Every Last Drop Read online

  Every Last Drop

  A Novel

  Sarah Robinson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Subscribe to Sarah’s Newsletter!

  About the Author

  Also by Sarah Robinson

  To Brittany Maynard, you will not be forgotten.

  * * *

  To Betty Sullivan and Laurian Eckle, two of the strongest mothers I know.

  Prologue

  A field of water betrays the spirit that is in the air. It is continually receiving new life and motion from above. It is intermediate between land and sky.

  - Walden by Henry David Thoreau

  * * *

  When I was about nine or ten, my father caught me reading an erotic novel. Once he got over the fear that his daughter might be a pervert—spoiler alert: I’m not…I think—he sat me down and told me every story is not meant for every audience. I assured him I’d never read anything like that again, and, out of respect for my promise, waited a full five minutes before I went right back to reading the rest. I’m practically a saint.

  The thing was, it had nothing to do with the sweaty scenes where things fit together that I was wholly confused about at my age, but the fact that these had been my mother’s books. I’d found them in a box of her things long after she’d died, and every page I read, I read with her. My heart broke and was mended right alongside the characters, and I cried over the same tear-stained pages my mother had. I laughed at romantic quips and imagined her beside me, sharing the joke.

  Books captured my soul, and completely changed the way I saw the world. The shared experience of knowing those who read these words were aching with me, giggling with me, loving with me was captivating. Being able to write like that, to bring people together, soon eclipsed my childhood dreams of being an actress, a truck driver, or the bearded lady at the circus. Yes, there was once a time I’d wanted to be the bearded lady.

  As I grew into an adult, and that beard never did grow in (small miracles), my goals evolved. I started adding to the things I wanted out of life, but writing a book was always there. Now I’m twenty-eight years old, and with all the wisdom and knowledge from my extensive time on this planet—note the heavy sarcasm—I’ve come up with three goals for my life.

  To write a book. Here we go.

  To become a mother. Soon.

  To marry the love of my life. Check.

  When I started writing this journal, I hadn’t really intended it to become the book, but you know what they say—we make plans and God laughs. I had already married an amazing man years earlier and was working toward the second goal on my list. I meant for these pages to tell the story of my journey into motherhood, and the ensuing ups and downs. It was going to be about new life and lost life, about how I raised my little sister after our mother died, and how I’d known even then, that motherhood was my greatest aspiration.

  I had never planned to show this to anyone outside of my family, but still, it would be written. I would have written a book. And I was so damn excited to tell the story I’d been writing my whole life, finally on paper this time.

  Was.

  Because I thought I knew the story already. I thought I knew how it would end. I had no clue this story was meant for everyone, and every audience. If I had known, maybe I would’ve started writing it sooner. Maybe I’d have changed the ending.

  The problem is, I won’t live long enough to do that.

  And when you read this book, you’re going to want me to. At least, I hope you will. I hope you’ll wish for a miracle, for the words on the page to transform into an epic tale of almost, so close, our prayers were answered, Hallelujah! But after that moment of hope, you’ll need to remind yourself a miracle isn’t coming.

  This story isn’t a cautionary tale. It’s just life, and life ends.

  I wish I could write a happily-ever-after like my mother’s novels, where the greatest of romances can conquer death. But that isn’t going to happen, and I’m really sorry it won’t. I wish I would live long enough to write you those stories, but I am dying.

  And my story dies with me.

  Chapter One

  Monday, March 24, 2014

  * * *

  “Babe?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Tessa, wake up.”

  “Mmm, I’m awake. See?” I raised an arm in the air for a brief moment before dropping it down on the soft blankets covering me. I’m sure it was quite convincing, despite my sealed-shut eyes.

  “I’ve got an anniversary gift for you.” His voice was teasing, tempting.

  I decided I could open my eyes for a present.

  “What is it?” I pushed up on my elbows to find my husband, Kyle, sitting on the edge of the bed, freshly showered and fully dressed. I yawned and wiped the sand from my eyes. His brown hair was darker when wet, his green eyes excitedly staring me down. I’d never understand how he had this much energy in the morning when I could easily roll over and go back to sleep.

  “Here, open it.” Kyle handed me a rectangular object, clumsily covered in red wrapping paper. It looked as if he’d smothered the gift in glue, then tossed it into a pile of gift wrap, hoping something would stick. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure there was a gift inside or if it was just a wad of paper—knowing Kyle and his pranks, it could be either.

  I grinned, sitting up fully and crossing my legs under the blanket. Placing the present in my lap, I not so delicately ripped it open.

  Kyle leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Happy anniversary, babe.”

  I tore off the last of the wrapping and looked down at a beautiful black leather-bound journal. Immediately lifting it to my nose, I took a big whiff of the pages. Mmm—paper. Nothing smells better than freshly printed paper, whether it’s books or pages ready to be filled with words. I weighed the gift in my hand and ran two fingers over the soft surface. Writing by hand is one of life’s great treasures and I was already overflowing with things I wanted to share between its binding.

  I looked at him, my brows raised and a hesitant smile pulling at my lips. “Is this for my book?”

  He nodded, pride shining in the hidden spaces behind his eyes that only I knew existed. “Yep, you’ve been talking about it for years, and I know how you hate computers.”

  “Computers are one click away from ending humanity,” I quipped, still barely believing how lucky
I was to have a husband so supportive of my dream to become a writer. He knew me—my soul, my very being. I pushed away from the mirror in my heart that made me stare at how inadequate I was compared to him.

  Kyle laughed. “You sound like your dad.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” I said with a forced chuckle, then lifted up the journal. “Is this your hint for me to start writing my book?”

  “I thought with today being the doctor’s appointment, you could start keeping a record of the entire fertility treatment process, the pregnancy, and everything that goes along with it. When our kid is older, he can read about how hard we worked to bring him into the world.”

  “Or her,” I reminded him.

  Kyle tossed me a wicked grin. “As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all that matters.”

  I shook my head, grinning as my defenses lowered inch by inch. I knew he wanted a son. Most men want a son. I couldn’t blame him for that, but I also knew he’d love a daughter, too. He was going to be an amazing father, and there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to be able to give this dream to him—and to me.

  Whether or not I’d be a great mom was another question. Kyle didn’t know I thought about that but I did. All the time. I wanted to be a mother more than anything, but that didn’t mean the concept wasn’t terrifying to me. I have to set an alarm on my phone to remember to feed the dog. I’m not sure the same concept works for children.

  “Where’s Beast?” I looked around the meticulous bedroom—mostly Kyle’s doing, not mine. My style is organized chaos, while his is more organized…actually organized.

  “Where do you think?” Kyle laughed and lifted the blankets, letting a rush of cold air surround my bare legs while at the same time revealing our fluffy white dog, fast asleep. He was a Bichon mix, weighing in at eleven pounds of pure defiance.

  “Of course.” I pulled the sleepy pup into my arms and cuddled him.

  He stretched his paws and yawned with the confidence of knowing he was the real owner of this house. Beast began waking in earnest in my arms and wagged his tail excitedly, looking between Kyle and me.

  “Do you think we’ll forget about Beast when we have Baby Falls?” I asked, using our last name as our future baby’s nickname.

  Kyle laughed just as the dog stood in my lap and pawed at my arm. “I doubt Beast would ever let us.”

  “Stop, Beast. Ow!” I reached to push him off, but he jumped up and tried to scratch at my head instead. I ducked my face into my hands and wiggled away from the demented dog I loved so much. His attack on my head was soon foiled when a lump in the blankets distracted him and he had no choice but to attack it.

  “Why does he always scratch your head? It’s the weirdest thing.” Kyle stared at us in amusement.

  I shrugged, unsure.

  “You should yell at him when he does it.”

  “I can’t yell at Beast!” I say in a mock-baby-voice as I scoop my dog’s face in my hands and kissed his wet nose. He licked my mouth at the same moment and we accidentally traded salty tongue kisses. “Gross.”

  Kyle ruffled the curly white fur on Beast’s back. “You spoil him too much.”

  “Nonsense, Beast needs all the love.” It was a phrase Kyle and I had been saying to each other since we met, and now Beast had all our love, too.

  “I’m the one who’s gone half the time. I need all the love.” He raised one brow, his tone suggestive.

  “Too bad you’re already dressed and showered,” I teased, cuddling Beast tighter against my chest.

  The pup squirmed in my arms, trying to escape, finally making me give up and let him go. The tiny white ball of fur bounded across the bed and onto the floor where he found a chew toy and tossed it in the air with his mouth, chasing after it.

  Our house was mostly spotless and organized in every way except for one thing—Beast. His toys littered the floors, and he had a terrible habit of carrying bits and pieces of his food in his mouth and hiding it in random nooks and crannies.

  Aside from his mess, the rest of the bedroom was clean lines, soft earth tones, and billowy fabrics. I craved comfort and nature, trying to bring the feeling of Mother Earth into our home. The curtains were thick, keeping out the light. The carpet was plush and brown, matching with the other fabrics in the room, which were either starch white or soft beige. There was an occasional pop of color, like the red throw blanket on the end of our bed, but mostly I loved the muted feel. It felt like me—calm, a little sullen, with a dash of attitude whenever it decided.

  “I’ll make us some breakfast, and then we should get going to the doctor.” Kyle stood from the bed and handed me a steaming cup of coffee I hadn’t noticed on my nightstand.

  I immediately scooped the mug from his hand and took a few gulps, regretting it only slightly as the hot liquid burned my tongue. The discomfort didn’t stop me though, my love for coffee in the mornings undeterred. “Thanks, babe.”

  “Oh, I picked up some extra ibuprofen for you. It’s in your nightstand if you still have a headache,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the hall.

  And I forgot to buy you an anniversary present. Wife of the year. I must have been an amazing folk hero in another life to deserve him. It had been two years since we married, and he still treated me like a queen. My friends had all warned that once married, he’d slowly stop doing all the things he’d first done to woo me. Maybe that would still happen one day, but there was no sign of it yet and I certainly wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain.

  I was really great in bed though. So, there’s always that.

  I stretched and clambered out of our comfy king-sized bed, pulling my clothes off, my mind drifting to thoughts of a possible past life. I wasn’t particularly religious, though I had been raised Catholic. I stopped attending Mass in college and never felt the need to resume. It always felt more a duty to check off for the week than anything else.

  I pulled on dark jeans and a loose-fitting cable knit sweater. It was still cold outside, but mostly due to the Chicago wind. Walking into the master bathroom, I stuffed my light brown hair into a loose bun at the base of my neck and brushed a few swipes of blush onto my cheeks. I dabbed brown mascara onto my already long lashes, topped with a subtle gold shadow I’d been told made my blue eyes stand out.

  Kyle once told me my eyes remind him of ponds. Dark blue and slightly murky, as if something were hiding beneath the surface. I grinned devilishly at the thought. I liked feeling a bit mysterious—how when swimming you worry something might nip at your toes but you don’t know what. It doesn’t scare you from the silky water’s embrace, but it’s enough to keep you moving, hoping it won’t catch up.

  Putting the makeup away, I surveyed the bathroom for any mess but found none. Kyle must have already taken care of it. All his training from a decade in the U.S. Marines made him the resident clean freak. Great, so I couldn’t even do that for him.

  I really needed to get him an anniversary gift.

  I stepped around Beast to pick up my phone and scanned through my text messages, while at the same time brushing my teeth. There were a few from my boss, but nothing urgent. I’d been an assistant at a law firm for the past few years, despite my lifelong goal to be a writer. We needed the paycheck, and I enjoyed the work for the most part.

  Okay, that was a lie. Honestly, I don’t even know why I said it.

  I’m trying to enjoy it. I go to work every day and tell myself this will be the day you’ll fall in love with your job. Then that turns in to tomorrow, and then the next day, and a year goes by and I still hate my damn job. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a great job and I know I’m lucky, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy.

  I guess that’s kind of the common theme here.

  Finished with brushing my teeth, I pumped some lotion onto my palms, hoping to calm the blisters that had become a part of me at this point. Kyle and I had a ridiculously expensive membership to a climbing gym downtown which we loved, but it really did a number
on my hands and feet.

  “Tessa, we’ve got to go!” Kyle called from the steps.

  I grabbed my new journal. Beast led me out of the bedroom and down the hall, pausing at the open door to my left. He disappeared into the room, making me peek in after him. The little pup stood in front of the crib, surveying the room, then headed past me and down the hall.

  I lagged behind and studied the nursery we’d set up months ago when I’d been pregnant. We lost the baby not long after. The pale purple walls were as gender neutral as we could agree on, with heavy drapes keeping the room dark for months.

  It was still waiting to be filled. We all were.

  I sighed, heading to the end of the hall and down the stairs. Kyle called for me again. Upon finding Beast, I led him into the kitchen and poured food in his bowl then secured a baby gate in the doorway to keep him quarantined on the tile floors with his toys.

  “Be good, Beast. We’ll be home soon.”

  He was already busy spilling the contents of his bowl onto the floor, oblivious to our departure.

  My usual melancholy took a back seat and excitement swarmed my belly like butterflies on fast forward. Today was the day we’d been waiting for. Things were looking up, and for the first time in over a year, we had hope.