Rewrite the Stars Christina Consolino (classic novels to read TXT) 📖

“I’m okay...doing the best I can. But...”

“But what?”

“But...” Somehow, the normal clamor of the hospital seemed to fade away as I unpacked everything bothering me. Confused but stoic much of the time since the previous June, when I’d envisioned something different and wasn’t sure what I wanted, I’d done a decent job hiding behind almost anything. But there, in the hospital cafeteria, despite the muddled appearance of my coffee, or because of it, everything came to a head and somehow, a clarity descended on me.

I’d always been the sort of person who, once I’d articulated something, moved forward. And at this point, I’d spoken to all the people involved in my melodrama and those who stood on the periphery. Venting, purging, clearing my thoughts—all done. Though there were words left unsaid between Theo and me, I had to decipher the right path for me and follow it because I might have three kids to love and raise, all by myself.

My view of Jackie, Pickles, and Kate, women I was so lucky to have found, showed three beautiful and strong souls I could choose to emulate. I would take the best of everything and everyone in my life, mix in a dash of hope, and make progress toward a life worth living.

Somehow, my rumination over curdled cream had shown me the way, and I wasn’t torn any longer. Yes, I loved Andrew. Even though I hadn’t spent much time with the man, something within his being spoke to me so loudly and clearly, I’d love a piece of him forever, if possible. On the other hand, though, I also knew I’d always love Theo, even if our life had taken a detour and turned into something so unexpected. Two different kinds of love, but I was deserving of them both.

I didn’t tell my friends of my epiphany, simply because of a need to protect my heart. It had been repeatedly attacked and wounded and would take a long time to heal. Instead, after unloading myself and a cursory “Thank you and I’ll see you soon,” I returned to the hospital room, clear-headed and content.

After settling into the chair next to Theo’s bed, I pulled his letter out of my pocket. The one Theo had written, explaining his reasons for doing what he’d done. Finding sympathy for the place Theo was when he wrote the letter was easy, and I could forgive him. But would he forgive me before he passed through to the great beyond? Dishonesty and I had played together too much in the past, and had I any respect for him or for myself, I would have approached Theo the moment I felt the draw for Andrew. Hell, I should have said something when I noticed we had become he and I. What if I had pushed him to sign the papers earlier? But just like I hadn’t wanted my life to be a series of if-then statements, dwelling on the what-ifs of life would accomplish nothing.

I stroked Theo’s lifeless arm and brushed my fingers against his wan cheeks. Tears dropped against my face, and I sat there, my mind tangled in everything that had transpired in the last year. Back when I’d watched Clara for Jackie and Pete, I had yearned to be free of so many responsibilities of my life, including Theo. Now, I was reminded of Jonathan Stroud, one of Charlie’s favorite authors, who had once written, “Freedom is an illusion. It always comes at a price.” If only we understood the price before we had to pay it.

Leaning in close to Theo’s ear, I told him how much I missed him, and I hoped he had found his freedom and his peace too. “I at least need to tell you I don’t want you to go, Theo. I want you here, with us, in some capacity.”

Reaching for his hand, I turned his fingers over against mine. The translucence of his skin worried me, as did the dryness of his palm. I traced the lines there, musing about his long lifeline and wondering how many years he’d have lived, had he not attempted to leave this earth. My tears fell onto Theo’s bedsheets when I thought about how much history we had together.

My lips brushed against his cheek. “And I was wrong. Yes, we were both to blame for letting our relationship drift, and our future might not be together the way we had once imagined, but we need you. Come back...please.”

Of course, Theo didn’t respond, and I sat there for a few moments, savoring the silence, trying to find clarity in what wasn’t being offered. And right then, realization descended: If he didn’t wake up, I’d always keep him tucked away in my heart in a special place only he’d inhabit. If he did wake up, I’d keep him tucked away in my life in a suitable way for everyone.

.    .    .    .    .

The next morning, stationed in my usual spot next to Theo’s bed, the doctor on duty arrived to speak to me.

“It might be time to talk about what to do with Theo.” The doctor pulled up the chair next to me. “He’s languishing. How long are you going to let him do that?”

His words twanged in my ears, but they formed a valid point too. Should I let him languish? What would Theo have chosen? But I wanted no hand in Theo’s demise. Instead, I wanted him to die a noble death, not the one he had decided, shrouded in whispers and secrecy.

Words escaped me, and I simply shook my head as heat bloomed in my cheeks and acid surged in my belly. The doctor rose, patted me on the shoulder, and walked away without a sound. I sat for a long time, willing myself to calm, listening to the sounds of the hospital staff as they chatted about the breakfast offerings and flavored coffees, the squeal of the