by Susan Stoker
“We’ll see,” Mary said.
“Yes, we will. Later. Drive safe.”
“I will. Later, Truck.”
Truck stared at the door after it closed behind her. Another image came to him then, of Mary sitting on the couch. She looked ashen—and was completely bald.
* * *
He leaned over her with a bowl of soup and said, “You have to eat, Mary.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You’re going to eat this.”
“I’m just going to throw it up later, Truck. Let it go.”
“No. Eat.”
She sighed and took the bowl from his hands. “Okay, but I’m going to say I told you so later when you’re holding me up as I puke.”
“Deal.”
Truck leaned down and kissed her pale, bald head…
* * *
Then the vision blinked out and he was once again staring at the door of his apartment.
“Son of a bitch,” he swore. His headache had returned with a vengeance, but he knew without a doubt that his memory was coming back. The blips and spurts were annoying and confusing, but with each and every one, he understood more and more what Mary meant when she’d said their relationship had been complicated.
He hoped like hell she was going to explain everything that evening. He was beginning to make his own deductions, based on the things he’d been remembering lately, but he hoped he was wrong.
His stomach clenched and he prayed as hard as he ever had before that whatever had been wrong with Mary was in the past. He couldn’t have found her, again, only to lose her now.
Mary wasn’t surprised when Jennifer announced the new direction the bank wanted to take with the machines as tellers instead of humans. She said that all but five of the tellers would be laid off in the next month or so. Everyone would receive two months’ severance pay, and help would be available applying for unemployment benefits if anyone needed them.
She thanked Rebecca after the meeting for giving her a heads-up. Everyone’s mood was subdued that day, but all Mary could think about was Truck and what he was going to say when she talked to him later that night.
She wasn’t ready to break the news that they were actually man and wife, but she was going to tell him about her cancer. One thing at a time. She was hoping that maybe learning about her cancer would somehow jog his memory enough that he’d remember their wedding ceremony all on his own, so she wouldn’t have to tell him and try to explain why he’d asked and, more importantly, why she’d finally said yes.
She guiltily thought about their framed marriage certificate still buried deep in one of the boxes she’d brought back to her apartment. She’d thought more than once about digging it out and hanging it up, but she didn’t want Truck to accidentally see it when he was over at her place.
But with every day that went by, it got harder and harder to keep things from Truck. She was pissed the day before, and deliberately dodged telling him about her appointment, but by the time she’d gotten home she’d felt so guilty, she’d already planned to head over to his place this morning to beg him to talk to her. Luckily, he hadn’t made her beg.
But now she had to find the courage to spill the beans. She didn’t want Truck to look at her with pity or treat her differently. It was hard to be the full-speed-ahead Mary all the time that people had come to expect. There were days where all she wanted to do was stay in bed and not see or talk to one single person.
Throughout the workday, her phone was constantly buzzing with incoming texts from all the girls. Rayne sent a selfie of her and Emily. Emily looked amazing after giving birth only the day before. But it was the picture of Annie holding her new brother that made tears well up in Mary’s eyes.
The little girl looked positively ecstatic. It was adorable and beautiful at the same time. The thought that she might’ve missed seeing this if Truck hadn’t browbeaten her into marrying him was painful. He’d done the right thing. As hard as going through the treatments again had been, seeing Annie and her baby brother made it worth it.
When Mary had asked Rayne what Emily and Fletch had named their son, she’d reported back that no one knew yet. The Fletchers were throwing a welcome-home party when Em and the baby were released from the hospital, which should be by that weekend, and they were going to reveal it then.
Mary had merely shook her head. Emily loved having people over, loved even more when everyone was there. Despite what had happened at her wedding, she loved a big, boisterous party.
By the time four-thirty came, Mary was done mentally. The day had sucked. Everyone was depressed, it had seemed like there were more customers than normal, and Mary had to give another tour of the safety-deposit vault to another shady potential customer.
She’d tried to talk to Jennifer once more, to explain that something was very wrong and she needed to get extra security in or something, but her boss once again blew her off. She tried to tell herself it was because Jennifer was knee-deep in the reorganization of the staff and trying to figure out when the new machines for the lobby were going to arrive, but something didn’t sit right with Mary.
There was a feeling of wary anticipation in the air that Mary couldn’t help but think was going to bite them all in the ass. Not one of the young men who’d toured the vault had come back to return the application and actually rent a box. Not a single one. Which gave more credence to the fact that they were up to no good. Why Jennifer was ignoring all the signs pointing to something big, Mary couldn’t fathom.
When Mary left the bank at the end of the day, she was fried. Mentally done. The stress of knowing she was most likely going to be unemployed, worrying about if, or when, the gang members were going to make a move, and thinking about what she was going to tell Truck, not to mention skipping lunch, had all worked to make her want to go home and bury herself in her bed covers and not come out for a week.
But she’d told Truck she’d be over after work, and she wasn’t one to go back on her word. Knowing she should probably wait until she was in a better frame of mind, Mary knocked on Truck’s apartment door anyway.
It opened almost immediately and Truck smiled down at her with his lopsided grin. An urge to collapse against him and let him take care of her swept over Mary, but she resisted.
“Hi,” he said. “How was your day?”
“Shitty,” Mary said bluntly.
He looked surprised at her answer, but then his face gentled and he reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, Mare. Come in. Let me get you something to drink. You hungry?”
Mary allowed him to pull her into his place and shut the door behind her. She didn’t answer him as he walked toward his kitchen, her hand secure in his.
It felt good.
It reminded her of how he’d always taken care of her when she’d been sick.
And suddenly she was tired of it all.
She didn’t like keeping secrets from Truck, but she really hated having to tell him about her cancer. She didn’t like to talk about it, would prefer to pretend it never happened at all…and she resented that she was in this position in the first place.
Mary knew her feelings were irrational, but she couldn’t help it. She’d gone to see a therapist at her doctor’s urging when she’d been diagnosed a second time. He’d assigned her the task of writing down her feelings in a journal, then bringing it in so they could talk about what she’d written. Mary had gone back once then stopped altogether.
She didn’t like sharing her feelings. She’d continued to write in the damn journal here and there, but ultimately it didn’t make her feel any better. Mary had no idea where the stupid thing was now, probably at the bottom of one of the boxes the girls packed up when they’d moved her out of Truck’s apartment, but she suddenly had the urge to write in it again. To pour out everything she was feeling right now.
“Mare?” Truck asked again. “Want me to fix us something for dinner?”
He’d let go of her hand and was
standing in front of the refrigerator looking at her, waiting for her to answer.
“I had breast cancer,” she blurted. “Twice. I had a double mastectomy. I know almost all of the nurses at the hospital because I was there so much. That’s what that nurse was talking to me about yesterday. I missed my appointment with my doctor to talk about my breast reconstruction because I just can’t deal with that yet.”
She stared at Truck defiantly. That wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to tell him, but the words simply spilled out of her. She couldn’t deal with making small talk and pretending everything was all right. She just needed to tell him. And now she had. The ball was in his court.
Mary’s words caused Truck’s stomach to clench painfully. After his flashbacks, or memories, or whatever they were, he’d had a hunch that was her big secret, but hearing her confirm it so bluntly was jarring.
He slowly lowered his hand from the fridge and stepped toward her.
His heart broke when Mary moved away from him, rejecting the comfort he wanted—no, needed to give her.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.
“Did you hear me?” she asked, and Truck could see her hands shaking. “I had breast cancer. There’s a chance it could come back a third time.”
“What do the doctors say?”
She shrugged. “They don’t know. They think they got it all this time, but no one knows. I’ll have to take drugs for the next eight to ten years to manage it. They’ll do tests every year to check to see if it’s returned.”
Truck struggled to find the right words that would comfort her. He loved her. The thought of her not being here, not standing in front of him right this second, was so abhorrent, he grimaced. “How are you feeling?” he asked inanely.
“Fine. Well, except for the numbness in my toes, which is fucking annoying. And before you ask, I prefer my hair short. I was bald for a while, but I’m not trying to grow my hair out longer than this. I like it short.”
“I like it too. It’s cute.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Just what I want. To be cute. Gag.”
His lips twitched at that. He took another step toward her, and she either didn’t notice or didn’t feel the need to keep the distance between them. He liked that. “I take it I helped out when you were sick.”
She nodded. “Yeah. You…you helped a lot.”
“Good.” Another vision of walking into his apartment after work and finding Mary sprawled on the living room floor flashed through his brain. She’d fallen and hadn’t had the strength to get up. She’d tried to pretend as if she’d purposely decided to take a nap on the floor, but he’d seen right through her. “You’re amazing,” he said softly.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, Mare. You are. Cancer sucks. Fighting it once breaks people. But you not only beat it once, you beat it twice. That’s amazing.”
“I didn’t want to do it the second time,” she admitted. “Rayne was there for me the first time, but I decided I couldn’t do it again. I was ready to give up.”
“But you didn’t.”
She shook her head. “No. Because you wouldn’t let me.”
The words hung in the air for a moment…
* * *
“No! You’re talking crazy!” Mary yelled.
“I’m not, and you know it. It’s the only way,” Truck returned as calmly as he could. He couldn’t believe she was arguing about this. Not now. Not after everything that happened recently.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
Truck could’ve argued all night, but seeing the tears in Mary’s eyes, coursing down her cheeks, was his undoing. “Say yes, Mare,” he cajoled. “Please. For Rayne. For Annie. For me.”
Mary stared at him for the longest time, and Truck forced himself to stand still, even though he wanted to haul her into his arms and hold her tight. She had to say yes. But he couldn’t force this, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Finally…she nodded. Truck immediately went to her and gathered her into his arms and held her as she cried.
* * *
He blinked as he abruptly came back to himself and realized that Mary was staring at him nervously, obviously waiting for him to say something. He had no idea what they’d been arguing about in his flashback, but it didn’t matter.
“Thank you for fighting,” Truck told her. “Thank you for not giving up. I’m sure you wanted to, but thank you for letting me help you.”
Mary looked at the floor then. They stood silent for a minute or so before Truck risked taking another step toward her. When she didn’t retreat, he took another. Then another. When he was right in front of her, he reached out and gently pulled her into his arms and held her just as he had in his memory.
She immediately wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his chest. Truck sighed in relief and shut his eyes. The only time he felt completely at ease since he’d been hurt was when he had Mary in his arms. It didn’t make sense; he only knew it was true.
“Tell me about the reconstruction,” he urged, sensing it would be easier for her to talk about it if she wasn’t looking at him.
“I have to decide if I want boobs,” she said succinctly.
“What’re the pros and cons?” Truck asked. “Talk it out with me.”
“Pros, I won’t look like an eight-year-old little girl,” she said dryly. “I’ll have perky tits that won’t sag when I’m eighty. I could get a stripping job and cater to all the pervs out there who want to get it on with an elderly woman.”
Truck chuckled. “Yeah, not going to happen, babe.”
“Pros, I could wear V-neck shirts again. I’d have cleavage. I’d be able to wear normal bathing suits and not have to worry about making sure I put in my waterproof boobs. I wouldn’t have to worry about leaning over and having my boob fall out of my bra. I’d feel…attractive again.”
The last part was whispered, and Truck knew that was the most important thing she’d said. He tightened his grip on her. As much as he immediately wanted to tell her to do it, he wanted her to feel as beautiful as she already was. Wanted her to see herself as he did…absolutely stunning. But he worried about the risks as well. “And the cons?”
“It would take over a year for the entire process. They’d have to take fat cells from my thighs and stomach and inject them into my chest to try to stretch out the skin there, so they can even put in the implants. I’m paranoid that getting implants will somehow mask the cancer returning. And I’ve always hated women who have fake tits. It seems like something women do to try to attract men. And that’s fucked up. They’re just blobs of fat on our chest…it shouldn’t matter.”
He understood. And unfortunately, he had absolutely no advice for her. This wasn’t something he could decide. The process didn’t sound pleasant, that was for sure. He hated the thought of her going through more pain simply to conform to society, but if it made her feel better about herself as a woman, it could be worth it.
“So? What should I do?” she asked.
Truck had dreaded the question. “I can’t make this decision for you, Mare.”
She snorted against his chest and pulled away abruptly. “Yeah. Whatever.”
He took hold of her upper arms and kept her from moving away from him. Her hands came up to push at him, but he held on. “I like you exactly how you are, Mary. I don’t give one little shit if you have boobs or not.”
Another memory flashed through his brain, of lying next to her in his bed, trying to find a place he could touch her that wouldn’t hurt. Of Mary being bare from the waist up because she couldn’t stand anything against her chest. It was red and her skin was peeling off from the radiation. He’d never seen anything so horrific in all his life, and he’d seen a lot in his time as a medic in the Army.
“Right,” she drawled. “Men like boobs. They like to squeeze them, suck on them, and love to see them bouncing up and down. Cleavage is like crack to men, they can’t
look away.”
“I like you,” Truck said with a hint of impatience. “I like what’s in here,” he said, putting his hand on the side of her head. “And in here.” He put his other hand over her heart, noticing for the first time that her breasts weren’t natural. “The rest is just window dressing.”
Mary knocked his hands off her body and stepped back. “I don’t believe you. All men want a beautiful woman by their side.”
“Look at me,” Truck ordered.
“What?”
“Does my scar make you ashamed to be by my side? Does it make you less attracted to me?”
“It’s not the same,” Mary protested.
“It’s exactly the same,” Truck countered. “I can’t tell you how many times women have refused to look me in the eyes because of it. Or how many women have gone straight for one of my friends, dismissing me because of this hideous scar. But the bottom line is, I don’t give a shit. If they can’t see past my scar, then I want nothing to do with them. Mary, when I lost my memory, you could’ve taken the opportunity to avoid me altogether. You could’ve pretended you didn’t know me. But you didn’t. When that chick at the bar made a play for me, you were right there, defending me and claiming me. Why?”
Mary looked away from him then. “Anyone would’ve done that.”
“No, they wouldn’t. They haven’t. You did though. Why?”
She pressed her lips together, then said, “What do you want to hear, Trucker? That I can’t live without you? That I owe you my life? What?”
“How about that you care?” Truck asked softly. “Can you admit that you care about me? Even a little?”
Mary stared at him with big eyes. He could see the emotions churning there. But he knew she wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. What he needed.
He pulled out his ace card.
“I love you, Mary Weston. Even not knowing our history, I love you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she stayed stubbornly silent.