mouth to say, "A flight of fantasy."
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